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Title: Stories from the Bible
Author: de la Mare, Walter John (1873-1956)
Date of first publication: 1929
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   London: Faber & Gwyer, 1931
Date first posted: 26 December 2009
Date last updated: 26 December 2009
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #441

This ebook was produced by:
Marcia Brooks, Donna Ritchey, Mark Akrigg
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net




STORIES FROM

THE BIBLE




STORIES FROM
THE BIBLE

WALTER
DE LA MARE


FABER & GWYER LIMITED
24 RUSSELL SQUARE
LONDON




FIRST PUBLISHED IN MARCH MCMXXIX
BY FABER & GWYER LIMITED
24 RUSSELL SQUARE LONDON W.C.I
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
BY BUTLER & TANNER LIMITED
FROME AND LONDON
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED




TO
FRIDY


Transcriber's notes: Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected and
hyphenated words have been standardized.




  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION                           PAGE ix

  THE GARDEN OF EDEN

    THE CREATION OF MAN                        1
    THE FALL FROM GRACE                       10

  THE FLOOD                                   21

  JOSEPH

    JOSEPH'S DREAM                            39
    JOSEPH IN PRISON                          49
    HE DIVINES PHARAOH'S DREAM                58
    HIS BROTHERS COME DOWN INTO EGYPT         71
    HE REVEALS HIMSELF                        81
    HE IS RESTORED TO HIS FATHER              94

  MOSES

    THE ARK OF BULRUSHES                     111
    THE BURNING BUSH                         120
    THE PETITION TO PHARAOH                  134
    THE PLAGUES OF EGYPT                     142
    EGYPT IS AFRAID                          154
    THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER                165
    THE FLIGHT FROM EGYPT                    178
    THE CROSSING OF THE RED SEA              187

  THE WILDERNESS

    THE DEATH OF MOSES                       197
    THE FALL OF JERICHO                      206

  SAMSON

    THE ANGEL                                223
    THE RIDDLE                               231
    THE FOXES IN THE WHEAT                   240
    DELILAH                                  252
    SAMSON BETRAYED                          262

  SAMUEL

    HIS CHILDHOOD                            271
    THE CAPTURE OF THE ARK                   283
    THE ARK IS RESTORED                      291

  SAUL

    SAUL AND SAMUEL                          301
    SAUL IS MADE KING                        314
    KING NAHASH                              326
    JONATHAN                                 339
    KING AGAG                                358

  DAVID

    DAVID IS ANOINTED KING OVER ISRAEL       371
    DAVID AND GOLIATH                        382




INTRODUCTION


The stories contained in this volume are versions of but a few of the
narratives related in the first nine books of the Old Testament of the
Bible, 'that inestimable treasure which excelleth all the riches of the
earth'.

The Bible, it is said, is not being read nowadays so much as it used to
be: while there _was_ a time when, it is recorded, a load of hay would
be paid gladly for the loan of a manuscript Testament for an hour a day.
Wholly apart from the profound truth that 'simple men of wit may be
edified much to heavenly living by reading and knowing of the Old
Testament', this statement, if true, implies a loss beyond measure to
mind and heart, and particularly to the young--its wisdom and
divination, truth and candour, simplicity and directness. All that man
is or feels or (in what concerns him closely) thinks; all that he loves
or fears or delights in, grieves for, desires and aspires to is to be
found in it, either expressed or implied. As for beauty, though this was
not its aim, and the word is not often used in it--it is 'excellent in
beauty'; and poetry dwells in it as light dwells upon a mountain and on
the moss in the crevices of its rocks. In what other book--by mere
mention of them--are even natural objects made in the imagination so
whole and fair; its stars, its wellsprings, its war-horse, its
almond-tree?

That there are difficulties for those unfamiliar with its pages no one
with any knowledge of the subject would deny. The very simplicity and
austerity of the Old Testament stories, their conciseness, the slight
changes that have occurred in the meaning or bearing of English words,
occasional obscurities and repetitions in the text, are among them. My
small endeavour has been to lighten some of these difficulties, while
yet keeping as close to the spirit of the text as I am capable of. In
many passages I have kept even to the letter. Apart from that,
remembrance of what the matchless originals in the Bible itself meant to
me when I was a child is still fresh and vivid in mind, and these
renderings are little more than an attempt to put that remembrance as
completely as I can into words.

But words in their influence are subtle and delicate beyond all things
known to man, and the least change in them when they are in company, or
the least addition to that company, cannot but entail a change of
meaning; a change, that is, in their complete effect on the mind and
spirit of the reader. Comparison of some of the English translations, as
they deal in turn with the same brief passage, will be evidence of this,
however little evidence is needed.

Here, for example, are three familiar verses from the first chapter of
the Book of Ruth. Having come to the parting of the ways, Naomi, wholly
against her heart and will, entreats Ruth to return to her own people
and venture no further into a strange land:

       The which answerde, Ne contrarye thou me, that Y forsake thee, and
    goo a wey; whider euere thou gost, I shal goo, and where thow
    abidist, and I togidre shal abyde; thi puple my puple, and thi God
    my God; what erthe the takith diynge, in it I shal die, and there I
    shal take place of biriynge; thes thingis God do to me, and thes
    thingis adde, if not oonly deth me and thee seuere. Seynge thanne
    Noemye, that with stedfast inwit Ruth hadde demed to goo with hir,
    wold not contrarye, ne more mouynge the turnynge agen to hyrs. And
    thei wenten forth to gidre, and thei camen into Bethlem . . .

('Wycliffe': _c._ 1382)

    And sche answeride, Be thou not aduersarye to me, that Y forsake
    thee, and go awei; whidur euer thou schalt go, Y shal go, and where
    thou schalt dwelle, and Y schall dwelle togidere; thi puple is my
    puple, and thi God is my God; what lond schal resseyue thee diynge,
    Y schal die ther ynne, and there Y schal take place of biriyng; God
    do to me these thingis, and adde these thingis, if deeth aloone
    schal not departe me and thee. Therfor Noemy saw, that Ruth hadde
    demyde with stidefast soule to go with hir, and sche nolde be agens
    hir, nether counseile ferthere turnynge agen to her cuntrei men. And
    thei geden forth togidere, and camen in to Betheleem ...

(The 'Wycliffe' translation revised by John Purvey: 1386)

    Ruth answered: Speake not to me thereof, that I shulde forsake thee,
    and turne backe from the: whither so euer thou goest, thither wil I
    go also: and loke where thou abydest, there wil I abide also: Thy
    people is my people, and thy God is my God. Loke where thou diest,
    there wil I dye, and euen there wil I also be buried. The Lorde do
    this and that unto me, death onely shal departe vs.

    Now whan she sawe, that she was stedfastly mynded to go with her,
    she spake nomore to her therof. So they wente on both together, till
    they came vnto Bethleem.

(Miles Coverdale: 1536)

    And Ruth answered, Intreate mee not to leaue thee, nor to depart
    from thee: for whither thou goest, I will goe: and where thou
    dwellest, I will dwell: thy people shalbe my people, and thy God my
    God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The
    Lord do so to me and more also, if ought but death depart thee and
    me.

    When she saw yt she was stedfastly minded to goe with her, shee left
    speaking vnto her. So they went both vntill they came to Bethlehem
    ...

(The Geneva Bible: 1560)

    She answered: Be not against me, to desire that I should leave thee
    and depart: for whithersoever thou shalt go, I will go: and where
    thou shalt dwell, I also will dwell. Thy people shall be my people,
    and thy God my God. The land that shall receive thee dying, in the
    same will I die: and there will I be buried. The Lord do so and so
    to me, and add more also, if aught but death part me and thee.

    Then Noemi seeing, that Ruth was steadfastly determined to go with
    her, would not be against it, nor persuade her any more to return to
    her friends: So they went together and came to Bethlehem.

(The Douai Bible: 1609)

    And Ruth said, Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from
    following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go: and where
    thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy
    God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be
    buried: the Lord do so to me and more also, if ought but death part
    thee and me.

    When she saw that she was stedfastly minded to go with her, then she
    left speaking unto her. So they two went until they came to
    Bethlehem ...

(Authorized Version: 1611)

It is a lesson in much more than mere word-craft to consider each of
these in turn. In one, the lovely simplicity of 'that I forsake thee,
and go away'; in another, 'that Ruth had deemed with steadfast soul to
go with her'; in another, 'She spake no more to her thereof. So they
went on both together'; and then, the sovran 'Intreat me not to leave
thee', and 'the Lord do so to me and more also'; and last, in the Douai
translation, 'if aught but death part me and thee'.

Here also is but a fragment from the second chapter of Genesis:

    And the Lord God brought forthe of the erthe eche tree fayre in
    sight, and swete to ete.

(Wycliffe)

    And the Lorde God caused to sprynge out of the earth all maner
    trees, pleasant to loke upon, and good to eate.

(Miles Coverdale: 1536)

    For out of the ground made the Lorde God to grow euery tree pleasant
    to the sight and good for meate.

(The Geneva Bible: 1560)

    And the Lord God brought forth of the ground all manner of trees,
    fair to behold and pleasant to eat of.

(The Douai Bible: 1609)

    And out of the ground made the Lord God to grow every tree that is
    pleasant to the sight and good for food.

(Authorized Version: 1611)

If these are the varying achievements of the masters, what manifold
dangers, then, await the 'simple creature' who attempts in our own day
to re-tell even a fraction of any particular chapter of the Old
Testament in his own words.

To read, too, any book worthy of the name needs all the powers of
understanding and imagination and spirit of which one is capable, and
even then, what is made of the reading may fall far short of what was
intended in the writing. How much so, then, when that book is the Bible!
Its unique history is proof of it. Even the most usual of words in the
most ordinary of circumstances may have many senses. We say, 'Here I am,
at home': meaning, 'in my own familiar place'; and, maybe, 'the house
where I was born'. But as when striking a note softly on a piece of fine
glass one may listen on to its chiming overtones, so, if we listen to
the echoes of the word home in memory, they can hardly fail to remind us
of the home that is the body, where the 'I, myself', has its earthly
dwelling. Next, maybe, of the 'keeping in order' of that home. And last,
of the home of the heart's desire, which has had almost as many names
given to it as there are races of mankind.

'Worde,' as Wycliffe says, 'worde wynd and mannes mynd is full short,
but letter written dwelleth.' So too with the Bible. Its meanings or
'understandings', as St. Thomas Aquinas declared, are fourfold. First
the literal, which is 'ground and foundement' of the other three--the
allegorical, the moral and the analogical.

These words sound a little formidable, but no word is 'long', when one
knows the meaning of it. Thus the word Jerusalem may mean first,
literally, the chief city of Palestine--seated beyond the barren hills
between it and the sea, and of an age-long, unique and tragic history.
Next, allegorically, it may signify also the Jerusalem that is the
longed-for Zion, the place of peace, the Church on earth. Next, morally,
it may signify the soul of man. And last, analogically, in what by
intention it resembles, it is the place of paradise, 'where there shall
be bliss in body and soul without end'. The Jerusalem of King David,
that is; the Jerusalem of Christ, the Messiah; the Jerusalem mourned and
desired in every human heart; the heavenly Jerusalem otherwhere. Or
again, the literal refers to things that happen or have happened on
earth, the allegorical to what is to be believed, the moral to what is
to be done, and the analogical to what is to be hoped for in the life to
come.

A word in the Old Testament in the inspiration of the man who wrote it,
may be taken to bear only one of these interpretations, or more than
one, or all. So, too, in differing respects, in other writings. William
Blake's 'Tiger', for example; is it to read too much into his poem if
we, see in it the tiger that ranges the forest of the night, the tiger
that is the emblem of strength and ferocity, the tiger that is the
exemplar of fearlessness, the tiger that is a revelation of the miracle
of divine creativeness? And so, too, maybe, when Shakespeare wrote of
'what we fear of death'. But here I am venturing beyond my depth.

All this, at least, concerns the stories contained in this volume as
they appear, once and for all, in the all-sufficing 'bare text' of the
Old Testament itself. My own versions of them, apart from what has been
literally embodied from it (and even here the frame given to that must
in some degree affect its meaning), is no more than my own conception of
them, which cannot but be very partial, faulty, inaccurate, and far from
complete.

Little evidence though there may be of it, and however inadequately I
have taken advantage of their learning and insight, I am indebted to
many authorities and commentators, though it would be only the poorest
of tributes to specify them. My deepest thanks, however, may be
expressed to friends who have generously helped me, to Sister Frances de
Chantal for invaluable kindness and counsel, to Mr. Forrest Reid and to
Mr. R. N. Green-Armytage for their kindness in reading and commenting on
my proofs. Nevertheless the full responsibility for what is here--and I
realize how serious a responsibility it is--cannot but remain entirely
my own.

If, in spite of all its defects and shortcomings, this book persuades
any of its young readers to return to the inexhaustible well-spring from
which it came, it will have amply fulfilled its purpose.




STORIES FROM
THE BIBLE




THE GARDEN OF EDEN

THE CREATION OF MAN


In the beginning the Lord God created the heaven and the earth. And the
earth was without form, and void. All was darkness, confusion and watery
chaos. But the spirit of the Lord God, in whose sight a thousand years
are but as yesterday, brooded in divine creation upon the dark face of
the waters. And God said: 'Let there be light.' And there was light. And
God saw the light, that it was good.

And he divided the wondrous light called Day from the darkness that he
called Night. And he parted asunder the waters of the firmament called
heaven from the waters beneath upon the earth. And the dry land
appeared, its desolate plains and drear ice-capped mountains. And he
made the green seeding grass to grow, and herb and tree yielding fruit;
and he saw that it was good.

In the heaven above, for sign of the seasons and of days and of years,
and to divide the day from the night, he set the sun and the moon to
shine and to lighten the whole earth. The sun, the greater light, ruled
the day, and the moon, the lesser light, that waxes and wanes in
radiance ever changing, ruled the night; and the wandering planets had
each its circuit in heaven, and the stars their stations in the depth
and height of space.

Then said the Lord God: 'Let the waters bring forth abundantly moving
creatures that have life, and winged birds of the air that may fly above
the earth under the firmament of heaven.' So there were fishes in the
deep seas, and great whales had their habitation therein, and the air
was sweet with birds.

And when the heavens and the earth and all the host of them were
finished in the days that the Lord God appointed, he for ever blessed
and hallowed the seventh day, because in joy and love he had stayed then
and rested from all his work which he had created and made.

Of the power and wisdom of God was everything to which he had given
life--tree and plant and flower and herb, from the towering cedar to the
branching moss. All the beasts of the earth also, the fishes of the sea,
the fowls of the air, the creeping things and the insects, each in the
place where was its natural food and what was needful for its strength
and ways and wants; from beasts so mighty and ponderous that they shook
the ground with their tread, to the grasshopper shrilling in the
sunshine on his blade of grass and the silent lovely butterfly sipping
her nectar in the flower; from the eagle in the height of the skies to
the wren flitting from thicket to thicket, each after its own kind.

The Lord God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very
good. He blessed it, and bade all things living grow and increase and
multiply upon the earth, wheresoever it was meet for them. But still in
his power and wisdom he was not satisfied with the earth that he had
created until, last of all things living, he made man. And he called
him by name, Adam.

For dwelling-place meet for this man that he had made the Lord God
planted a garden. It was a paradise of all delight, wherein he intended
him to have bliss in body and soul without end. And though it was of the
earth, it was yet of a beauty and peace celestial, wherein even the
angels of heaven might find joy to stray.

This garden lay eastward in Eden; and a river went out of Eden to water
it. Flowing thence, and beyond it, its waters were divided, and they
became the four great rivers of the world, whose names have been many.

The name of the first river was Pison, which flows about and encompasses
the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold. And the gold of that
land is fine gold. There also is found the gum of spicery called
bdellium, sweet to the taste and bitter to the tongue, and the clear
green onyx or beryl stone. The name of the second river was Gihon, whose
windings encompass the whole land of Ethiopia. And the name of the third
river was Hiddekel, or Tigris, that flows eastward of the land Assyria.
And the fourth great river of the world is the Euphrates.

But by any device of knowledge, desire, or labour, to return from beyond
Eden by anyone of these rivers into that Garden is now for man a thing
impossible. Its earthly paradise is no more.

Then, every beast and living thing that was in the Garden, and roved its
shades and valleys and drank of its waters, was at peace in the life
that had been given it, without fear or disquietude or wrong. But as
yet they had no names. Trees grew in abundance on the hills and in the
valleys of the Garden, and every tree that sprang forth out of the earth
was fair in sight and sweet to eat.

In the crystal waters of its river swam fish gemlike and marvellous in
scale and fin and in their swift motion in the water; and flowers of
every shape and hue grew so close in company upon its banks that the air
was coloured with the light cast back from their own clear loveliness.
The faintest breeze that stirred was burdened with their fragrance. And
at certain seasons a mist went up out of the Garden; and night-tide shed
its dews, watering the whole face of the ground, refreshing all things.

And in the very midst of the Garden were two trees, secret and wondrous;
the Tree of Life, and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Their
branches rose in a silence so profound that no cry of bird or beast was
heard there, and no living thing shaped by the Lord God out of the dust
of the earth ever drew near.

    *    *    *    *    *

Now the man whom the Lord God had created was different from every other
living thing upon the earth. Miraculous in grace and life and strength,
his lighted eyes, his hair, his hands, the motion of his limbs, the
mystery of his beating heart, his senses to touch and taste and smell
and hear and see--miraculous also in the wonder of his mind that
reflected in little all things of the great world around him--he too,
like all else that had life in the Garden, had been fashioned and
shaped of the dust. Yet was he in the image and likeness of the divine;
the Lord God had breathed into him breath of life, and he became a
living soul.

Since his body, like theirs, was also of the earth, Adam was at peace
with all living creatures in the Garden. Nevertheless because in mind
and spirit he was man and no beast, God made him the lord and master of
the Garden, sovereign even to the fishes of the water, to the birds of
heaven and the unreasonable beasts of earth. He had dominion over them
all. And as the free and harmless creatures that for a happy
dwelling-place shared the Garden with him were less than he, so he
himself was a little lower than the angels of heaven, who are not of the
earth, but of a different being and nature, and dwell in glory beyond
thought or imagination in the presence of the Lord God.

Thus Adam, shaped of the dust and given life of the divine, came into
this earthly paradise, and his eyes were opened, and the light of day
shone in upon him as through windows, and joy and amazement filled his
mind. He heard the voice of beast and bird and wind and water, and with
his fingers he touched the flowers. He was clothed in the light and heat
of the sun, and stood erect and moved his limbs and stretched his arms
above his head. The Lord God looked on him with love and talked with him
in the secrecy of his heart.

'Lo, all things that I have made to be of thy company I give into thy
charge to keep and tend and to use. Do with them as thy heart desires.
And behold, I have given thee also for food every herb whose seed is in
itself of its own kind, and every tree yielding fruit and seed. Of every
tree thou mayest freely eat except only the fruit of the Tree of the
Knowledge of Good and Evil that is in the midst of the Garden. Of that
thou mayest not eat. It is denied thee. For if thou eat of it, it will
bring thee only grief and misery; deadly of its nature is this fruit
unto thee, and in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely
die.'

Adam hearkened to these words with all his understanding, and in the
will of the Lord God he found freedom and his peace. The days of his
life went by, and the Lord God brought to him in his own season every
beast of the field and every fowl of the air that he had made out of the
dust, to see what Adam would call it, and to see which of them was most
meet to him for company. And Adam gazed at them, marvelling as they
moved before him, each in its own kind following the instinct and desire
that was the secret of its life.

And as Adam watched them, it seemed that of his own insight and
divination he shared in the life and being of each one of them in turn.
They wandered amid the little trees, browsing in the herbage, and on the
gentle slopes at the river's brink stooped their heads to quench their
thirst, or stretched themselves a-drowse in the sunshine, or lay
cleaning and preening their sleek coats, or sported in play one with
another, and leaped and exulted.

Adam watched too the birds among the green-leafed branches, and the
prudent and loving ways of the waterfowl. The swan with plumage
markless as the snow was there, and the goose on high at evening arrowed
the still air, winging in company of her kind. In the hush of dark the
little owl called _a-whoo_ into the warm silence, and the nightingale
sang on whether the moon shone in the dark or no, though all through the
day it had been singing too.

Adam listened, never wearying of their cries and songs. And
whatsoever--according to the exclamations of wonder, surprise or delight
that came to his lips at sight or hearing of them--Adam called them,
such were their names. To every living thing he gave a name. Its image
and its name were of one memory in his mind. At call of its name the
creature to whom he had given it came fearlessly to his side. He
rejoiced to see it, and at sound of his laughter the Garden itself
seemed also to rejoice and to renew its life.

At evenfall the Lord God would return into the Garden and talk with
Adam, communing with him in the secrecy of his heart. And even when Adam
slept, his divine presence haunted him in dreams, and when he awoke to
day again his love enfolded him. As naturally as the birds in their
singing, Adam praised the Lord God in all that he did.

But though he had joy in the company of the creatures around him in the
Garden Adam had none like to himself with whom to share his own spirit
and nature. He was in this apart from them and was alone. And the Lord
God read this secret in Adam's heart and had compassion on his solitude.

'It is not good,' he said, 'that the man whom I have created should be
alone; I will make him a help meet for him.'

In the darkness of night he caused a deep sleep or trance to fall upon
Adam, and out of his side as he slept he took a rib, and with a touch
closed again and healed the wounded side. And as he had made all things
living and Adam himself out of the dust, so in the mystery of his wisdom
he made woman out of man. He breathed into her body the breath of life,
and in the stillness of night she lay, as yet unawakened, beside Adam as
he slept.

When daybreak lightened again over Eden and the shafts of sunrise
pierced its eastern skies, the voice of the bird of morning stole sweet
and wildly in upon Adam's dreams, and the very rocks resounded. He
awoke, and saw the woman. She lay quiet as a stone, the gold of the sun
mingling with the gold of her hair, her countenance calm and marvellous.

Adam stooped in awe and wonder and with his finger touched her hand, as
in the beginning the Lord God had with his divine touch bidden him rise
and live. So too the woman's eyes opened and looked upon Adam, and out
of one paradise he gazed into another. And love breathed in him, seeing
that she was of his own form and likeness. As he looked upon her, he
cried with joy: 'This, this is now bone of my bones and flesh of my
flesh!'

So Adam was no longer alone in the Garden. She whom he called woman
because she had been created by the Lord God out of man, was his
continual company and delight. She was Eve, Adam's wife. They two were
one, and this is the reason why a man, leaving even his father and his
mother, cleaves to his wife. And in the paradise of earth and mind which
had been made for them, Adam and Eve were both of them naked, for they
were of all innocence as are children, and they were not ashamed.

Happy and at peace together beyond the heart of man now to dream of or
conceive, Adam and Eve dwelt in the Garden of Eden, tending and dressing
it to keep it fair and well.




THE FALL FROM GRACE


Now of all living creatures in Eden the serpent was more subtle than any
other which the Lord God had made. And because of his subtlety there
entered into him the knowledge and malice of an angel fallen because of
pride from grace, and banished from the presence of the Lord God. This
fallen angel's evil influence found harbourage within the serpent; and
Adam knew it not.

Couched in his beauty upon his coils, cold and stealthy, the changing
colour of his scales rippling his whole length through, the serpent with
lifted head would of his subtlety seek their company and share with them
a knowledge that was his only. He would drowse beside them in the sun's
heat while they talked together, and as he listened, envy sprang up in
him, and he hated them for their innocence and their peace in their
happy obedience to him who had made them and set them free.

There came an hour in the fullness of morning when Adam was away from
the woman, and the serpent, seeing it, approached her and was with Eve
alone. She sat in dappled shade from the sun, whose light was on all
around them, and whose heat was pleasant to her after the cold of the
waters in which she had bathed. There she had seen her own image or
reflex in its glass; and she had praised the Lord God at the thought she
was so fair. The serpent lifted up his flat-browed head, fixed his eyes
upon her as she sat sleeking her hair, and he said: 'Where, now, is the
man Adam?'

Eve told the serpent that he was gone into the glades of the Garden near
at hand to gather fruit for them to eat.

The serpent couched lower, rimpling the scales upon his skin. 'But is it
not,' he said, 'that the Lord God hath forbidden thee and the man Adam,
saying, "You shall not eat of any of the trees in the Garden"?'

Eve smiled, marvelling that the serpent should so speak.

'Nay,' she said, 'we may eat of the fruit of any of the trees in the
Garden. Except only the fruit of the Tree that is in the midst of it. Of
that the Lord God hath said: "You shall not eat of it. Taste it not lest
you die!"'

The Garden was still. Above them the wondrous blue of morning was
brimmed with the light of day, and the shadows of tree and mountain
moved with the sun. Except for the warbling of birds, there came no
sound of any other voice between them, and the serpent drew back his
head, and from his cold and changeless eyes steadfastly looked upon Eve,
loveliest of all things on earth that the Lord God had made.

'Yea,' he answered, 'and so the Lord God has said! But of a surety thou
shalt not die. For he himself knows well that in the day that thou eat
of the fruit of this Tree, then shall thine eyes be opened to his wisdom
and thou shalt be as the divine ones, the angels of heaven, knowing both
good and evil. It is no wonder that the fruit of the Tree hath been
forbidden thee, for even though thou share it not with me, thou hast
thine own secret wisdom. I did but desire to show thee how sweet and
delectable are the fruits that grow upon this strange Tree's branches.'

Eve listened to the guile of the serpent. She stooped her head upon her
shoulders and thought deeply within herself of what he had said. And the
serpent watching her, held his peace.

At length she answered him. 'I know not,' she said, 'where grows the
Tree. And Adam my husband expressly told me not even to seek to look
upon it unless he were with me. It is well that the Lord God hath
forbidden us the Tree, if only evil come of it.'

'Yea,' said the serpent. 'But verily Adam thy husband hath seen it. I
know well where grows this Tree of Knowledge. Come, now, let us go
together, and thou thyself shalt see with thine own eyes how harmless it
is. Yet, verily, it far surpasses every other tree that is in the
Garden; and when I myself quaffed in its fragrance there was none to say
me nay. But it may be thou hast no thirst for this wisdom, and thy
husband himself would keep it from thee.'

The woman rose with trembling hands and looked hither and thither,
seeking Adam. But in vain, and the serpent was already gone from her.
With a faint cry she followed after him, and the serpent went on before
her.

The way became strange to her. It narrowed in beneath lofty trees whose
upper branches, interlacing their leaves together under the noon, shut
out the day. The ground rose steeply, crag and boulder, but smooth with
moss and pleasant to the foot. They descended into a ravine where
streams of water brawled among rocks, meeting to part again. Birds of
smouldering and fiery plumage, so small they seemed to be of flame, and
butterflies, with damasked wings, hovered over the wide-brimmed flowers.

But soon these were few and showed no more. And there were now no birds
or any living thing, and in silence they continued on their way ever
going up now through the secret places of the Garden, and hidden in a
shade so deep no star of night could pierce it, or the moon shine in.
The air was cold as water from a well-spring, and there was not even
sighing of wind in the midst of the forest to cool Eve's cheek. But it
seemed to her that she heard the music of voices afar off and as it were
out of the midst of the morning, between the earth and the firmament.

She stayed her steps to listen. And the serpent tarried beside her while
she rested, for she was weary with the steepness of the way. Her eyes
entreated him, for her mind was troubled, but speech was over between
them, and she followed again after him, to discover whence the music of
the voices she heard was sounding.

They came out from the verge and shade of the forest into a hollow space
of a marvellous verdure that fell away, then rose in slope towards a
mountain that towered high beyond it, transfigured with a light that
seemed too rare and radiant to be only the light of day. On either side
of this mountain, its rocks illumined with the colours of their own
bright stone and of the multitudinous flowers that mantled over them,
Eve gazed into the vacancy of space. It was as though they had come to
the earth's end.

And midway on the green of the mountain slope there was a Tree, the Tree
of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, while above it, but well-nigh
invisible in the light that dwelt upon it, there was another Tree, and
that on the heights beyond.

The sounds as of voices and instruments of music faint and far, and of
the rapture of thousands upon thousands beyond telling, had ceased; and
it was as though the radiant blue were agaze with the eyes of a great
multitude, lost to vision in the light of heaven.

'Lo, now,' the serpent whispered in Eve's ear, 'methought I heard the
sound of voices, but all is still, and there is none to watch or hear
us.'

And Eve approached and drew near to the Tree, whose branches as of
crystal shone wondrously, ravishing her eyes. Buds and petalled flowers
lay open upon them, and they were burdened also with their fruit, both
ripening and ripe. A nectar-like fragrance lay upon the air, and the
Tree was of a beauty and strangeness that made her heart pine within
her.

And behold, the fruit that was upon the Tree seemed sweet and pleasant
and desirable to the sight, a fruit to make one wise. Eve looked upon
it, and thirsted, though a voice in her own mind called in warning to
her of the deathly and infinite danger she was in. And though she
remembered the words of Adam that the Lord God had spoken, yet she
heeded them not.

The eyes of the serpent were fixed upon her, stealthy with malice, and
an envy came upon her senses. She put out her hand and plucked one of
the fruits that hung low upon the Tree, and raised it to her lips. Its
odour filled her with desire of it. She tasted and did eat, and
shuddering at its potency that coursed into her veins, she stayed
without motion and as if in sleep.

With her long gentle hand she drew back her hair that lay heavy as gold
upon her shoulders, and supple as the serpent himself languished in her
own beauty. She raised her head and stared with her eyes, exulting and
defiant, yet the radiance of the mountain now smote upon her eyes and
dazzled her mind not as with light but with darkness. Dread and
astonishment came upon her, and in fear even of herself she turned for
help to the serpent that had persuaded her there with his false and evil
counsel. And behold, she was alone. She was alone and knew herself
forsaken. With the fruit that she had plucked from the forbidden
branches she drew back cowering from beneath the Tree; and she fled
away.

The darkness of the forest smote cold upon her body as she fled on by
the way she had come, stumbling and falling and rising again, seeking
she knew not what, but only to escape from the wild tumult of her mind.
Her naked limbs bruised, her breath spent, she came into the presence of
Adam her husband who had come forth to seek her. With countenance bleak
and strange, she crouched kneeling before him, thrust the fruit into his
hand, and said: 'See, see, the wonder the serpent hath made known to us!
Taste and see!'

Her voice rang falsely on his ear. At sight of her face he trembled,
and, utterly loth and because he loved her, he took the fruit, and deaf
to the voice within him, did eat.

In that moment they knew that they had sinned. Their eyes were opened;
they looked out upon the Garden, and all things that were familiar in it
were now become estranged and remote from them. Power was in their
minds, but of knowledge, not of love. A grief no speech could reveal had
veiled its beauty. In fear and horror they gazed on one another. Shame
overshadowed them. They saw that they were naked, yet knew not where to
turn to hide from their own shame. They plucked off leaves from a
fig-tree and sewing them together made themselves aprons.

Smitten with doubt, they turned away each from each, and the love that
was between them faded from out of their faces like the dew that
vanishes in the heat of the day. Burning, mute, shaken with fear, yet on
fire with life, they sat, their minds in torment; then, not daring to
raise their horror-stricken eyes to sight, they turned again as if for
refuge one to another. And Eve hid her face in Adam's hands, and they
wept.

At sound of it a fawn that was browsing in a green hollow beneath the
branches of a cedar tree lifted its eyes towards them, and, as if in
fear, sped away and fled.

Night drew near; the level rays of the sun barred with shadow the vale
in which they sat, and the milk-white flowers at their feet were dyed
with its red. The firmament above them was flooded as if with flame,
that as they looked ebbed out and was quenched. And the song of a
multitude of birds in their green haunts rose to a wild babbling rapture
that now was desolation to them to hear, then died away and all was
stilled.

And behold the serpent was of their company. 'Hail, wise and happy!' he
whispered with flickering tongue.

But even as they gazed on him with horror and loathing in their eyes,
they heard in the silence the sound of the Lord God walking in the
Garden in the cool of the day, in the sweet fresh air that comes with
evening. They were sore afraid, and hid themselves from his presence
amongst the trees of the Garden. But even as they stood together,
seeking in vain for refuge where none could be, there came the voice of
the Lord calling to Adam.

'Adam, where art thou?'

And the sound of the voice that had been their life and joy stilled
their hearts with terror. They came forth from out of their
hiding-place, and Adam bowed his head, for he dared not look upon the
Lord God.

He said: 'I heard thy voice in the Garden and I was afraid, because I
was naked; and I hid myself.'

And the Lord God said: 'Who told thee that thou wast naked? Hast thou
then eaten of the fruit of the Tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou
shouldst not eat?'

Adam bowed his head yet lower, hiding his face, his eyes fixed upon the
ground.

'The woman,' he said, 'whom thou thyself gavest to be with me, she gave
me of the Tree, and I did eat.'

And the Lord God said unto the woman: 'What is this that thou hast
done?'

And the woman said, weeping: 'The serpent beguiled me--and I did eat.'

Then said the Lord God to the serpent: 'Because thou hast done this
thing, thou art from henceforth accursed among all living things upon
the earth. Upon thy belly shalt thou crawl, both thou and thy kind, and
dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy life, and all that come after
thee. And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy
seed, and all that shall spring out of thee, and her seed. And it shall
bruise and crush thee, and thou shalt lie in wait to bruise her heel.'

The serpent, the all-subtle one, the sower of mischief, sorrow and
malice, looked stonily upon the Lord God, hearing his doom, in evil cold
and corrupt. And this Satan went forth from out of his presence, eternal
foe of man, though in the loving-kindness of the Lord God there should
arise one to defeat his evil and to redeem man's sin, and paradise shall
be restored to him again.

When the serpent was gone his way, the Lord God said to the woman:
'Because of this that thou hast done, thy griefs shall be many. In
sorrow and anguish thou shalt bring forth children. Yet the desire of
thine own nature shall bind thee to thy husband. In him shall be thy
strength and refuge, and he shall rule over thee.'

And unto Adam he said: 'Because thou hast hearkened to the voice of thy
wife, and hast eaten of the Tree of which I commanded thee, saying,
"Thou shalt not eat of it," cursed shall be the ground for thy sake and
by reason of thy sin. Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth, and
weeds shall cumber thy labour, and thou shalt eat the green herb that
springs therefrom. But in toil and in weariness and in the sweat of thy
brow shalt thou find thy bread all the days of thy life, until thou lay
down thy body in death, and be turned again into the earth whence thou
wast taken. For dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return.'

And Adam and Eve, smitten to the soul, fled away from the presence of
the Lord God into the night, and returned into the darkness of their
hiding-place in the Garden.

The Lord God was grieved to the heart because of their sin and sorrow,
and communing in his wisdom he said within himself: 'Behold, this man is
become like unto one that is divine, seeing that, though it is not for
his own peace, he hath attained the knowledge of good and evil. And now
it may be in pride and disobedience he may sin yet again, and put forth
his hand and pluck of the fruit of the Tree of Life, and eat and live
for ever in shame and grief.'

Therefore did the Lord God, though he was never to leave them utterly
alone or abandon them, determine to cast Adam and Eve forth from out of
the Garden of Eden, and to exile them into a world that could be no more
a paradise, and where there could be no peace except that which their
love and desire of him could bring them, for solace of their bitter
banishment.

In the darkness that is before dawn they awoke where they lay, but into
the sorrow where sleep had found them. They arose, and behold, there
stood in watch round about them Cherubim of heaven whose eyes were like
flames in the light of their countenances, unendurable to their gaze.

Adam and Eve fled from before them, stricken with dread, cold with
anguish, and came through chasms to where in the sea-like gold of the
risen sun the river of Eden flowed out beyond the Garden, falling in
foam with sound of thunder from height to height. And the vast circuit
of the earth lay spread out beneath them where they stood, dense with
enormous forests, parched with sand, chequered with ice-capped
mountains, through whose valleys the four rivers rolled their waters,
which are the four great rivers of the world.

Thither they went down out of Eden, and dared not rest, until, looking
back, even the verges of the Garden that had been their joy and peace
were hidden from them. And night fell, cold and dark, and they were
alone.

And at the east of the paradise whence God had cast out Adam, he set
Cherubim, angels of heaven, and in their hands were flaming swords,
turned every way, to keep and guard the way of the Tree of Life.




THE FLOOD


Centuries of time went by, and the generations of man continually
increased on the earth. They scattered over wider and wider tracts of
country, venturing on into regions until then strange and untrodden.
There were some who lived a life of continual roving and wandering. They
pitched their tents in the wild as fancy led. Others found good pastures
and dwelt there, tilling the ground and gathering together flocks of
sheep and herds of cattle. Yet others reared up cities, and walled them
in and fortified them against their foes. And they set up kings over
them, mighty in pride and soldiery and armed with weapons of war.

They learned, too, the skill of many handicrafts and how to work in
metals. They fashioned instruments of music, for dancing and feasting.

They made wine out of the grape and were merry. And the daughters of men
were fair as the morning. They walked in their beauty like barbaric
queens, bedecked with fine raiment and jewels of gold and coloured gems.

In these days men lived to a great age, and amassed knowledge and
discovered secret arts and became practised in magic, and were wise in
their own eyes.

But though there was no end to the skill and invention and curiosity of
their minds, the spirit of life within them languished as if in a
prison-house, and was darkened. The knowledge of what is good and what
evil was theirs. They were free to make choice between them. They chose
evil and not good, and refused the Lord God their love and obedience.

Pitiless and defiant, wherever they went, greed and violence and cruelty
went with them, and no man was safe. They not only did evil, but in
heart and imagination hated and fought against the good. The memory of
the paradise that had been made for man had become less than the
substance of a dream. And when, in despair at the defeat of their wild
desires, its vision returned to them, they mocked it down and reviled
the very thought of it. Angels fallen from grace entered in upon the
earth in those days, and there were tyrants and giants in the land,
terrible and mighty. Human life had become a mockery and a snare,
because of the vileness of the spirit within.

And the Lord God, looking down from the heavens upon the earth which he
had created, once radiant with light and peace and innocence, and now a
waste of sin and woe, repented him that he had given life to the dust.
He was grieved to the heart that man, whom he had made in his own image
and of his divine love, had fallen to a state so dark that even the hope
and desire of goodness had perished in him. And the Lord God said: 'I
will do away man, whom I made out of nought, from the face of the earth,
and all things that have life; for it repenteth me that I created them.'

One alone of all men living found grace in his eyes. He was faithful and
blameless. Loving goodness and hating evil, he had withdrawn himself
from his fellow-men and lived apart from them; and the Lord God was
with him in the silence and secrecy of his heart. The name of this man
was Noah, and he had three sons, Shem, Ham and Japheth.

There came a day when the Lord God warned Noah that an end was soon to
come to the evil that man had brought upon the earth, and that it should
be cleansed of its wickedness and corruption. And he bade Noah build an
ark, or ship, directing him in the knowledge and understanding of his
mind how in all things it should be made. As the Lord God bade him, so
did Noah. He chose out and felled cypress and pine for timber, and with
his three sons laboured day by day, until night came down and they went
to rest, to fashion and build the ark, though as yet they knew neither
its use nor its purpose. In length this ark was to be three hundred
cubits--a hundred and fifty human paces from end to end. In breadth it
was to be fifty cubits; and in height thirty--of such a height, that is,
that the topmost branches of an oak tree would show green above its
roof.

When Noah and his sons, having hewn and planed their timber, had laid
the central keel and buttressed it and built up the curved ribs of the
ark and roofed it with beams, they walled it all in with planks of
cypress round about, shaping and leaving in it a narrow window, which
skirted the whole circuit of the margin of the roof that covered it in.
A great door also was made for its entering-in in the side of the ark,
which could be opened and shut at need.

When this had been done and the towering outer walls or shell of the
ark were sound and secure in all their joints and angles, they daubed
them over with melted pitch or bitumen to make it proof against the
weather and to seal up all crevices and crannies there might be between
its timbers, so that no water could enter in.

That done, they built up within the ark and beneath its roof, three
separate floors or storeys, with cross-pieces and planks, the lowermost
in the belly or underpart of the ark, the other midway above it, and the
third beneath the long narrow window that had been cut out within the
space of eighteen inches from the margin of the roof. They left
openings, too, or hatchways, at fitting intervals in each of the three
floors or storeys, with a ladder to each by which those within the ark
would be able to ascend and descend from one to the other.

These they then divided by walls into rooms or chambers of various
shapes and sizes, convenient and proportionate, and all in accordance
with the plan and design made by Noah. When these were complete with
their doors and passage-ways, they daubed over the whole of the inside
of the ark with pitch also.

For many months Noah and his three sons toiled on in the building of the
ark, pausing only to eat and for rest and sleep. They chose out only the
finest trees and perfect timber for their purpose and fashioned and
finished their handiwork with all the skill they could.

But the day came at length when their work was at an end. The last
wooden peg had been driven home, the last inch pitched, and all refuse
had been cleansed away and removed. And lo! more gigantic in shape and
bulk than any monster that had then its being in the depths of the
oceans, their great ark, or ship--mastless and rudderless--lay ready. It
was made, and in all things complete. Pitch-black and glistening in the
splendour of the sun and high upon dry land it towered, in no way fine
and delicate, but of an immeasurable stoutness and stability, and strong
to withstand not only the buffetings of wind and tempest, but to ride in
safety upon waters wild as those of the sea.

They stood together in its shadow, looking up and surveying it, and they
rejoiced at sight of it and at the thought that their anxious toil was
over. That evening they feasted with their wives and their children, and
gave thanks to the Lord God; so that this day should ever remain with
them in mind and be held in solemn and happy remembrance.

When Noah and his three sons had finished the building of the ark, the
word of the Lord God came again to Noah. He was warned that a great
flood or deluge was soon to descend upon the earth, blotting out for
ever in one swift death the evil and violence and cruelty of men without
pity and without remorse.

But with Noah himself the Lord God made a covenant of peace. He promised
him that he, with his wife and his sons and all his household, should be
saved alive when that day of judgment should come. For this the ark had
been made. Of all men living Noah alone had remained just and faithful.

As in the building of the ark so in all things else that the Lord God
bade him, Noah obeyed. And during the weeks that followed he himself and
his three sons laboured without ceasing to prepare against the calamity
that was soon to overwhelm the earth. For it was not only they
themselves who were to find a place of refuge, but Noah had been bidden
to assemble together two of every kind of living thing that was on the
earth, beasts of the field and of the forest, birds of the air, and
whatsoever around them enjoyed the breath of life.

To keep these creatures safe until the day when they should enter with
them into the ark, Noah and his three sons made pens and folds, fencing
them in so that no wild thing from without should enter, or captive
within win free. They found caves also in the hills and rocks for beasts
that are by nature wild and solitary in their habits, or secret and
timid. When this was done, Noah's three sons went each his own way
according as their father had directed them, to entice or snare or drive
into the places prepared for them the living creatures they had in mind.
From least to greatest they knew their ways and natures, and where to
seek them, and how to tame and persuade them to submit themselves into
their keeping, both the timorous and delicate and the fierce and strong.

So day by day and week by week they gathered together two of every kind
of living thing that roved around them or dwelt beneath the blue of
heaven in the sweet winds and rains and dews, throughout the region of
valley, plain and mountain, lying in a wide circuit around the place
wherein they had built the ark. Mate with mate they brought them in,
and fed them and kept them secure and in good liking, lion and lioness,
leopard and leopardess, the stag and his doe, the fox and his vixen,
horse and mare, bull and cow, ram and ewe, boar and sow, the wide-browed
elephant and his mate, the gazelle and the hare, the coney of the sands,
the antelope of the rocks, sheep and goat, the crafty cat, the gnawing
rat, and the dark-delighting mouse. All these and countless others they
assembled in the resorts that had been prepared for them, making ready
for the day of the entering-in. The birds of the air, too, of every kind
and feather, shape and song, from the eagle of noonday to the little
wren--the gentle pelican, the blue-mooned peacock, the cuckoo and the
thrush; all these and every living thing besides--where Noah and his
sons had bestowed them, and in quarters best fitting for their ways and
natures--awaited the day of the entering in.

The ark was set in the midst, and busy continually was the whole
household of Noah. Twilight descended; and they rested from their
labours. The absent ones returned to the camp. The cries and callings of
the four-footed creatures, and the birds' shrill sweet evensong ceased
beneath the stars in the hush of the plain around them, where darkness
enclosed them in. All was still.

And sleep enfolded them, renewing life and strength in wayworn foot and
weary limb. Only the nightingale poured on into the starry dark a song
of delight, that yet seemed to echo with grief and exile.

Strangers sometimes came that way, men with their hunting-dogs--and of
great stature and faced like the hawk; keen and ferocious. Noah greeted
them with civility and offered them food and drink. But when he solemnly
warned them of the horror and destruction that were soon to come upon
the earth, they merely mocked at him. They surveyed with their hard
bright eyes the great clumsy wooden ship that lay casting its vast
shadow on the grass beside it in the light of the sun, then turned their
heads and stared insolently into his face as if into that of a man
without wits, or with a mind ridden by the haggard deceits of insanity.

They spurned his gifts, jeered at his warnings, and went their way,
blinded in their folly even to the changes and strange appearances in
the heavens and in the scene around them that were revealing themselves
before their very eyes.

The weather darkened; winds wailing in the vacancy of space rose up and
fell again. Vast flights of birds showed themselves in the skies of
daybreak and sunset. There came a restlessness and fearfulness among the
wild things of the earth. They were seen prowling in places where they
had never ventured before, drawing near to the dwellings of man as if
for refuge, and driven away with blows and curses. The radiance even of
noonday became sad and sickly, though but little cloud was to be
discerned in the firmament. In the midst of night strange lamentations,
as if from bodily wanderers, broke the stillness. The pitch-black ark,
its timbered roof glistening in the wan light, lay heavily on ground
cracked in all directions in the windy heat of the day, for the earth
was stark with drought, and the great door in its side gaped wide.

And the word of the Lord God came to Noah, bidding him go into the ark
and take into it all the living creatures that were to be saved alive
from destruction. So Noah and his three sons made a bridge of timber of
a strength that would bear the tread of the mightiest beasts then on
earth. This they laid between the door of the ark and firm ground; then
each according to its kind, every living creature which they had in
keeping and readiness for this day was brought into the ark, and there
tethered or chambered in the places set apart for them. Two by two, and
mate with mate they brought them in.

The greatest beasts and those whose habit it was to rove by night and
sleep by day were given their places in the lowermost storey of the ark,
beneath its undermost deck. The shy and delicate were cribbed where the
light could shine in on them from the window. To each was its own
particular place set apart in the pens and chambers within the hive-like
confines of the ark. So too with the winged things, and with the scaled.
Behemoth was there, and there, too, the mouse. All things that lived and
moved, and had their being on the earth around them, found refuge there.
They entered in from the sunlit plain into the gloom of the great ship.
They entered into it as though into a haven from ills of which they had
some faint forewarning, and none languished or pined or fell away in
spirit or refused to eat.

Moreover, in the bins and chests and baskets which had been made ready
and stood all in order and in place where they would be needed, Noah and
his sons had laid up an abundant store of grain and hay and fodder and
seed. Of all herbs and plants, too, that would retain their virtue and
nourishment for many days to come. These were for the food and
sustenance of the beasts and the birds and the creeping things.

They hastened now to finish their preparations, for warnings abounded
that the dreadful hour drew near. In the midst of his labours one or
other of them would hastily lift his eyes to scan the heavens, so
grievous were the signs which now showed themselves there and on the
earth beneath. And they redoubled their efforts for fear that anything
should be left unready and undone.

As for the least of the little things that haunt the air and solitudes
and crevices of the earth, they seemed of their own wisdom to have
already set up their habitations in the ark. The queen bee and her
myriad workers made their cluster there; and the wise ant her nest.
Butterflies on their painted wings floated out of the sunbeams into the
dusk within, and of the lesser birds some had even built their nests on
the ledge that ran beneath the long narrow window made for the coming-in
of the light under the ark's dark roof.

When all the animals and birds, the reptiles and creeping things were
safely within the ark, then Noah gathered his family together, his wife,
his three sons, Shem, Ham and Japheth, and their wives, and their
children. The last wild light of evening dyed the heavens as in awe and
dread they went up into the ark. And to each was given a sleeping-place
in the great inner chamber wherein they were to spend the days that were
to come. And when they had one and all crossed over into the ark, the
bridge of timber was flung to earth, and the massive door turned upon
its staples and was shut.

A cold trumpeting wind had begun to blow, lifting into the air dense
clouds of sand and dust. It increased hour by hour, until nothing could
be heard from within the ark but the sound of it streaming across the
high rounded roof and wailing in every nook and cranny. Lightnings wild
and luminous flared in the skies, but at first without sound of thunder.
And when the tempest of wind began to lull, there fell the first few
drops of rain.

The rain increased in volume until it seemed to those safe in the
shelter of the ark as if sky and earth had mingled together in a
dreadful confusion. The wells and fountains of the deep were broken, the
rockbound watercourses foundered, and the windows of heaven were opened.
The deluge descended upon the ridged roof of the ark in a steady sullen
roar and surged against its sides. Hour followed hour and even the huge
wooden walls of the great ship trembled beneath the cataracts of the
rain. And soon from its long window nought was visible but a world lost
in water and lit by lightnings. And at length the ark that till then had
lain upon the earth as if no force could so much as stir its enormous
keel, was lifted as if by a gentle but mighty hand, swayed, came to rest
again, heaved upward, and floated on the waters.

When Noah and his three sons had gone their way to and fro in every part
of the great ship, carrying with them the lamps they had moulded out of
clay and filled with oil and a wick, and examined it in every part and
returned together and reported nothing amiss, they gave thanks to God
for their salvation.

And darkness, furious, awful and distraught, drew over the flooded
plain, whose encircling mountains were already veiled from view with the
wrack and cloud of tempest. Shrill outcries and lamentations were borne
faintly in on the blast of the winds, but at last died down and were
heard no more, unless from very far away. And the children were laid to
rest in the sleeping-places prepared for them.

But during that first night little sleep visited those who watched over
them. There were stirrings and sighings and snortings as the beasts they
had in charge snuffed the fragrance of the waters of the deluge and were
disquieted by the din and tumult. They shared a narrow solitude in that
chaos of water.

But as the days went by there came peace and tranquillity within the
ark, and at length the humans within it grew so accustomed to the
endless gushings of the rain upon roof and walls, that they were no
longer troubled or dismayed, and the sound of it at last became almost
unheeded.

Buoyant yet stable upon the face of the deluge, the ark floated beneath
the louring skies whithersoever wind and water led, in a mist so dense
no eye could discern where cloud and water met. But those within its
walls, and in the safety of God, went about their daily tasks,
portioning out the grain and fodder they had stored up within it, and
tending the living things they had within their charge, in trust and
confidence that they would be delivered at last from the danger and
desolation that beset them.

For forty days and forty nights the rains continued without pause or
abatement, and so obscure were the skies, that the light of dawn was
hardly to be discerned when it began, or the oncoming of darkness when
nightfall descended upon the deep.

The hours of sleep were divided into watches, Noah's three sons taking
each his turn, so that nothing should go amiss and remain undiscovered,
for each made his rounds according to the time set for him, passing from
one storey to another and ensuring that all was secure.

There came a day at last when the roar of the deluge began to diminish,
and the wind to fall to calm. And the fountains of the deep were sealed,
and the rain from heaven was restrained.

There was now quiet on high above the earth. But a deep gloom still
prevailed within the ark because of the prodigious canopy of cloud that
obscured the whole firmament. All sounds, except the stir and callings
within the wooden walls of the ark, were now hushed. And though there
was movement in the clouds above amid a vast sea of light where their
fleeces were smitten to silver by the sun, nothing of this could be
perceived from the window of the ark. Until one morning in his watch
before dawn Shem stood peering out alone across the tumultuous waste of
waters. And lo, as he looked he descried afar off a faint yet dazzling
strip of silver between earth and heaven on the margin of the deep. His
heart leapt within him, for he knew that it was the radiance of the
rising of the sun, and that he was looking towards the quarter of the
horizon which is the east.

He ran at once with these glad tidings to Noah, and they awakened Ham
and Japheth and their mother and their wives and their children, and all
rose up hastily and gathered together at the window and gazed out, their
minds filled with a joy beyond all words, their eyes exulting in this
first gleam of the veiled radiance of the clouded sun. There they knelt
and prayed together, and gave thanks to the Lord God.

Hour by hour the light increased, and the bitter surges of the deluge
sank to rest, until at last even the blue of heaven began to show. But
all around the ark, as far as sight could reach, there stretched a sea
of water, green and placid, though blackened here and there with ghastly
wreckage. It sparkled in the sunbeams, so that human eyes unaccustomed
to the glare were almost blinded as they watched. And ever and again the
mighty mastless vessel heaved on the slow swell that moved across the
deep, rose, and dipped again. The ocean of waters seemed to be lulling
itself to sleep with long-drawn sighs.

Moreover, not only the light but the heat of the sun now began to steal
its way into the confines of the ark. Through a crevice of the window
the bees found out an egress and sipped the dew on the roof and the
nectar of the few blossoming weeds that had found harbourage there. The
birds preened their wings and broke into merry wild-hearted song, whose
voices for many days had been still and mute. Their sweet-billed notes
rang shrill in the stealing sunshine.

From storey to storey, pen to pen, and chamber to chamber of the ark,
the beasts called the joyous news from one to the other, for happy life
began to stir again within them; and the desire for freedom, for the
woods and pastures, valley and mountain, to move in their blood.

But though to all seeming the rains were now over and gone, no sign of
land was anywhere detectable above the waters, nor even so far as could
be discerned through the mists that veiled the horizon, did any mountain
peak as yet uprear its crags. Yet morning, noon and evening the waters
which had prevailed upon the earth continued to abate.

And the Lord God remembered Noah, and those who were with him in the
ark. He caused a warm and gentle wind to pass over the earth, enveloping
the waters. They diminished continually until at length and in all
surety there showed afar off a mountain-crest jutting out above the
flood into the sapphire skies, as if fashioned of crystal and alabaster.

Then Noah, considering within himself, chose from among the birds in his
keeping a raven, and opening the window of the ark, he loosed it out of
his hand. With one clap of its wild wings it darted out into freedom,
and in the twinkling of an eye both the bird and its image reflected on
the glass of the waters had fled away and vanished out of sight, never
to return. For it found food in such abundance on which to glut itself
in the wreckage of the flood, that it came back to the ark no more.

Noah waited for seven days, then took a dove and released her from the
window of the ark. But the dove, that is a tender bird, found no rest
for the sole of her foot where she could be content, for still the
waters of the deluge covered the face of the earth, and she returned to
the ark and fluttered at the window. So Noah put out his hand and drew
the dove back into the safety of the ark.

He waited yet another seven days, then set her free again, and behold,
as they stood watching at evenfall, she came again to the window of the
ark, her snowy breast and plumage dyed with the rose of sunset, her
round eyes gleaming. There she alighted; but now she brought with her in
her bill a tender young olive leaf that she had plucked off from its
stem, and Noah knew that the waters were indeed abated and assuaged from
the earth.

And when he sent her forth again, she too returned to him no more.

The ark rested at last in the hollow between the peaks of Ararat, the
high mountains of Armenia, and Noah and his sons removed its timber roof
from off it, and they looked down upon dry ground. And the Lord God bade
Noah come forth from out of the ark, himself and his wife, his sons and
their wives and children.

'Bring out with thee,' said the Lord God, 'every living thing that is
with thee in the ark, beast and bird and creeping thing, that they may
be fruitful upon the earth and multiply.'

Then the sons of Noah took of the timber which they had stripped from
the ark and made a bridge of wood, and they thrust open the great door
and let down their wooden bridge. And Noah with all his household went
forth out of the ark under the blue of heaven in the burning sunshine
upon the earth again, now wondrously flourishing in the sweet airs of
the morning. They lifted their pale faces and breathed deep, and they
walked together upon the solid earth; and the cries of the children
resounded with delight, echoing against the weed-bearded sides of their
great weather-worn ship.

That morning was spent in setting free the host of living things, all in
order and each according to its kind, which had shared with them the
safety of the ark and which they had fed and tended throughout the days
of the flood.

Rejoiced they were to snuff the sweet free air of morning, and a mellay
of cries and challengings rose from their throats, as they leapt and
fawned and gambolled, shaking their shaggy coats, preening and sleeking
themselves and marvelling in the sunlight. It was as if for the time
being the peace of Eden had come upon the earth again, for during the
many days of their dwelling within the ark they had become at peace one
with another and with those who watched over them, and the enmity which
the wickedness and cruelty of man had brought upon the earth had lost
its sharpness, and for a while their fears and doubts of him were
stilled.

Then Noah built an altar to the Lord God and made sacrifice to him. And
the Lord God blessed Noah and his sons and gave them the earth for
their possession, and the lordship over all living things upon it for
their use and care. He bade Noah and his sons go out into the world with
their wives and children and seek each his own dwelling, so that their
children's children should increase upon the earth and live at peace one
with another, praising him who had given them life.

And as Noah and his household worshipped before the Lord, a faint mist,
high in the noonday firmament, shaped itself across the blue as if it
were a veil between heaven and earth, and the rays of the sun smote on
the mist, and a great bow of broken light, burning with all the radiant
colours that show upon the earth and in the sky and in the waters and
that are reflected in every living thing, flower and insect, beast and
plumed bird, spanned the peaks of Ararat, where Noah and his household
were gathered together with their possessions about the empty ark. It
arched the green world over; and the light of day smote fair upon their
upturned faces.

And the Lord God said to Noah: 'Behold, I have set my bow in the clouds,
and it shall be a token of an everlasting covenant between me and thee
and all that come after thee, that never more shall there be a flood to
destroy the earth where the life that I have created hath its dwelling.
But after the rain shall shine the sun, and this bow that I have set in
heaven shall be a sign of the covenant between the Lord God and his
living creatures upon the earth, for evermore.'




JOSEPH

JOSEPH'S DREAM


After the death of his father Isaac, Jacob, with his whole household,
his sons, his servants, his flocks and herds and sheep-dogs, came to
sojourn in the green and wooded vale of Hebron which is in Canaan. Here
they pitched their tents, and led their flocks afield, for Hebron lies
in a country rich in pastures and in clear wellsprings of water.

Now of all his eleven sons Jacob loved Joseph the best. Until Benjamin
was born, he was the youngest of them all, and he was too the only son
of his beautiful mother Rachel, who was very dear to Jacob. Not only for
this reason but for the child's own sake also, Joseph was Jacob's
best-beloved; and, with no thought of any ill that might come of it, he
favoured him in all things, delighted to talk to him, and he gave him
many presents.

He made him also a loose tunic or coat of many colours, sewn together in
delicate needlework in a bright pattern, and with sleeves to the wrists.
And Joseph, being in age still little more than a child, delighted in
his bright-coloured coat. But when his brothers saw it, they envied and
hated him. For in this his father had yet again shown his great love for
Joseph and had favoured him above themselves, and they could not speak a
friendly or peaceable word to him.

As Joseph grew older, and in all that he was and did showed himself more
and more unlike themselves, jealousy gnawed in their hearts like the
fretting of a canker-worm. Above everything, they scorned, and even
began to fear him, because of his dreams. They too, as they lay with
their flocks, wrapped in their goat-skin cloaks beneath the dews and
burning stars of the night, had their dreams; but these either vanished
on waking or were broken and senseless. But the dreams that came to
Joseph in his sleep were not only of a strange reality, but seemed to
carry with them a hidden meaning. They were like the crystal shimmering
pictures of the air, called _mirage_, seen by wanderers in the desert,
the reflections of things afar off.

One late summer evening when he chanced to be with them in the fields,
and sat a little apart from them, lost to all around him, in the light
of the moon--a moon so dazzling clear that even the colours of his coat
were faintly distinguishable--they asked him sourly what ailed him.

'He sits out there,' said one of them, 'mumbling his thoughts like an
old sheep too sick to graze.' Joseph answered that he had been haunted
all day by the memory of a dream. He was but a boy and he told his dream
out to them, thinking no evil.

'I dreamed,' he said, 'it was the time of harvest, and we were reaping
together in the fields. It was sunrise, and the corn being cut, we were
tying it up into sheaves. Even now I seem to feel the roughness of the
binder in my hand, though the place we were in was none I have ever seen
in waking. I tied up my sheaf and laid it down, as you did your
sheaves. And in my dream the sheaf that I had bound rose up as if of its
own motion from the stubble and stood up there in the burning sunshine,
and your own sheaves, that lay scattered around it, rose up also. And as
I looked, they bowed themselves and made obeisance to my sheaf that was
in the midst of them. Now what can be the meaning of such a dream, and
why does it stay so continually in my mind?'

His brothers tried in vain to hide their anger.

'Meaning, forsooth!' they said. 'Who art thou that we should bow
ourselves down before thee, and that thou shouldst have dominion over
us? The place for thee is with the women and sucklings in the tents.'
And they hated him the more.

Joseph was silent and made no answer, but the dream in its strangeness
and beauty stayed on in his mind. He knew it must surely have a meaning,
if only he could discover it; and when he dreamed again, he told his
dream not only to his brothers, but to his father.

'I dreamed,' he said, and his face was lit up at memory of it, 'and,
behold, in my dream it was the dead of night, yet the sun was in the
heavens and the moon also. They shone there together, and I could see
the stars. There was no wind, and all was still; and I counted the
stars, and they were eleven. And as I looked and wondered, it seemed
that not only these eleven stars, but the sun and the moon stooped and
bowed in their places in heaven before me and made obeisance. Then I
awoke.'

His brothers listened with louring faces, glancing covertly one at
another, but Jacob his father rebuked him.

'Cast such crazy fancies out of thy mind,' he said. 'And God forbid that
it should be even so much as in thy dreams that I and thy mother and thy
brethren should come to bow ourselves down before thee and be humbled
before thee!' None the less, the dream disquieted him, and there came a
day when he remembered it again.

It chanced one evening after this, and when Joseph had passed his
seventeenth birthday, that his father called him into his tent. He bade
him set out on the morrow and go in search of his brothers, who had led
their sheep to new pastures beyond the vale of Hebron, and not far
distant from a town called Shechem.

'Go thy way early and seek them out,' he said, 'for they are among
strangers and enemies. Ask them how they fare, and see for thyself if it
be well with them and with the flocks; and when you have rested, bring
me word of them again. And may the Lord watch over you!'

Proud and happy in the trust his father put in him, Joseph rose up at
daybreak next morning, kissed him, bade him good-bye, and set out at
once. The day was calm and fair. It was springtime, the air was sweet
with birds, and on the wayside and in the hollows of the hills hosts of
wild flowers shone in their colours in the sun, crocus and anemone and
narcissus. And as he went on his way, no omen chilled his heart of what
was in store for him, and no foreboding that every step he took was
towards a strange country from which in this life he would return home
again no more.

He came at length to Shechem, an old walled and beautiful city of
Samaria that with its gardens lay in a valley between two mountains, and
rang with the music of more than a score of water springs. But his
brothers were no longer there, and loth to return to his father without
news of them, he pressed on into country unknown to him, and lost his
way.

A stranger met him as he was wandering at random in the wild. He saw how
young he was, and that in spite of being anxious and footsore he still
held on his way, so he hailed him and inquired whom he was seeking.

'It is my brothers,' he said. 'They are shepherds, but have gone on from
Shechem where I looked to find them, and now I have lost my way. Tell
me, I pray thee, what place is this and where it is likely they have
gone?'

It chanced that this man had not only seen the shepherds but had
overheard them in talk one with another, and he told Joseph they were
now in all likelihood with their flocks near Dothan.

'It lies,' he said, 'on a hillside above its vineyards where there is a
plentiful well of water.' And he told him how he would find it. He
repeated what he had said, 'Follow on as I have told thee, and thou
canst not miss the way.'

He turned and watched until Joseph was out of sight. And Joseph hastened
on eagerly, all weariness forgotten. Now on the northern side of Dothan
there were hills, their slopes shagged with grey-green groves of
olives, but on the side towards the south, it was flat country, so that
his brothers, who were sitting there with their flocks and staring idly
out across the grassy plain, spied out Joseph while he was still afar
off. And they muttered morosely one to another: 'Behold, the dreamer
cometh!'

As they watched him making his way towards them in his coat of many
colours, the hatred that had long smouldered in their hearts broke into
flame, and some of them began devising together to murder him.

'He is alone and at our mercy,' they said. 'And here there is none to
heed his cries or tell the tale. Let us kill him, then, and hide his
body where it will never be found. Then we can go back with a tale that
a wild beast must have attacked and devoured him. And who shall deny
it?'

But Reuben, the eldest, overheard them muttering together. 'No, no; shed
no blood,' he said. 'If you must be rid of him, take him alive and fling
him into that pit yonder. But use no violence, or let any harm come to
him.'

This he said because he himself intended, when the opportunity came, to
set Joseph free, and to bring him back in safety again to his father.
The rest of them argued and wrangled, some on this side and some on
that, but at length they agreed together not to kill him. When Reuben
was sure of it, and that no harm would come to Joseph until he could
come back and take him into a place of safety, he left them and went
away alone.

Joseph drew near, rejoiced to be at the end of his long journey and to
see his brethren sitting in peace together with their flocks. But before
he could so much as give them greeting or tell them why he had come,
they seized on him, stifled his cries, stripped off his coat of many
colours, and bound him hand and foot. They carried him off to a deep
dried-up pit or water-cistern. Into this pit they flung him down, and
having dragged back the heavy stone again that had lain over the mouth
of the pit, they left him there, returned to their camping-place, and
sat down to eat.

While they were eating together, some jesting and others silent and
uneasy, they heard in the distance shouts and voices borne on the
windless air over the flat country. They lifted up their eyes and saw
afar off a company of Ishmaelites, merchantmen, with their camels. These
fierce swarthy tribesmen were journeying from Gilead which lay beyond
the Jordan, a region famed for its balsam and groves of tree laurel,
sweet with the murmur of wood-doves and the songs of birds. They were
following the track of the great caravans that would bring them to the
sand-dunes on the coast of the Great Sea, and then, on, and at length
into Egypt. Their camels, neckleted with chains of metal, their links
shaped like the crescent moon, were laden with sweet-smelling spiceries
and fragrant gums which they had brought with them to barter or sell to
the Egyptian embalmers and physicians.

When Judah, who had sat silent and aloof, saw these men with their
camels, he said to his brethren: 'See now, here is a way out. If we
leave the lad in the pit, he will perish of thirst and we shall be no
less guilty of his death than if we had killed him with our own hands.
Let us hail those accursed Ishmaelites, and sell him for what he will
fetch. That way we shall see some profit in what we do, and we shall be
for ever rid of him and his dreams. But not death, I say--for is he not
our brother, the son of our father, and of our own flesh and blood?'

To this, though sullenly, they agreed. It was near sunset when, dragging
away the heavy well-stone again, his brothers drew Joseph up out of the
pit and freed him from the thongs with which they had bound him. He
stood half-naked and trembling, faint with the heat of the pit. The sun
smote blindingly on his eyes after the pitchy darkness in which he had
lain--beaten and bruised and unable to stir hand or foot. He watched,
while his brothers bargained with the crafty dark-browed Ishmaelites.
They agreed at last to sell him to them for twenty pieces of silver, and
divided the money between them. This done, the Ishmaelites knotted the
cord that still shackled Joseph's wrists to the saddle of one of their
camels, and continued on their way.

When Reuben came back at nightfall to the pit, called, and found it
empty, he was smitten with remorse. He rent his clothes; and returned in
despair to the camping-place. There he found his brethren and their
flocks, hedged about with branches of thorn as a protection against wild
animals.

'The lad is gone,' he said, 'and I, whither now shall I go?' But some of
them pretended to be asleep, and none made answer.

Next day they killed a kid and dabbled Joseph's coat in its blood, then
turned homewards with their flocks, and came at length to their own
place and to their father's tent, and, with the pretence of grief on
their faces, stood before him. His first thought was for Joseph, but he
looked in vain for him.

Jacob questioned them anxiously. And when he told them how Joseph had
been sent out to seek them in the valley of Shechem, they stared one at
another, as though in horror and dismay. Then one of them named Simeon
took out the torn and blood-be-dabbled coat and spread it out before
him.

'We knew nothing of what thou sayest until now,' he said. 'But on our
way back from Dothan where we lay, we passed by a thicket of thorn trees
in a wild and solitary place, and we found this. It is so bedraggled and
drenched with blood that we cannot be sure if it be the coat you gave
Joseph. See now, is this thy son's coat, or no?'

Jacob looked and trembled and turned away. 'It is my son's coat,' he
said. 'My son, Joseph! An evil beast hath devoured him; Joseph is
without doubt rent in pieces. I shall never see his face again!'

He bowed himself in his grief and wept. He rent his clothes, and put on
sackcloth like one who goes in mourning for the dead, and withdrew
himself from them all, and remained in solitude for many days. His
daughters and his sons, grown sick of their own treachery, came to him
in hope to comfort him, but he refused to be comforted.

'Beyond the grave,' he said, 'but not until then, we two shall meet
again. And my son Joseph will see how I have mourned for him.' And he
continued to grieve for Joseph, so great was the love he bore him. Only
in Benjamin, who was his youngest son, did Jacob find solace as time
went by. He loved and treasured him not only for his own sake but
because, now that Joseph was gone, he was the only child left of his
mother Rachel, for she had died when he was born.




JOSEPH IN PRISON


After many days' journey, in scorching sun by day and starry cold by
night, the Ishmaelitish merchantmen, with their camels and spices and
other merchandise, came down into Egypt. There all that Joseph saw was
new and strange to him. They made their way into the chief city of Egypt
and pushed on through the babel of its thronged and narrow streets into
the market-place. Here they unladed their camels. On the morrow they
took Joseph into the slave-market, where captives from all countries
that bordered the land of Egypt were bought and sold. And Joseph himself
was bought by an Egyptian whose name was Potiphar, a man of wealth and
one of the king's high officers.

At first sight of his keen open face, though it was now haggard with
pain and sleeplessness, Potiphar judged well of Joseph. Unlike most of
his slaves, Joseph was not sent to labour in the fields and vineyards
under a taskmaster, but was taken into Potiphar's house and became his
personal servant.

And the Lord was with Joseph; he kept him in all perils. Whatever Joseph
did, he did well. He prospered in the house of his master, the Egyptian.
And seeing that in all things he was upright and faithful, Potiphar as
the years went by gave Joseph more and more authority in his household,
and at last made him steward or overseer over his servants and his
slaves, not only those who were within the house, but also over his
gardeners and the tenders of his orchards and vineyards. So entire was
his trust in Joseph that he had no care or anxieties apart from his
office under Pharaoh the king, and knew nothing of what passed in his
household except only what he himself had to eat and drink. In all that
Joseph did, he was answerable to Potiphar alone.

Yet in age Joseph was still but a young man. He was of a natural
courtesy, and he had an open and beautiful countenance. And Potiphar's
wife, who had often cast her eyes on him as he went about his business
in the house, began to lie in wait for him and to pine for his company.
She was a woman false and vain, and by all the deceits she knew she
strove to beguile him, and at last spoke openly of her love. But he
hated her, mind and body, and refused to listen.

'I entreat thee,' he said, 'say no more. My lord has shown me many
kindnesses. He has made me chief of all his servants, and so complete is
his trust in me that when at evening he returns home, he does not even
question me on what has passed in the house during his absence.
Everything and everyone in it has been given into my charge except only
thee thyself; for thou art his wife. How vile a thing would it be, then,
if I were to deceive him and sin against God.'

Day followed day, and still the Egyptian's wife continued to pester him,
until there came a morning when, they being alone together, lovesick and
shameless, she once more besought him. He turned from her with
loathing, and fled out of the house. And she knew at last that her
deceits were in vain. Her love, never else than false, corrupted
instantly into bitter hatred. And having proof that Joseph had been in
her company, she set about to revenge herself against him.

She summoned the other chief servants of the household and lied to them.
'See now,' she said, 'this vile Hebrew whom my lord bought from the
slave-traders and set up over you all! Why, he makes mock and insult
even of me, the wife of his master. There is nothing safe from him.'

That night when her husband was with her she lyingly accused Joseph, and
this she did so guilefully, weeping, and as though in shame of having to
confess what would anger and trouble him, that Potiphar believed her
every word. He was beside himself with rage. He summoned his slaves and
bade that Joseph should be bound and instantly cast into prison--the
prison where offenders against King Pharaoh himself were kept in
captivity. And Potiphar thought of him no more.

There Joseph lay, in a foul dungeon, and was set to such pitiless labour
that when night came and the day was done, he was thankful to fling
himself down in the darkness and forget his miseries in sleep. Yet in
spite of all the hardships that he shared with the rest of the
prisoners--driven and beaten and half-starved--he never gave up hope or
lost courage. And the Lord was with Joseph in the prison. As time went
on, his mere presence there became a solace to the wretchedness of those
who languished with him, and the guards or warders spoke well of him,
eased his labour and freed him of his fetters.

It thus came about that the governor of the prison having heard nothing
but good of Joseph, began himself to show him favour. He discovered that
this young Hebrew was not only a man whom he could trust in word and in
deed, but that he was of a rare sagacity of mind, wise in counsel, swift
in decision, and fearless in acting as he deemed right. At length he set
Joseph next in authority under himself, and gave not only his chief
captives into his charge but even the control of the prison.

Years passed by, and though Joseph was now no longer wretched in body,
and had many things to busy his mind, the freedom he longed for seemed
as far away as Canaan itself. Yet he did not repine; nor did he ever
despair of his release at last. Whatever the days or the years might
bring, he trusted in the Lord, and in that trust his mind was at peace.

Now there came a day when the chief butler and the chief baker of
Pharaoh the King of Egypt--the one his cupbearer or high chamberlain and
the other his steward--offended against their lord, the king. So hot was
his wrath against them that he not only banished them from his presence,
but commanded that they should be given into the charge of the governor
of the prison, who was captain of the guard, until he himself had
considered what punishment they merited.

These two, the chief butler and the chief baker, were men of high
standing in the court of Pharaoh. Wherefore the governor of the prison
bade Joseph himself attend on them, instructing him to show them the
courtesies due to their rank and office, but none the less to be
vigilant that they did not escape. Morning and evening Joseph waited
upon them, and they found such solace in his company, and came so much
to trust in his discretion that they would talk freely with him and
confide in him their hopes and cares.

The days of their confinement in the prison had continued for many
months when on one and the same night these two, the chief butler and
the chief baker, dreamed each of them a dream, then awoke and dreamed no
more. Even when daylight was come they could not rid their minds of what
had troubled their sleep. And as they sat together in the room that had
been set apart for them in the prison-house, they told one another their
dreams. They were deeply troubled and perplexed, for their dreams were
of a kind that seem to be haunted with a hidden meaning, yet neither of
them could discover it or expound it the one to the other.

So it was that when Joseph came in to them in the morning, and greeted
them, their voices were low and spiritless, and their faces dejected as
if they had some burden on their minds. And though there were few in the
prison under him who were never wretched and in despair, he did his
utmost to enhearten all he could, not only because this was natural to
him, but because he himself was in not much better case than they.

At last, looking upon these two as friend to friend, he questioned
them. 'Why,' he said, 'are your faces downcast, and why do you look so
sadly this morning?'

The chief butler answered: 'This night that is gone we have each of us
dreamed a dream. Dreams closely resembling one another that have haunted
our minds ever since, yet that we can neither understand nor forget.
Were we free men, we could consult some diviner of dreams who would
declare them to us and make them clear. But in this prison-house where
shall we find anyone who has the least knowledge of the matter?'

'The divination of dreams,' said Joseph, 'is with God. I too have been a
dreamer. Tell me your dreams, I might help you. It grieves me to see you
so sad.'

Then first the chief butler told Joseph his dream. It was in this wise.
'I dreamed,' he said, 'I saw a vine, greener in its freshness to the
sight than any vine my waking eyes have ever beheld. This vine had three
branches, and little by little yet all in an instant and even as I
watched, they broke into buds which themselves unfolded into blossom,
and these having dropped their petals became clusters of green grapes
that ripened and swelled before my very eyes. All in a moment the vine
that had been winter-bare was heavy with fruit. And behold, the cup of
the king, of King Pharaoh, was in my hand, though till then I knew it
not. And I plucked a cluster of the grapes and pressed its juices into
the cup, and it was wine; and I hastened in from the vineyard into the
palace and gave the cup into Pharaoh's hand. Then I awoke, and could
sleep no more.'

Joseph listened. So intent was he on the words as they were spoken that
he himself seemed to be lost in dream; and when the chief butler had
fallen silent, and sat eagerly watching his face as he stood before
them, he made answer like one deep in reverie.

'This,' he said, 'is the meaning and interpretation of thy dream. The
vine thou sawest was the vine of Time, and the three branches upon it
were three days which in life as we live it may come and go like shadows
upon water, but which in thy dream budded, flowered, and bore clusters
of ripe refreshing grapes all in a moment, and so--to Pharaoh the King.
Be no more sad or downcast, but take comfort, for in three days thy
troubles shall be over. Pharaoh will remember thee, and will show thee
grace and restore thee into his favour, and thou shalt be his cupbearer
and minister to him as of old. And oh!' he added, 'when it is well with
thee, I beseech thee of thy kindness remember me, and make mention of me
to Pharaoh, and, if it may be, bring me out of this prison. Canaan is my
country; I was sold into slavery when I was but a lad, and snatched away
by force from the tents and pastures where I lived as a child, and from
a father who loved me. And I have done nothing here that they should
have cast me into a dungeon.'

The chief butler, in the fullness of his heart, gladly promised Joseph
all that he asked of him.

Meanwhile the chief baker had sat intently listening to all that had
passed, his eyes in his narrow, hawklike face fixed upon Joseph. And
when he knew that there was nothing but good and fair in the chief
butler's dreams, he at once related his own.

'This was my dream,' he said. 'I was walking--and no one by--in the open
under the heavens, and there were three baskets upon my head, one on the
top of the other. And I knew--though how I cannot tell--that in the
uppermost of the three baskets were fine wheaten loaves of my own making
for the king's table, and for the lords of his household. And this was a
strange thing, for I am, you must know, by nature exceedingly careful of
what is in my charge, and though the loaves were for the table of my
lord the uppermost basket was uncovered. Now as I walked, the skies
overhead became leaden, overcast and dark. Wherefore I went on in haste
to do my office, but the birds of the air, spying out these dainties,
swooped down in a ravenous fluttering cloud over my head and I was
powerless to scare them away. As I say, they came down upon me in a
host, scrabbling upon the basket, and devoured everything that was in
it. Now tell me, seeing that all is well, why were the heavens above me
dark, and why was my topmost basket uncovered?'

On hearing this, Joseph turned away his head in distress and made no
answer. The face of the chief baker wanned, but he pressed Joseph to
speak; and Joseph was at last persuaded.

'May it be forgiven me,' he said, 'but this, alas! is the meaning of thy
dream. As with the vine and its three branches, so the three baskets on
thy head were a symbol of three days. In three days from this, Pharaoh
the King will hale thee too out of this prison-house. But not for good.
He has discovered some evil, and in his wrath he will hang thee on a
tree, and the birds of the air shall eat thy flesh from off thy bones.'

All came about as Joseph had foretold. On the third day after, Pharaoh
made a feast to all his household, for it was his birthday; and his high
officers and the lords and governors of his provinces were bidden to the
feast, and there were rejoicings throughout Egypt.

As was his custom, Pharaoh commemorated his birthday by recalling to
mind those of his officers and servants who had offended against him. To
some he granted amnesty and pardon, and forgave them. And among these
was his chief butler. He was recalled into favour and, as in former
times, waited upon his lord the king as his cupbearer when he sat at
meat.

As for the chief baker, Pharaoh's anger was hard against him, for much
was revealed that had been hidden. He too was set free from prison, but
to be hanged on high upon a gibbet. And the birds of the air stripped
his bones of their flesh, and another man was appointed in his stead. So
all things came to pass as Joseph had divined and foretold; yet did not
the chief butler remember Joseph, but forgot him.

Seeing at length that no help was to come from him, Joseph cast out of
memory the longing that had sprung up in his heart that day, like a
gourd after rain, and for the two years that followed he continued to go
about his duties as he was accustomed to in the prison-house.




JOSEPH DIVINES PHARAOH'S DREAM


But there came a day when Pharaoh the king himself dreamed a dream, and
was profoundly troubled in spirit.

It seemed he stood beside a river, and there came up out of its waters
seven kine or cows, which fed together at the river's brink. And as his
eyes watched them in his dream, they were followed by another seven
kine, different in shape and appearance, which, browsing nearer,
suddenly fell upon and devoured the seven that he had first seen. And he
awoke.

When at length the drowsiness of sleep stole over his senses, he dreamed
again. He saw, as it were, flourishing upon one stalk or stem seven full
ears of corn. But as he looked and wondered, there sprouted out on the
same stem another seven, black and mildewed, which so utterly destroyed
and defaced the full ears that nothing of them remained. Again he awoke,
shaken and cold with dismay.

Sleep returned to him no more that night. He lay weary and restless,
pondering on these dreams, which unfolded themselves again and again
before his waking eyes as vividly as in sleep. But however intently he
considered them and compared them one with another, he could draw out of
them no semblance of a meaning for the reality of day. Yet he was
assured in his heart that these dreams were no mere idle shows of the
night, but had been sent to warn him and held a meaning as yet hidden
from him.

Even when the fair beams of morning lit up his great chamber windows and
the day had begun, his mind was no less disquieted and dark with
foreboding. So he summoned his diviners and magicians--men who were wise
in the interpretation of dreams and of omens. With heads shaven, and in
their white mantles, they came into his presence, made obeisance,
chaunted his praises, and stood awaiting his pleasure.

But when he had told them his dreams, they were one and all at a loss to
expound them. And though they debated long together, and each of them
did his utmost by every means of magic and sorcery that he knew to
discover a meaning, there was none of his diviners that satisfied
Pharaoh or in whom he could put his trust. He dismissed them from his
presence with displeasure. And when the chief butler, who was waiting
upon him, saw in what disquietude of mind the king was, and how even the
most cunning of his soothsayers had been unable to interpret his dreams,
there sprang up in his mind memory of the long heavy weeks that he had
shared in captivity in the prison-house with the chief baker, now long
dead, and how their cares had ended.

That evening, as Pharaoh sat at table, he asked leave to speak to the
king. 'Thy servant,' he said, 'hath this day been reminded of the past
and of a promise that he made but that until now he has failed to keep,
for which he is greatly to blame. Pharaoh may of his grace remember that
some time ago he was offended with his servant, and also with his
servant who was at that time the chief baker in Pharaoh's palace. And we
were both of us put under ward of the governor of the prison, both
myself and the chief baker. One night--after many weary days of
banishment from Pharaoh's presence--we dreamed a dream, both I myself
and he, and were greatly troubled. For our dreams seemed to have some
meaning, though we knew not what it was. Next morning we told one
another our dreams, which were of a likeness one with the other, and we
were sorely perplexed by them. And there came in as was usual, a young
man, a Hebrew, the servant of the governor of the prison, who waited
upon us. We had spoken with him before, and thought well of him and of
his understanding and courtesy. And each in turn we told him--the chief
baker and myself--our dreams. And behold, even as he expounded them to
us, so everything came to pass. My lord the king, of his mercy, restored
me into his favour, and made me his cupbearer again, even as I am to
this day. But the chief baker did not find favour in Pharaoh's eyes, and
was hanged.'

'What manner of man,' said Pharaoh, 'was this young Hebrew?'

'He was a young man of a rare wisdom and of a beautiful countenance. The
governor of the prison-house thought well of him, and it grieves me that
I have forgotten him so long.'

Then Pharaoh sent messengers to the governor of the prison, and bade him
(if this young Hebrew were still alive), deliver him up without delay,
and bring him into the presence of the king. Whereupon the governor of
the prison sent in haste for Joseph to do the king's bidding, and told
him that Pharaoh himself had sent for him. They were by now friends
together, servant and master, and he spoke kindly to him, and wished him
well, and lent him suitable clothes in which to appear before the king.
So Joseph shaved himself, put off his prison clothes, and changed his
raiment, and was brought into the vast pillared council hall of the
royal palace, and into the presence of Pharaoh himself.

Surrounded by his priests and diviners, his noblemen and officers of
state, some among them men of Syria and Ethiopia and of Nubia, chosen
from near and far for their sagacity or valour or influence to serve
him, Pharaoh was seated upon a dais under a canopy. He was garbed in a
robe of fine linen adorned with gold and coloured enamel. His chair of
state was of gold. Two serpent heads of gold couched on his temples.
Beside him stood his fan-bearers.

When Joseph had been brought in, he made obeisance to Pharaoh, bowing
with his face to the ground before him, and stood where he was. But
Pharaoh bade him draw near, and looking gravely upon him, spoke with
him--these two together.

'I have dreamed a dream,' he said, 'which the spirit within me assures
me has a meaning that is of moment--and a meaning moreover of which I
should be made speedily aware. But there is none among my priests and
diviners who can expound it to me. It has been told to Pharaoh that thou
thyself art possessed of a natural understanding of dreams, and a
divination to pierce through their strange disguises to what they
intend. Is that so?'

And Joseph answered the king: 'The interpretation of dreams is with God,
and only he of his wisdom can give the insight to divine this dream.'

Pharaoh stooped forward a little where he sat. 'So be it,' he said. And
he told Joseph his dream.

'I dreamed,' he said, 'I stood upon the bank of a great river in flood.
And as I stood musing there, looking upon the turbid flowing waters,
behold, there came up out of the river seven kine. They came up, I say,
out of the river--sleek, well-nourished beasts, and comely. They browsed
together in the green sedges in the pastures of the marsh by the brink
of the river. And as I looked, yet another seven kine came up from out
of the river; but these were beasts lank and deformed, dreadful to look
upon and ominous. Indeed I have never seen their like before in the
whole land of Egypt. These also stood grazing awhile, and in so doing,
drew near to the other seven. And it seemed in my dream--more swiftly
even than I can recount it now--that of a sudden the lean lank cows fell
upon and utterly devoured the seven that were sleek and comely. Yet
could no mortal eye see any change in them. They were none the better
for it, but remained as lean and lank as before. At this I awoke,
troubled with an inward dread.

'When at length sleep returned to me, I dreamed again. But this dream is
hard to tell, it was so swift in vanishing; and it appeared, as it were,
all in the empty air. I saw upon one stalk seven ears of corn, full and
fair and ripe for harvest, which yet in an instant were clean gone and
vanished away, devoured by seven other ears, meagre and mildewed and
smitten with the corruption of the burning blast of the east wind. Then
I awoke and could sleep no more.

'These then are the dreams that I have related to my magicians and
diviners of secret things, and not one of them has yet been able to make
clear their meaning to me, yet meaning my mind assures me they have.'

He ceased speaking, and Joseph stood awhile silent before him, his face
rapt and absent, his eyes fixed. Then he raised his head and looked on
Pharaoh, and bowed himself before him and made answer:

'The two dreams,' he said, 'have one meaning, and in both of them God
has revealed to Pharaoh what he is about to do. The river the king saw
in his dream was the river of Egypt, which, like time, flows on
continually, and year after year renews the harvest on which Pharaoh's
whole realm and might depend. The seven cows that came up out of its
waters were sign and symbol of seven years. So also with the dream of
the harvest-field; the meaning of both dreams is the same. The first
seven in each dream mean seven full and copious years--years of great
plenty. So, too, with the seven lank and famished cows, and the seven
ears of corn stricken and blasted with the east wind. These are seven
years of famine. By Pharaoh's dreams God intended to reveal to him that
a period of abundant harvests is coming to Egypt, and that the whole
nation will rejoice in them. But after them will follow seven years of
bad harvests, years of woe and dearth. So that not only will the seven
good harvests be forgotten in Egypt, but the people will be in want and
misery and will cry for bread. It was God's will that this should be
revealed to Pharaoh in the dreams of sleep. Therefore Pharaoh dreamed
twice, since two warnings are better than one. And what has been
forewarned God himself will surely bring to pass.'

Pharaoh pondered, his eyes fixed upon the face of Joseph, and he knew in
his heart that the interpretation of his dreams which this young Hebrew
had given him was the true meaning of them.

In this belief he questioned Joseph: 'Verily I believe what thou sayest
to be true. When, then, the seven evil years draw near, what hath thy
God revealed to thee should Pharaoh do?'

Joseph considered within himself in silence awhile. Then he answered
Pharaoh that he should choose from among his counsellors a man wise and
far-sighted, and to him should authority be given over all Egypt. Let
this man, Joseph said also, appoint officers to serve under him, men of
trust and repute, each in his own province throughout the land. During
the seven years of plenty it should be their duty at the time of harvest
to collect under the king's authority and each in his own province, a
fifth of all the corn and wheat that had been grown in that province,
and to store it in barns or granaries that should be built in the chief
cities.

'By this means,' said Joseph, 'a vast store of grain will be gathered
together and kept safe in the granaries, sealed under the seal of
Pharaoh the King, and nothing of it during the first seven plentiful
years shall be used or wasted. Then when the years of famine come, the
doors of the granaries shall be opened, and the people will bring their
money and buy food according to their need. Only thus can the disaster
of famine be prevented, and the people shall realize the wisdom and
foresight of the father of all, Pharaoh the King.'

The wisdom of what Joseph had said was simple and clear, and yet showed
a marvellous insight into affairs of state in one so young. His face,
too, was moved and eager with his thoughts. He spoke like one who
repeats what he hears as though it is prompted by a voice within
him--one whose only thought is truth, having neither heed nor fear of
aught else. Pharaoh fixed his regard on him with great care and
intentness. He himself had a mind generous and able to perceive a wisdom
that was yet beyond his own divining, as the moon gains her light from
the sun.

At last he withdrew his eyes from Joseph and turned to the courtiers and
counsellors that were about him. And they too marvelled.

Then said Pharaoh the King: 'Where in all my realm shall we find one to
excel, nay even to equal this man in wisdom and understanding, and in
whom is the spirit of God?'

Then he turned again to Joseph: 'I see,' he said, 'that the God of all
is with thee, and there is none in all my realm can give me wiser
counsel than thyself. To thee, then, do I entrust the doing and
execution of all that thou hast advised. Full authority do I ordain to
thee over the whole land of Egypt, to choose out able and trustworthy
men to be officers over my provinces, to amass the corn during the
years of plenty, to store the grain, and to obey thee in everything at
pain of their lives as thou shalt direct. And all my people shall obey
thee, according to my decree.'

In token of this, Pharaoh took his signet ring from off his finger and
put it upon Joseph's finger. And he arrayed Joseph in a robe of fine
linen such as was worn only by the chief lords of Egypt and by the
king's counsellors. Over this he hung about Joseph's neck a chain of
fine gold. And Pharaoh gave command that a chariot should be prepared
for Joseph that in beauty and richness of workmanship should be but
second to his own. Thus Pharaoh appointed Joseph lord over all the land
of Egypt.

'I am the Pharaoh,' he said, 'and this is my decree: that not a man
shall stir hand or foot in all Egypt without thy consent.' Pharaoh,
moreover, gave Joseph a name which he himself had chosen,
_Zaphnath-paanear_, meaning thereby the saviour of the land, or the
revealer of secrets.

From that day onwards, apart from Pharaoh himself, Joseph was first in
Egypt in rank and power. He was thirty years of age when he was made
Pharaoh's chief counsellor or vizier. When the king in his splendour,
attended by his courtiers and high officers and with his guard of
horsemen, rode out in state from city to city throughout the land of
Egypt, the chariot of Joseph followed next after his own. And a herald
or runner went on before his chariot to announce his coming. And the
people in the streets and all who waited everywhere to watch and to see
him, bowed the knee to Joseph as he passed by, hailing him with
acclamations of ''_Abrek! 'Abrek!_ Lo, now, pay heed. Behold the lord of
all!'

By the grace of Pharaoh also, Joseph took to wife Asenath, the daughter
of a prince of Egypt named Potipherah, who was priest of the Temple of
the Sun in the city of Heliopolis or On.

As he had foretold, the harvests of the seven years that followed were
marvellously rich and plenteous. In all things according to his command,
the officers or stewards whom he had appointed to serve under him
collected a fifth of all the crops in Egypt, and laid it up in
many-chambered granaries. These--in cities where there was none already
for the feeding of the king's army and his slaves--had been built for
this purpose. In every city was a granary wherein was hoarded the grain
that was not needed for food in the country surrounding it. The corn
thus accumulated throughout Egypt was at last like the sand of the sea
for abundance, so that no strict account could be taken of it, for the
plenty of it passed all measuring.

In these years two sons were born to Joseph. The first he named
Manasseh, a word that means, 'Causing to forget', for, as he said to
Asenath, the mother of his son, 'God hath made me forget the labour that
is gone.' And his second son he called Ephraim, which means, 'Fruitful',
for God had made him to grow and to flourish and had blessed him in a
strange land wherein first he had had nothing.

But the seven years of plenty came to an end, and they were followed by
seven years of extreme dearth and famine. During these years the mighty
river of Egypt which in its annual season flooded the country on either
side of its banks, leaving behind it when its waters fell away a rich
silt or sediment without which the arid sunbaked sands of Egypt would
have borne no crops at all, had flowed further inland than in living
memory it had ever flowed before. But in the next seven years its waters
ran scant and shallow, so that only a narrow ribbon of land on either
side of the dwindling river could be sown with seed. Nor was the famine
in Egypt alone, but in all the countries surrounding it.

When the people of Egypt had consumed what corn they had themselves
saved and laid aside from their good harvests, and were in great need,
they appealed to Pharaoh for food. And Pharaoh made proclamation that
any in want should come to Joseph who, as his vizier, had power to
ordain all things as seemed best to him.

Then Joseph gave orders to the stewards whom he had appointed in the
cities of Egypt that the granaries and storehouses which were stuffed to
their roofs with grain, their entries sealed with Pharaoh's seal, should
now be opened up, and that corn should be sold to all that came to buy.
And as from time to time he decreed, so was the price fixed.

When rumour spread far and wide that while there was famine in all the
countries neighbouring on Egypt, there was plenty in Egypt itself, there
came strangers and aliens from all parts into Egypt to buy corn. It had
become the warehouse of the world. And Pharaoh's treasuries were filled
to overflowing with the money that was paid to the stewards of the
granaries, both by the Egyptians and by the strangers that came from
afar with their caravans, their camels and their asses. There, none was
poor and none hungry.

As in all the countries bordering on Egypt, so it was in the land of
Canaan, and even in the well-watered and fruitful vale of Hebron, where
in their tents dwelt Jacob and his sons. Their harvest had failed again
and yet again. The earth was parched up in the heat of the sun. The
pastures near and far lay bare and dry. Their flocks and herds were
perishing for lack of grass and fodder, and there was an extreme dearth.
So great was their need that their store of corn would soon be at an
end, and they knew not where to turn for help.

There came a stranger one evening to their tents who reported that there
was not only corn in Egypt, but in such plenty that it was for sale to
all who came, and that he himself was about to set out thither. Those of
the sons of Jacob who heard him, listened eagerly, but said nothing.

The stranger was entertained with what little hospitality they had to
offer. And when he had bidden them farewell and gone his way, Jacob
turned to his sons and said: 'Why do you stand looking darkly and
doubtfully one at another? What folly is this? Has not this man told us
that there is corn in Egypt, and that we can buy there all we need? Up,
and take money with you then, saddle your asses and set out without
delay. Make all the speed you can, both in going and returning, that we
may live and not die.'

They turned from him without a word and began to prepare for their
journey. On the morrow the ten brothers set out from Hebron, following
the track of the great caravans that go down from Gilead into Egypt, as
had the Ishmaelitish merchantmen two and twenty years gone by, when for
twenty shekels of silver his brothers had sold Joseph into slavery and
he had been led off at the coming on of night, never to return.

But Jacob would not let Benjamin go with his brethren, lest peradventure
any harm should come to him.




JOSEPH'S BROTHERS IN EGYPT


Day by day the great caravan which Joseph's ten brothers had joined with
their asses was swollen with strangers of sundry races and tongues and
with their beasts of burden. And in the midst of this barbaric concourse
they came at last to the chief city of Egypt, where Joseph was now
vizier or viceroy, second only in power and lordship to Pharaoh himself.

When with their money they entered the granary to buy corn, the clerks
who kept tally of the corn mistrusted them at sight. First, because they
were Hebrews, and next, because on being questioned they could give only
a confused account of themselves, being unable to make themselves
understood in the Egyptian tongue. The clerks brought them to the
steward who had control of the granary, and he himself, having
interrogated them and doubting what they said in answer, sent them under
guard to the great hall of the vizier.

They were brought therefore into the presence of Joseph himself, where
he sat surrounded by his officers and by those in attendance upon him.
There they waited before him until he was at liberty to hear for what
reason they had been brought thither. He raised his eyes at length, and
bidding the steward come forward, saw these ten strangers awaiting his
pleasure.

At sight of them his heart leapt within him. He knew instantly who they
were, and longed to make himself known to them. Only joy was in his
heart to see them; but first, he determined to test them and to discover
how time had used and changed them. So he sat motionless and made no
sign of recognition. They drew near, and bowed themselves before him
with their faces to the earth.

And, as if the long years that had gone by had never been, the dreams of
his boyhood returned into his mind--the sheaves of corn in the fields of
harvest, and the stars in the night sky. But his brothers gazed at him
only with awe and misgiving; they were troubled, being strangers in a
strange land, and ignorant of why they were regarded with suspicion and
mistrust. And they knew him not, for the years had much changed him. He
had been but a stripling in his first youth when they had last seen him,
bruised and bound and almost naked in the hands of the Ishmaelites. Now
he was come to his full manhood, being thirty and nine years old, and he
had seen many sorrows and afflictions. Besides which he sate before
them, grave and austere, and raimented in his robes of office, Pharaoh's
chain of gold about his neck, his signet ring upon his finger. They knew
only that they were in the presence of one who had supreme authority,
and that their safety and maybe their very lives were in his hands.

With countenance unmoved he heard the reasons given by the steward of
the granary for their having been brought before him, though all that
was said was past their own understanding. Then he called for an
interpreter and, through him, addressed them as if they were not only
men of no account but under sharp suspicion. He spoke harshly to them.

'Whence come you?' he asked them.

'From the land of Canaan,' they answered.

'And why?'

'We are come hither to buy food,' they said.

But he pretended not to believe them. 'Nay,' he said, 'that maybe is a
reason simple enough as you think to deceive me. But I give it no
credence. What proof of it have you? It is not to buy food that you are
come hither, but rumour having reached you that there is dearth in Egypt
and that its people are in distress, you are here to spy out the
defences of the land. You are enemies of my lord the king. Treason is
your aim. You are spies.'

They protested, assuring him that this was not so. 'Indeed, my lord,'
they said, 'we are no spies, but peaceable men, shepherds. Our grain was
all but spent, and our flocks and herds were dwindling daily for lack of
pasture. The famine is very grievous in Canaan. And having heard that
there was corn in Egypt, we set out with money to buy. But the men of
the granary refused to sell to us.'

'They did well,' said Joseph. 'For I perceive by your very looks and
demeanour that you are spies--Hebrew spies. To see the nakedness of the
land you are come.'

'But indeed no, my lord,' they pleaded, 'for were we spies, we should
not be together and in one company. Indeed we are ten brethren of one
household, sons of one father, and----'

But Joseph broke in upon them. His countenance had darkened, though
they knew not why. '"Ten," you say; have you then no other brother? Has
this father you speak of no other sons?'

'Yea, my lord,' they said, 'there is the youngest. But he is very dear
to our father and remains with him in Canaan. And there was yet another,
but he is no longer with us. Indeed, my lord, thy servants are honest
men, and no spies.'

But Joseph still professed not to believe them. 'Whether what you say be
true or false,' he said, 'I cannot yet tell. But I will put you to the
proof. For by the life of Pharaoh, you shall not escape me until I have
assurance that you are the shepherds of Canaan you say you are, and
nought else.'

Without further word, he gave orders that they should be kept in strict
charge until he should have time and occasion to examine them again.
They were thrust into prison and lay there three days, being treated not
as captives condemned to punishment, but as men under arrest and
suspicion. On the third day they were brought before him again.

Joseph told them that he had considered the account they had given of
themselves. 'Your lives,' he said, 'are in my hands; and of a surety, if
what you tell me prove false, you are in very great peril. But my trust
is in God, in whom is truth and justice. You profess to be harmless
shepherds of sheep, sons of one father dwelling in Canaan. Hearken,
then! I will believe you so far as to keep only one of you, as hostage
for the rest, until you return again. Begone out of Egypt at once, take
with you the corn you came to buy, and go in haste, for if what you have
said be true, your father and your wives and children may be in sore
straits for want of food. But bear in mind that you do this only on one
condition, namely, that without delay you return again into Egypt and to
this city, bringing with you the youngest of you, this brother of whom
you have spoken. By this alone shall I be assured of your honesty, and
by this alone shall you save the life of the one among you who remains
in bondage in Egypt. Else he shall surely die.'

In low voices they talked anxiously one with another as they stood
before him, debating what he had said, and wholly unaware that he knew
their language, for this day also he had addressed them only in the
Egyptian tongue, and by means of an interpreter who was familiar with
the Hebrew.

The long hours of doubt and dread they had spent in the prison-house had
brought the past before their minds, and though they had spoken with
caution lest they should be overheard, there had been strife between
them. For even remorse itself makes enemies of those who have conspired
together in evil and treachery. But they had made their peace one with
another. 'Assuredly,' they were now saying, 'this judgment has fallen
upon us because we are guilty, though not of what this man now charges
us with. It is because of our brother Joseph that all these misfortunes
have overtaken us. We saw the anguish of his soul when he entreated us
to take pity on him, and we refused to listen.'

And Reuben could not refrain himself. He reminded them bitterly: 'Did I
not implore you to spare the child, and not to sin against him and
against his father? But you mocked me down and played me false. And now
at last has come the day of reckoning--our blood for his.'

Listening to their talk, and seeing their trouble and distress, Joseph
was grieved for them. He withdrew himself away from them a little to
hide his tears; for there were many memories in his mind between that
day and this.

When he returned to them again, he gave orders that Simeon should be the
one kept back as hostage for the rest. This he did because Simeon was
next among them in age to Reuben, the eldest, and Joseph had not known
until now that Reuben had interceded with them and saved his life when
they had intended to kill him. Then Simeon was bound before their eyes,
and a guard of soldiers haled him away to the prison. The rest of them
Joseph dismissed from his presence without further speech with them. But
meanwhile he had secretly instructed his steward to ensure that after
they had been provided with what corn they required, each one of these
Hebrews' money should be hidden in the mouth of his sack. He bade his
steward, too, supply them with every thing they might need on their
journey back to Canaan. And this was done.

So the nine brothers, their asses laden with corn and all that they
needed, set out, and at night came to an inn or camping-place and rested
there. When one of them that evening opened his sack to get provender
for his ass, he espied to his amazement a bag of money there, tied up in
the mouth of the sack. He ran at once to tell the others what he had
found.

'This bag of money,' he said, 'must have been hidden in my sack, for it
was certainly not there when we saddled our asses this morning. Shekel
for shekel it is the price I paid for my corn.'

At this their hearts sank within them. They knew not what evil might
come of it, and were afraid.

When they were come into Canaan and reached their journey's end, they
told their father all that had happened to them while they had been
away. 'Without reason being given,' they said, 'we were seized, and
taken before the man who is lord under Pharaoh over the whole land of
Egypt. In power and honour he is next to Pharaoh himself. He treated us
harshly and accused us of being spies. We answered him suingly and
assured him that this was not so, that we were honest and peaceable
men--ten out of twelve brethren, the sons of one father, and that of the
other two, one is no more, and the youngest with you in Canaan. Yet he
still refused to believe us. And we were taken away, and for three days
lay in a dungeon, knowing not what evil would come on us next.'

'How then,' said Jacob, 'did you escape out of his hands?'

'Why,' said they, 'when we were brought before him again, he spoke to us
less harshly and said that he had decided to put our word to the proof.
"By this," he said, "I shall know whether you be honest men or no. One
of you shall remain here in strict charge, and the rest of you shall
take the corn you need. And now be gone!" he said. "But take heed to
me--for if you do not speedily return, bringing with you this younger
brother of whom you have spoken, then shall I know--as I believe--that
you have lied to me. And the one of you I hold in charge shall surely
die." Then Simeon was taken, and we made all haste away.'

When Jacob heard this, he bitterly reproached them.

'What evil have I done that you bereave me of my children? Joseph is
not; Simeon is not; and now you would take Benjamin away. All these
things are against me and I can do nothing.'

Reuben grieved for his father and came near to comfort him. He promised
that if Jacob would consent to entrust Benjamin into his charge, he
should bring him back unharmed and in safety. 'And if I keep not my word
with thee,' he said, 'thou mayest kill the two sons I leave behind me.
There is none dearer to me on earth.' But Jacob turned away and made no
answer.

And when presently, after unlading their asses, they found, one and all,
that the money they had paid for their corn had been hidden in their
sacks, they stared in consternation one at another, and were sick with
foreboding.

They told their father of this, imploring him to let them return at once
into Egypt. But he refused to listen.

'Nothing you can say will persuade me to let your brother Benjamin go
with you. Joseph is dead. He too was but a boy when he went out to seek
you in Shechem and came back to me no more. Now Benjamin is the only son
left to me of my old age. If I were to consent to his going and any harm
were to befall him while he was with you, it would bring down my grey
hairs with sorrow to the grave.'

The famine increased. The skies were like brass, the earth baked hard as
brick, and there came no sign or hope of any relief. They waited on from
day to day until the corn they had brought from Egypt was running
perilously short and would soon be consumed. Their flocks and herds grew
lank and sickly; even their little children were ailing for want of milk
and nourishment. And Jacob could refrain himself no longer.

'There is not a day to lose,' he said to his sons. 'You must go at once
and bring us a little food. And I myself will remain here with
Benjamin.'

And Judah once again, and as tenderly as words could, assured his father
that this was impossible. 'This man who was lord over Egypt, did
solemnly swear and protest to us: "By the life of Pharaoh," he said,
"unless, when you return, your brother be with you, you shall not see my
face again!" If we venture without him, then not one of us, as I
believe, will ever come back alive.'

Then said Jacob: 'Why did you deal so ill with me as even to mention to
this man that you had a younger brother?'

'But he questioned us closely again and again,' said his sons. 'He
inquired where we came from, who were our kindred, if our father were
still living, if we ourselves were his only sons or had he yet another.
How could we else, then, than answer him according to the tenor of his
questions; how could we have evaded them? How, too, could we have
foreseen that he would snatch at our words and say: "Return and bring
your brother with you"?'

Then Judah pleaded yet once again with his father. 'Give the boy into my
care,' he said. 'And let us set out at once. The corn we bought is all
but gone, our little ones will soon be crying for food. If we stay now,
death stares us one and all in the face. I myself will be surety for
him, and if I fail to bring him back to thee safe and sound, be mine the
blame for ever. For except we had lingered, we should by now have
already gone and come back again.'

Then said Jacob: 'What must be, must be. Make ready at once and go. But
do not venture empty-handed. Take the best of the little we have left
and carry it down to this man for a present; a little balsam and some
honey and storax, spices, nuts and almonds--whatever we have that is
sought after by the Egyptians; and let it be our choicest. Take not only
double money with you, lest, as I suspect, in these last months the
price of corn may have risen, but take also the money that was hidden in
the mouths of your sacks. That, maybe, was only an oversight, but will
be proof of your honesty. And Benjamin shall go with you. Delay no more.
And may God Almighty be with you and give you mercy when you come again
into the presence of this man, that Simeon may be restored to you, and
that he keep not Benjamin. But if it be God's will that I am to be
bereaved of him, then I am bereaved.' He wept and withdrew himself out
of their sight.




JOSEPH REVEALS HIMSELF


His sons with all haste prepared for their journey. They loaded their
asses with the presents their father had bidden them take with
them--honey, spices, balm, almonds--the best they had in store. They
took with them also double money--twice the amount they had taken on
their first going down into Egypt, and the money also which had been
concealed in their sacks.

When everything was ready, Benjamin came out to them from his father,
and they set out together. He was young and fearless, and he had his
mother's beauty. And he was eager beyond measure to see the great lord
of whom he had heard his brothers speak, and the cities and temples and
tombs, and all the famed marvels of the land of Egypt, and the
splendours of Pharaoh.

In due time they presented themselves before the steward of the granary.
He sent word to Joseph that these Hebrews were come again, and that they
had brought with them a lad who they said was their youngest brother.
When Joseph heard this, his heart welled over with joy and happiness. He
summoned his steward, the overseer of his household, as he himself had
been under Potiphar: 'Take these men to my house,' he said, 'and see
that everything is done to put them at their ease and comfort, for they
are to dine with me at noon.'

So his steward himself went to the granary as he was bidden. There he
found the Hebrews still in custody. He led them away through the streets
of the city, reeking with dust and heat, and loud and busy with traffic.
On either side of the crowded alleys were the shops of the goldsmiths
and the sandal-makers. There, too, the barbers, cook-shops and
pastry-cooks, potters and beer-houses. A throng of wayfarers of a score
of different races jostled them on every side. Benjamin gazed about him
in astonishment--at the Egyptians themselves, painted and bewigged, with
their folded cloaks and long walking-canes; at the women tattooed on
chin and brow, their hair dyed blue, with their collars of beads and
precious gems and their tinkling bracelets. The scene was past
comparison beyond anything he had ever dreamed or imagined.

The steward brought them at last, where all was quiet, to a gateway of
carved stone, in the shade of a dark green acacia tree. Through this
they entered the courtyard of Joseph's house. It was paved with stone,
and from it terraces went down, set with pools and conduits of water,
serene and glittering in the sun under the deep blue of the Egyptian
skies. Lilies, the flower of the lotus, lay in bloom snowy and golden
amid their flat green leaves in the water. Ducks of bright plumage
floated upon it. It was screened with green trellises of vines.

Beyond, they looked out over Joseph's orchards, apple and pomegranate,
palm and fig, in the shade of whose leafy branches were many wild birds,
sparrow and wagtail and dove. But for these, and the bell-clear sound
of running water and the stir of the servants who came and went, all was
still and tranquil, and the air was cool and sweet.

When Joseph's brothers, who stood waiting beside their asses in the
courtyard, knew that this was the palace of the great lord himself, they
were abashed and filled with mistrust. They murmured one to another: 'It
is for no good of ours that we have been brought hither. It must be
because of the money that was put back secretly into our sacks. It was a
device to betray us. We are alone and defenceless. This great lord will
accuse us falsely; his servants will fall upon us, and seize all that we
have. We are doomed.'

While the others thus waited in grievous trouble of mind at what might
come of it, two of them went to the entry of the house and asked if they
might speak with the steward.

'Sir,' they said, when he came to them, 'we entreat thee to think no
evil of us. We are, as you know, from the land of Canaan, and strangers
here, and we have merely journeyed down again into Egypt as we did
before, and as we were bidden, to buy corn because of the famine. When
we were sent away after our first coming here, we found when we unladed
our asses that the money we had brought with us had been restored to us
and hidden in our sacks--the money we had actually paid for the corn.
Nor have we any inkling of how this came about. But we have brought it
back with us, with other money to buy food, and here it is.'

Joseph's steward answered them courteously and reassured them: 'All is
well. There is nothing to fear. Surely it cannot but have been the will
of your God, and of the God of your fathers, that this treasure came to
be hidden in your sacks? Of my own knowledge you paid the full price for
your corn, and I have a record to prove it so.'

Then he brought Simeon to them, and himself led them within to where
they could refresh themselves and prepare for the coming of Joseph. He
gave them water to wash their feet, and their asses were fed and
watered. There, with hearts renewed, they made ready the present they
had brought with them, the aromatic gums and spices, the honey and
pistachio nuts, for they had heard that Joseph would be returning at
noon, and that they were to eat with him. They talked eagerly among
themselves, marvelling at the splendour and strangeness of Joseph's
house, and wondering what was in store for them after the kindness that
had been shown to them by the steward.

When Joseph came home, they were taken into his presence; and they bowed
themselves and made obeisance. And they presented him with the gifts
which they had brought with them from Canaan. And Joseph in thanking
them almost bewrayed himself in his speech. The old words of delight
evoked by a thousand memories sprang into his mind as he saw the
familiar plaited baskets and breathed in the fragrance of the spices.
But he stayed himself, and through his interpreter asked them of their
welfare. 'Is your father,' he said, 'the old man of whom you spoke to
me, still alive, and in good health?'

'Thy servant our father,' they said, 'is still alive and is well.'

Looking from one to the other, Joseph's eyes rested at last on the face
of his brother Benjamin, his own loved mother's son.

'Is this, then,' he said, 'the younger brother whom you told me of? You
have done well to bring him with you.'

He gazed long at Benjamin. 'May God,' he said, 'be gracious unto thee,
my son.' But the words faltered on his lips, and he turned away in
haste, for his heart yearned for Benjamin and he could not keep back his
tears. He went into his own chamber alone, and wept there. And when he
had grown calmer, he rose and washed his face, and returned to them
again, restraining himself.

He signed to his steward that the feast should be served, and the whole
company gathered there sat down to eat. His own place at the feast was
set apart by reason of his dignity and lordship in Egypt. His officers
and attendants and other guests also sate together apart; for the
Egyptians might not eat of the same dish with the Hebrews; it was
forbidden by their priests and their religion.

As for his brothers, Joseph himself arranged the order in which they
should sit before him, from Reuben, the firstborn, according to his
birthright, to Benjamin, the youngest, according to his youth. At this
they gazed at one another in astonishment, marvelling how he had divined
their ages, for he had seated them in order of age without a single
mistake. And now the feast began. The air was sweet with the fragrance
of flowers. There were fruits and meats and wines in all abundance, and
they drank out of goblets of glass, a thing they had never seen before.

And as was the custom in Egypt, Joseph chose from the dishes set before
him, and sent them by the hands of his servants to his
brothers--honouring them as his guests. But the dainties he sent to
Benjamin were five times as many as to any of the others; and they ate
and drank and feasted with Joseph, and were merry.

And while they sate feasting, Joseph spoke with his steward. 'Let these
men's sacks,' he said, 'be filled with corn to the utmost their beasts
can carry. And in the sack of the youngest of them--whom you see
yonder--put in also the money that was paid for his corn, and hide
therein my cup--my silver divining cup. But all this in secret! Let not
a rumour of it reach their ears.' And the steward did as Joseph had
bidden him.

As soon as it was light next morning, Joseph's brothers set out on their
journey home; and a joyful and merry-hearted company they were. It
seemed that everything was now well with them, their troubles over,
Benjamin safe, and Simeon restored to them.

But soon after they were gone, and before they had proceeded far beyond
the outskirts of the city, Joseph called for his steward. 'Up now,' he
said. 'Away, and with all speed! Take a guard of soldiers with thee and
follow hard after these Hebrews, and when thou hast overtaken them, bid
them stand, and accuse them openly: "Why have you returned evil for
good? My lord's silver cup has been stolen, even the cup which he uses
for divination. He knows of a certainty into whose hands it has fallen,
and that the thief is one on whom but yesterday he lavished many
kindnesses. What wickedness could be viler!"'

The steward did as he was bid. He took a guard of soldiers, and mounting
a camel, rode out in hot haste after them, and overtook them in the
desert before yet the sun was high in the heavens. When at sound of
pursuit the brothers turned and looked back, they instantly fell silent,
and their hearts stood still for dread. They drew up immediately and
clustered together about him, in horror of what new disaster was now
upon them. The steward challenged them harshly. He upbraided them as if
they were outcasts beneath contempt, and he repeated everything that
Joseph had bidden him. They gazed one at another in confusion; a cold
and awful darkness had fallen upon them.

'God forbid,' they said, 'that we should have been guilty of such a
thing, or that my lord should so much as have thought it of us. Did we
not ourselves tell you of the money which after our first journey we
found in our sacks, and did we not offer it you again only yesterday?
And you said: "All's well, be at peace, for God has ordained it so."
What need have we of silver or gold that we should return evil for good
and rob thy lord himself? And now you even accuse us of having stolen
his divining cup! Search as you please, and if the goblet be found in
the sack of any one of us, then let him die; and the rest of us shall be
bondsmen of thy lord from this day onward.'

Then said the steward: 'Be it as you say; except that only the one of
you in whose sack the cup is found shall suffer, for he alone is
guilty. The rest being blameless shall go free.'

They unloaded their asses, put their sacks on the ground, and loosed the
thongs that bound their mouths. Then, beginning with that of the eldest
of them, the steward and his guard searched their sacks one by one until
at length they came to the sack of the youngest, Benjamin. There the cup
was found, and his money beside it.

At sight of it his brothers rent their clothes in woe and despair. Their
darkest premonitions had come true. They knew what fate awaited them,
that all was lost. But one and all of them refrained from uttering a
word of reproach or making the least sign, by frown or gesture, that
they blamed Benjamin or misdoubted his innocence.

They tied up their sacks, loaded up their asses again, and turned back
in wretchedness towards the city by the way they had come. Though again
and again, as Joseph had bidden him, the steward assured them that it
was only the thief himself his lord intended to punish, they refused to
have any further word with him and made no answer. With Benjamin in
their midst, they made haste to return.

Joseph was seated in his hall of audience amid his officers. He raised
his eyes and surveyed them. They flung themselves down before him, their
faces to the earth. But he hardened his face and addressed them
scornfully and as if in anger.

'What deed is this that you have done? Knew you not that I could divine
the truth in this matter?'

Then Judah spoke in answer for them all. 'What shall we say unto my
lord? How shall I speak? Of what use are words to clear ourselves from a
charge so black against us, yet one of which we are wholly innocent?
That, my lord, is the truth. But doubtless the judgment of God has
fallen upon us not for this evil of which we are innocent, but for the
wickedness we have done in the past. We are strangers in a strange land,
and have none to defend us. We cannot even speak in a tongue that might
persuade my lord to listen. We can but cast ourselves upon the mercy of
my lord, and if he so will it, let him make bondsmen of us all, so that
we suffer together, and not alone.'

And Joseph answered: 'God forbid that I should do so! It is known to me
which among you was found in possession of the cup. He alone is guilty,
and he alone shall suffer. As for the rest of you, there is nothing to
keep you here; get you gone in peace, then, while you may. Return to
your father in Canaan and let me see your faces no more.'

Then Judah drew near to him and spoke earnestly with him face to face,
telling him everything that was in his heart and keeping nothing back.

'Oh, my lord,' he said, 'let thy servant, I pray thee, tell out
everything that is in his mind. Have patience, and let not thine anger
burn against thy servant, for thou art all-powerful, even as Pharaoh
himself. When first we came into Egypt--I myself and these men, my
brothers--to buy corn, my lord questioned us, who we were and whence we
had come, and who our father was, and were we his only sons. And we told
my lord: we have a father, who is now an old man. We said that there was
one son remaining with him, a child of his old age, dearest to him of
us all, and the only son left of his mother, his brother being dead.

'And my lord gave command to his servants: "Go and return and bring back
with you this brother of whom you speak that I may see him with my own
eyes." And we told my lord, the lad cannot leave his father, for if he
should, and any harm came to him, his father would die. And my lord said
expressly to his servants: "Unless your youngest brother come down with
you into Egypt, and that soon, you shall see my face no more."

'Well, my lord, when we came up unto thy servant our father, we laid
before him all that my lord had said. And the time came when our need
being extreme because of the famine, he bade us come again and buy a
little food. We answered that we could not do this unless our youngest
brother went with us, since without him we should not even be admitted
into my lord's presence. And our father said: "Why did you so much as
mention your youngest brother? You knew well how dearly I love him. You
knew that he is the only son left to me of his mother who is dead. Long,
long ago his brother, young and happy, bade me farewell and set out upon
a journey, and, haply, was torn to pieces by wild beasts. He never came
back to me. And now you would take his younger brother also, knowing
well that if any mischief befall him, you will bring down my grey hairs
in sorrow to the grave."

'Oh, my lord, my father's life itself is bound up with this lad's
safety. If I return without him and he look for him and find him not,
surely his grief will be greater than he can bear; and it is we
ourselves, his own sons, that shall have brought down this grey-haired
old man with sorrow to the grave. And I myself, alas, shall be the most
to blame, for I vowed solemnly to my father to take every care of him.
"If," I said, "I bring him not back unharmed and in safety, then the
blame be mine for ever!"

'I beseech thee, then, my lord, have pity. Let the lad go free, and
return home with his brothers, and let me be bondsman in his stead. My
lord, I could not bear to return without him and see my father's grief.'

Joseph heard him in silence to the end; glancing from one to another of
his brothers, as they stood in fear and disgrace before him, and letting
his eyes rest on Benjamin, who was a little apart from them, not daring
to lift his head for shame that he should have been thought guilty of
stealing the cup. And when Judah spoke of his father, and there returned
into Joseph's mind all that had passed since he had seen him, he could
refrain himself no longer.

'Let every man,' he said, 'withdraw out of my presence, except only
these Hebrews.'

    *    *    *    *    *

When Joseph's officers and attendants all were gone and there stood no
man with him except his brothers, he came down to them and made himself
known to them. And he wept, so that even the Egyptians who lingered on
the threshold heard him weeping.

And he said to his brothers: 'Come near, I pray you. There is nothing
now to fear. For see, I am Joseph--Joseph himself, whom long ago you
thought was dead. Tell me, I beseech you, is indeed all well with my
father? Is he truly yet alive?'

But his brothers were troubled at his presence, gazing at him in dismay,
and could make no answer.

Joseph smiled at them: 'It is no wonder,' he said, 'after the many years
we have been separated one from another that you should still be in
doubt of who I am. But come now, look closely at me, for I am indeed and
in truth none other than Joseph, the very Joseph whom you sold to the
Ishmaelites and into Egypt. Be no more distressed or angry with
yourselves because of that. God sent me on before you so that in this
time of need I might preserve your lives, for else you might have
perished for want. For two years now there has been famine in Egypt. But
five years are yet to come when there will be neither ploughing nor
harvest, and want and suffering must increase. Take comfort, then;
remember only that it was God in his mercy who made me the means of this
deliverance and of saving not only yourselves, but your children and
your children's children, who will follow us when we are gone. I say,
then, it was not you who sent me hither, but God. It is he alone who
hath given me power under Pharaoh to act as seems best to me--lord of
his house and viceroy of all Egypt. Hasten then and return with all the
speed you can to my father. Give him this message in these same words:
"I myself, thy long-lost son, Joseph, am awaiting thee here in Egypt,
pining to see thee again, anxious only for thy health and safety."

'Say that, and tell my father also that you have seen me face to face,
even as I am; and that the God of whom he taught me as a child has made
me lord and ruler over all the land of Egypt. Entreat him not to delay,
but to return with you into Egypt. A place shall be found for him and
for you all where you shall live near me and under my protection, you
and your wives and your children, your flocks and herds, and all that
you have. Through all the evils that are yet to come I myself will
provide for him and for you all, and will cherish his last years lest he
should come to poverty.'

As he stood in their midst, his words followed one upon another out of
his inmost heart like water welling from a long-sealed fountain. And his
face was lighted with his love.

But still they dared make no sign, or, after so many vicissitudes, trust
even their own senses. They gazed and were silent.

'But no,' he said, smiling, 'I see you are still in doubt. Well, then,
Benjamin your youngest and my own dear mother's son shall tell you that
what I say is true, that it is my own mouth that speaks to you, and that
I am indeed his brother Joseph.'

And he took Benjamin into his arms and fell upon his neck and kissed
him, and in love and joy wept upon his shoulder.

Seeing this, the rest of them were at last reassured and believed him.
They drew near and he kissed them all in turn.

After that they talked together for a long time in private there, for
there was much to hear and much to tell. There were no bounds to their
happiness.




JACOB COMES DOWN INTO EGYPT


When Joseph's steward and the officers of his household heard what had
come about, they too rejoiced. And it was told Pharaoh himself that
after many years of separation, Joseph's own brethren had come into
Egypt to buy corn, and had at first not recognized him or even so much
as dreamed it was he; but that he had now made himself known to them and
they were re-united. This pleased Pharaoh well, and he himself spoke
with Joseph.

'Tell your brethren,' he said, 'that it is Pharaoh's will and desire
that they return at once into their own country and bring back with them
your father and their wives and children. Bid them trouble not with what
goods they have. For from henceforth they shall have the best that Egypt
affords, they shall live on the fat of the land and shall never again be
in want or danger. Let them be supplied with baggage-wagons and with
whatever else they may need in their long and arduous journey into
Egypt--for themselves, their wives and their little ones and for your
father. Thou knowest that in all things thy joys are my joys. Let
nothing then be wanting for their comfort and for thine own peace of
mind. The best that Egypt has is theirs.'

So Joseph gave orders that his brothers should be provided with
baggage-wagons as Pharaoh had said, with horses to draw them, and
beasts of burden, and all things else and every comfort that his father
or their wives and their daughters might need on the journey.

For presents, too, from himself, he gave them one and all changes of
raiment, the choicest in Egypt, famous through all time for the fineness
of its linen. But to his brother Benjamin he gave three hundred pieces
of silver and five changes of raiment. To his father he sent a present
too, such as prince might send to prince--ten he-asses laden with all
the riches of Egypt--things of beauty, rare and costly; and ten
she-asses, their paniers piled with wheat and fruits and delicacies for
his comfort on the journey.

The next morning, when they were assembled together in the courtyard of
Joseph's house, and beyond its gates stood ready the baggage-wagons and
the asses and the servants that were to go with them, Joseph himself
came down out of his house to greet them and to bid them farewell; and
his two small sons were with him. He embraced his brothers, and gave
them but one word of counsel. 'Remember only this,' he said, 'that
between you and me there remains nothing now but love and friendship, so
let there be peace between you all. No reproaches, no recriminations,
nothing but well and fair until we meet again. I would not that you fall
out with one another by the way.'

They talked together until the last moment came for their departure.
Their cares were over, and as they set out in the clear brightness of
the morning a great company of Joseph's household watched them go.

Day after day they continued their journey, sleeping when dark came on
where it was customary for caravans to camp for the night, until, after
they had turned inward from the sea, they came without mischance into
Canaan. News had already been brought to Jacob from servants whom he had
sent out to keep watch for them, that they were drawing near. They came
together to his tent, and when he saw that Simeon was with them, and
Benjamin himself was clasped again in his arms, he bowed his head in
thanks to God for this great mercy.

Hope had all but faded into despair; now he was at peace. But when they
told him that his son Joseph was not only still alive but was lord and
governor over the whole land of Egypt, he gazed at them, trembling. His
heart fainted within him; for joy itself may be so sudden sweet as to be
beyond credence. He could not believe them. He sat gazing mutely into
their faces, and they were filled with remorse.

Even when they repeated to him in Joseph's own words the message he had
bidden them bring, his mind was still in confusion. It was not until,
supporting his feeble footsteps, they led him out, and with his own eyes
he saw the Egyptian wagons, and the horses that had been sent to carry
him into Egypt, that he doubted no more. His spirit revived within him.

'It is enough,' he said. 'Joseph my son is yet alive: I will go and see
him before I die.'

    *    *    *    *    *

As Pharaoh the King had expressly decreed, preparations were speedily
made to leave for ever the Vale of Hebron--now parched dry as bone with
the long drought--in which they had dwelt peacefully so many years. They
gathered together all that remained of their flocks and herds, and
loaded their beasts of burden with their tents, their clothes and all
the goods they had gotten in the land of Canaan.

On the day appointed, before even break of dawn, their little ones were
up and ready; wild with delight and expectation. They mounted up into
the Egyptian wagons--and the mothers with their babies. They marvelled
at the horses of Pharaoh with their caparisons of gilded leather. The
sun rose; the dew-mists thinned away. The cry of the drivers sounded,
and the crack of whip. The horses strained at their traces. With the
bright clothes of the children in the wagons, and their smiling faces,
it was as though great heaps of nodding flowers were in motion, as in
the first of morning the happy multitude began to set forward. The fresh
windless air rang with their talk and laughter, with the bleating of
sheep, the lowing of cattle and their sheep-dogs' barking; and a great
dust rose into the sky, beaten up by hoof and wheel, and gently
descended again after they had gone by.

And so they came to Beersheba, the southernmost city of Canaan, which
few among them were to see again. There they pitched camp, and rested,
and there Jacob offered sacrifices to the Lord and poured out his heart
in thankfulness for his great mercy. It was the place where he was born.

That night as he lay asleep there came to him a vision; and in dream he
heard a voice calling him: 'Jacob! Jacob!' And he knew in his dream
that it was the voice of God.

He answered: 'Lord, here am I.'

And the voice said:

'I am thy God and the God of thy fathers, and I will never forsake thee
whithersoever thou goest. Fear not to go down into Egypt. There I will
make of thee and of thy sons a great nation. And thy children's children
shall return and possess this Canaan that thou lovest. Here thou thyself
shalt find thy last resting-place, and thy son Joseph shall lay his hand
upon thine eyes and give thee peace in thy long sleep.'

And Jacob awoke from his dream, and was comforted.

The next day Judah was sent on ahead of the cavalcade to inquire of
Joseph where they should pitch their tents when, their journey over,
they had come down by the sea coast into Egypt. And, as Pharaoh had
ordained, they went up into the land of Goshen which lay a little
northward, between the Lake of the Crocodiles and the great river. It
was a region richer in good pasturage than any other in Egypt. As soon
as word was brought of their safe arrival, Joseph made ready his
chariot, and with his officers and his bodyguard, he rode out in state
to welcome his father and to show him honour.

It was evening when he drew near. He alighted from his chariot and
approached on foot, and presented himself to his father in the
entering-in of his tent where he stood waiting to receive him. Jacob was
now bent and feeble with age, but his face lit with rapture at sight of
Joseph, as in the radiance of the declining sun, he bowed himself low
before his father. Jacob put his arms about Joseph's neck and embraced
him. And he wept upon his shoulder, and there was a long silence between
them. Then he tenderly drew back Joseph's face and gazed into it in joy
and love, and he said: 'My son, my son! Life hath nothing more to give
me; now let me die; for I have seen thy face again and know that thou
art still in the land of the living.'

They talked together for many hours alone. Then Joseph bade his father
farewell for a season, though they were soon to meet again, and he
returned to his own house. He took with him five of his brothers, and
presented them to Pharaoh, each of them by name. They bowed themselves
and made obeisance, and Pharaoh conversed with them by means of an
interpreter, questioning them concerning the condition of the country of
Canaan from which they had come, and their lives and their occupations.

They told Pharaoh that the famine was still very grievous in Canaan, and
that there was little hope of respite, and that had it not been for the
corn they had been enabled to buy in Egypt, they would have perished at
last of hunger and want. 'For we ourselves are shepherds,' they said,
'and depend on our flocks as our fathers did before us.' They spoke in
gratitude too of the land of Goshen; praising it for the excellence of
its pasturage and its abundance of water for their sheep and their
goats.

When they were gone out from the presence of the king, Pharaoh spoke
alone with Joseph.

He said: 'Let thy brethren remain in the land of Goshen; they shall
dwell there in peace and security. It is a region like this Hebron, it
seems, of which they tell me, and if there be among them any that have
knowledge and skill in the keeping of cattle, let my herds be given into
their charge. They shall be made overseers over my herdmen and be
responsible to me for them. And now, tell me, is thy father safe and
well after so long a journey?'

And Joseph brought Jacob his father into the presence of Pharaoh. The
old man raised his trembling hands in salutation of the king and blessed
him. And Pharaoh inquired of him concerning his life and of his long
experience in the world. He asked him: 'How old art thou?'

And Jacob answered the king: 'The days of my pilgrimage on earth are now
a hundred and thirty years. Few and evil have they been when I reflect
on them. I have not attained, nor shall I attain, to the age of my
father and of his father before him. For my life has seen little rest
from wandering, and my griefs have been many.'

Pharaoh spoke very graciously to the old man and with all the courtesy
and reverence due to his grey hairs and to one who had seen so many
sorrows.

So, as Pharaoh had decreed, Jacob and his household with all his
children and grandchildren settled in the land of Goshen, where they
lived at peace. And Joseph watched over them like a father whose one
care is the safety and comfort of his little ones. He supplied all their
needs so that they wanted for nothing.

But in Egypt--as in Canaan--while still the great river refused its
fostering waters, the famine increased in severity, until apart from the
grain in the royal granaries, there was no bread in all the land, and
only by Joseph's wisdom and forethought were the people saved from
perishing in misery of want. The money they paid for the corn they
needed was amassed in the treasuries of the king, and his wealth was
beyond all computation. And when their money had been expended, they
were compelled to barter their cattle, their horses, their flocks, and
their asses, in exchange merely for bread, so sharp and bitter was the
famine.

These gone, they had nought but the service of their own bodies and the
land they owned to offer in payment. Wherefore they sold their land to
the king for corn and for seed. And when the granaries of one district
were exhausted, Joseph removed the people that dwelt there to some other
region of Egypt, where there still remained supplies of grain sufficient
for them. Even after the years of famine were over, the people continued
to lease their lands from the king, and for rent paid into the royal
treasury one-fifth of their annual harvest, except only the priests of
Egypt who were under the personal protection of Pharaoh, and who were
provided with all that they needed out of his royal bounty.

    *    *    *    *    *

For seventeen years Jacob lived on in the land of Goshen. His sons
prospered and had great possessions there. And the family of Israel grew
and multiplied. But there came a day when he was so enfeebled with age
and sickness that he knew his earthly pilgrimage would soon be at an
end, and that he must die.

Message was sent to Joseph that his father was sick unto death. He came
in haste to see him, bringing with him his two sons, Ephraim and
Manasseh. The women that were waiting upon his father in the tent
withdrew. The old man lay upon his bed, as if asleep. In sorrow beyond
speech, Joseph knelt down beside him and laid his hand in caress upon
the wasted hand of his father. His eyes opened; he gazed into Joseph's
face and smiled, as if all his troubles were now ended.

'Thou hast come,' he said. 'It is enough. There is little time left to
me, my son, and I have one urgent thing to ask of thee. If peradventure
I have found grace in thy sight, I entreat thee that in the last thou
wilt deal kindly and truly with me, and bury me not in Egypt, where I am
a stranger, but carry me again into Canaan, the land of my fathers.
There and with them let me lie at rest in the burial place that is
prepared for me.'

Joseph gazed into the wasted face. 'In anything thou mayst ask of me, so
in truth will I do.'

And Jacob said: 'Nay, I entreat thee, let it be a vow between thee and
me, my son, for it is a matter very near to my heart.'

Joseph sware unto him, and his father was greatly comforted. Strength
returned into him. He raised himself in his bed and thanked God that he
was now at peace.

Then Joseph brought his two sons into the presence of his father. They
stood within the entry, tarrying until he should call them near.

But Jacob's eyes were dim and he looked at them without recognition.
'Who are these?' he said.

'These are my two sons,' said Joseph, 'whom thou knowest well. They were
given me of God in Egypt, and are come to ask thy blessing.'

He led them by the hand and brought them to the bedside, and his father
stretched out his hand and laid his right hand on Ephraim's head and his
left hand on Manasseh's, and he did this wittingly though he knew that
Manasseh was Joseph's firstborn. For in the light of death he foresaw
that in years to come the descendants of the younger would exceed those
of the elder in greatness and numbers. And he blessed them and embraced
them.

He reminded Joseph how the Lord God had appeared to him in a vision in
the night when he lay sleeping in the wilds of Bethel, and how he had
made known to him that those who came after him should inherit the land
of Canaan for an everlasting inheritance.

'Very dear was thy mother Rachel to me, my son, but when we were
journeying from Bethel but a little distance from Ephrath near
Bethlehem, she died at the wayside. I mourned and wept over her, and
there I buried her. How then could I else than love thee very dearly
also, thee and thy brother Benjamin? So, too, these thy sons, whom thou
lovest, shall be remembered, and they shall partake of the glories of
Israel when it has become a nation and is entered into the land that God
hath promised. For many long and weary years I had not thought to see
thy face again, and now behold God hath not only restored thee to me,
but hath given me breath to bless thy two sons also.'

And Ephraim and Manasseh bowed themselves before the bed and withdrew.
When Joseph was again alone with his father he watched beside him, and
between his fitful slumbers they communed together.

'Behold I die,' said Jacob, 'but God shall be with thee.'

And Joseph stooped himself, weeping, beside the bed, and kissed his
father, and Jacob gave him his last blessing.

Then the rest of his sons came together into his presence and he blessed
them one and all, predicting with his last words what the future would
bring forth for all that came after them, their children's children for
unnumbered generations. For though the shadows of death were drawing
over him, his mind was clear and his vision untroubled. With this he
bade them a last farewell, and composed himself to die. He drew his feet
up into the bed, yielded up his spirit to God who gave it, and was
gathered to his people.

When Joseph saw that life was gone, he prostrated himself beside his
father, kissed him and wept over him, and remained with him in death,
alone, in bitter grief.

Then to the physicians who were in his service, men skilled in the
embalming of the dead, he entrusted the body of his father, and they
embalmed it with precious salts and spices and swathed it in the finest
linen. And not only Jacob's sons and their households mourned for him,
but Pharaoh himself, his chief counsellors and his whole court and the
Egyptians throughout Egypt, from the highest to the lowest, mourned for
him also. Seventy days was the period of Egypt's mourning for this
stranger, for the story of how Joseph, Pharaoh's renowned vizier, had as
by a wonder been restored to his father and to his brethren, long after
he had been given up for dead, was known throughout the whole country,
from one end of it to the other.

And Joseph made known to Pharaoh that he had solemnly sworn to his
father that his body should be buried not in Egypt, since it was a
country strange to him, but in the land of Canaan, where he was born,
and in the tomb of Isaac his father.

'Give me leave, I pray thee, then,' he said, 'to absent myself from
Egypt awhile, that I may keep the vow I made to my father when he was
nearing death and bury him in the place where he himself desired to
rest. Then will I return again.' And Pharaoh consented.

A very great company went up out of Egypt to Jacob's burial, for not
only Joseph himself with his brothers and all their households, except
only their little ones, followed his father to the grave, but also the
chief officers of Pharaoh's palace, the governors of the cities of
Egypt, and the stewards whom Joseph had appointed over the granaries.
There went with them also an escort of many chariots and a multitude of
horsemen.

When this great concourse had come into Canaan, to the threshing-floor
of Atad that was beyond Jordan, the mourners who followed after the
gilded coffin containing the embalmed body of Jacob, lifted up their
voices and made lament with dirges and wailings. There Joseph and the
lords of Egypt that were with him mourned for his father seven days.

When the people of Canaan who dwelt near the Jordan heard this great
mourning and lamentation, they marvelled. 'Of a surety,' they said, one
to another, 'this must be a day of sore sorrow and bitterness to the
Egyptians.'

And afterwards, Joseph and his brethren went on alone and the body of
their father was laid to rest beside his father Isaac, in the tomb hewn
out of the rock at Machpelah, which Abraham, Isaac's father, had himself
purchased and prepared for his own burial-place. Then Joseph and all who
had accompanied him into Canaan returned into Egypt.

The funeral pomp and ceremonies of the Egyptians, and the great
cavalcade that had gone up with them into Canaan were to his brothers a
fresh revelation of Joseph's sovran power in the land. And when they
were alone together again, mere shepherds and overseers of cattle, they
were seized with misgivings.

The fear had suddenly come upon them that maybe it was only while their
father was still alive that Joseph had refrained from requiting them all
the evil they had done against him; that through the years which had
gone by he had been merely concealing his hatred of them, biding his
time; and that now the day had come when his full vengeance would sweep
down upon them.

A messenger was sent; for they feared to see him. By him they made known
to Joseph that when their father was lying sick to death they had
themselves confessed their act of lying treachery against him, after
they had sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites.

'And he himself charged us before he died,' they said, 'to give thee
this message. "Say unto my beloved son Joseph," he said. "Forgive, I
pray thee, the evil which thy brothers did against thee, and all the
misery that came of it." We entreat thee then to heed the words of our
father and of thy father, and to forgive us the evils of which we were
guilty against the God he worshipped.'

Joseph was distressed that they mistrusted him. He at once sent for them
all, and they were brought into his presence where he sat alone. They
prostrated themselves before him and made obeisance as of old.

'Behold,' they said, 'we are the servants of the God of thy father. Do
with us as seems best to thee.'

And Joseph reassured them. It grieved him to the heart to see them
humbling themselves before him.

'Put away your fears,' he said. 'Think you that I stand here in God's
stead to judge and to punish whom I may? Surely it is not so. For even
though in the days that are gone and best forgotten you did me this
injury, it was his will that only good should come of it. For by this I
was made the means of saving you and your wives and your little ones and
many another from death itself. Put away all your cares then, and think
no more of them, either now or at any time in the future. Believe only
that it is my one hope and desire to protect you and your little ones,
and to watch over you, lest being among strangers in a strange land you
should come to any harm.'

He comforted them and spoke kindly to them, saying all that was in his
heart, and they doubted him no more.

So Joseph continued to dwell in Egypt, and they with him. He lived long
enough to see around him his son Ephraim's grandchildren, and the
children also of Machir, the son of Manasseh. Even when he was a very
old man, these little ones would be brought in to see him, for he loved
children. And they would sit talking to him upon his knee.

But the day came when he knew that death was approaching. And he sent
for his brothers to bid them farewell.

'I am dying,' he said, 'and these must be my last words to you; bear
them, I pray you, in mind. God will surely be ever with you, and in his
own season will bring those who come after you up out of Egypt and into
the land which he promised to Abraham, to Isaac, and to our father
Jacob, even into Canaan. In that day may I myself be remembered, as may
God remember you. Vow unto me then that my bones shall be carried up
hence and laid to rest beside my father.' And they swore it to him.

And Joseph died, being a hundred and ten years old. And his physicians
and embalmers embalmed his body and laid it in his coffin, and his
coffin was enshrined in a sarcophagus of rich and strange and curious
workmanship, and this was given into the charge of his brethren in
Goshen. And Pharaoh the king and all his court and the whole land of
Egypt sorrowed and mourned for Joseph many days, for of all the king's
counsellors none in foresight, divination, power and wisdom, had been
greater than he.




MOSES

THE ARK OF BULRUSHES


Now Jacob was called Israel. He was the son of Isaac, whose father was
Abraham, the servant of God. And these are the names of Jacob's sons
that came down with him out of Canaan into Egypt: Reuben, Simeon, Levi,
Judah, Issachar, Zebulun, Dan, Naphtali, Gad, Asher and Benjamin. With
their households, their wives and their children, seventy souls of
Jacob's blood in all, with their servants and herdsmen and handmaids,
they came down, and set up their tents in the rich pastures of Goshen, a
land east of Egypt, and west of what were then the northern reaches of
the Red Sea. And a shallow cultivated strip of land, watered by a canal,
stretched out east again of Goshen towards this sea.

There, as long as Joseph lived, and in his loving favour and protection,
they dwelt. There they prospered, following the peaceful life of
shepherds. And to some of them was deputed the charge of the king's
cattle. They were the keepers of Pharaoh's herds.

As time went on, they died, and all their kindred and all that
generation. But their children's children who had been born and reared
in Egypt, and their descendants also, increased so abundantly that in
the centuries that followed they spread abroad throughout the whole
region of Goshen. They became a nation. The land was filled with them.

They too continued to prosper. But there came at length a day when a new
king rose in Egypt--a king to whom the name and fame of Joseph was
nought. He was a man of rare personal beauty and renowned for his
valour. He reigned for many years, and in power and conquest was one of
the mightiest monarchs that ever sat on the throne of Egypt. He led his
armies to victory in Syria, in Libya, and in Nubia. He besieged Khetesh,
the chief city of the Hittites, on the island in the midst of the river
Orontes, and utterly subdued them. He built vast solemn temples to the
gods of Egypt, rich in splendour and treasure, himself both priest and
king. The avenue of sphinxes, man-headed lions of stone, which he caused
to be made, his prodigious pylons or gateways, the granite image of
himself towering above thirty cubits in stature from its head-dress to
its foot, and the records of his victories incised in the stones of his
monuments--all these continue for earthly record of him to this day.

But he knew not Joseph. The services that as viceroy Joseph had rendered
to Egypt in the seven years when its harvests failed and when by his
insight and wisdom he had saved its people from famine and death, had
been forgotten. In the eyes of this Pharaoh the Hebrews in Goshen were
no longer a favoured people under his special grace. He regarded them
with suspicion and distrust.

They occupied territory on the most dangerous frontier of Egypt. He saw
how rapidly they grew in power and numbers--a race of alien blood and
customs and religion, and, though small in stature, keen and alert in
body and mind. And he feared that a day might come when Egypt being at
war, they might ally themselves with his enemies and, fighting against
him, fling off his domination over them and become a free people. His
distrust poisoned his mind against them; and when the campaigns beyond
his borders no longer occupied his mind, he took counsel on the matter
with his chief statesmen and advisers.

'These Hebrews,' he said, 'have become a danger and a menace, and if
nothing be done to keep them in subjection, they will swarm like flies
among us to such a degree that they will become more numerous than the
Egyptians themselves. Let us so deal with them, then, as to give them
neither the power nor temptation to revolt and to betray us.'

He set over them masters of works or overseers, men who would enforce
his orders with a high hand. These overseers divided Goshen into
districts, and the Hebrews who dwelt in them into droves or gangs. They
were each of them responsible for a certain district; and over every
gang they appointed a foreman who was himself a Hebrew. They spared no
man either on account of his youth or age or infirmity--all must serve
the king.

Little by little they increased the labour they exacted from the Hebrews
until they had reduced them to a state of cruel bondage from which there
was no respite. They brought down their lives to a continual bitterness,
compelling them to toil like beasts of burden, driven on by rod and
lash, until, worn to skin and bone, they could work no more, and were
flung aside to die.

They cut canals and built dams, by means of which the waters of the
great river of Egypt were heaped up to higher levels for the irrigation
of the soil. They dug ditches and made conduits, and raised water from
one conduit to another by means of buckets fixed to a pole hung upon an
axle between two posts--filling and emptying, filling and emptying from
morn to eve, to water the Egyptians' crops, to replenish their
fish-ponds, and flush the conduits in their gardens and orchards.

In the glare and heat of the sun they laboured all day in the desert
quarries. They hewed and cut and dragged away over wooden rollers or on
sleds huge ponderous blocks of marble and granite to serve for the
building of Pharaoh's temples to the strange gods of Egypt. For monument
and sculpture also--gigantic images and obelisks fretted with
hieroglyphs proclaiming the valour, glory and wisdom of the king.

But for the most part these slave-gangs were set to the making of
bricks. Some dug out the silt or mud. Others carried water in their
water-jars from the tanks or cisterns to moisten it. Yet others kneaded
the mud, trampling it with their feet until it was smooth and fit for
use, and mixing with it chopped-up straw to bind it together. The more
skilled among them then shaped the mud thus prepared by forcing it into
great sanded moulds stamped within with the symbol of the king.

The bricks thus shaped, while still soft, were carried off on a
framework of wood, slung from a yoke over the shoulders, and were
stacked in rows one above the other, with chinks for air between them,
and straw to prevent them from sticking together. There they lay until
they were baked dry and black in the blazing heat of the sun.

Such were the labours of the Hebrews--the men of Israel--under Pharaoh,
which they were compelled to endure without complaint; wageless,
hopeless and ill-fed. Yet, the more bitterly they were oppressed and
afflicted, the more they increased in numbers and the further they
spread; and the Egyptians came to look on them with loathing and
contempt.

Seeing at last that no toil or hardship he had devised could keep them
in subjection, Pharaoh decreed that of all the children born to the
women of the Hebrews only their daughters should be allowed to live.
Their sons, their men-children, were to be snatched away at birth from
their mothers' breasts, and flung into the Nile. As he commanded, so it
was done. There was lamentation and weeping in Goshen. And for this,
beyond all else, the people of Israel feared and hated Pharaoh and his
overseers; but were powerless to revolt.

None the less in spite of this decree there came about the deliverance
of Israel; for the Lord raised up a leader among them whose name has
been famous throughout the ages and even to this day.

    *    *    *    *    *

There was a woman of the family of Levi whose name was Jochabed. She was
a widow when her husband had taken her to wife, and she already had two
children a daughter named Miriam, and a son, but three years old, called
Aaron. She was of a quick and fearless spirit, and when a second son was
born to her, she hid him away. He was fair in face beyond any child in
Israel, strong and comely, and she counted her own life as nothing so
long as he was safe. For three whole months she nursed and tended him
and kept him hidden, though every passing footfall and his least little,
cry filled her with terror that her secret might be discovered.

When she could hide him no longer, she began to think within herself
what she should do to keep him safe. And there came a bold device into
her mind. She went down one evening to the brink of the river, and
gathered there a bundle of the long flowery-tufted reeds or bulrushes,
that grew in its shallows. Of these she made a little ark or coffer or
jonket, hollow within and rounded without, and woven close. And she
plaited a roof or lid to it, on a hinge.

When the ark had been securely woven together in the fashion of
basket-makers, she daubed it over with slime and pitch to make it
water-tight, even as long ages before had been the great ark of Noah
himself; and she left it to dry.

As soon as it was light the next morning, and while the stars were yet
faint in the sky, she rose up, and having fed the child and done all
that was needful for his comfort, she lulled him into a deep and quiet
sleep again, and kissed him, and put him into the ark and covered him
over with the roof of rushes which she had woven to shield him from the
heat of the sun. Then, with her daughter Miriam, she stole off down to
the river, no-one by, and hid the ark among the nodding water-weeds by
its brink. Having made sure that it would float in safety where it lay,
she left her small daughter to keep watch over it, and herself returned
home. The child then hid herself among the reeds and rushes where she
could keep the ark continually in sight.

The birds flitted back to their haunts; only their trillings and the
lapping of the water and the sighing and whisper of the reeds broke the
hush. The hours sped softly on, and nothing had come to alarm or disturb
the child when of a sudden she heard the sound of voices sweet and
clear. She peered out of her hiding-place and, scarcely able to breathe,
drew swiftly back.

For, behold, it was the daughter of Pharaoh the King whose voice she had
heard, and who with her maidens was come down to the river to bathe.
Presently after, still laughing and talking, her maidens withdrew; and,
fair themselves as lotus flowers, strayed along by the waterside
gathering lilies, while, with none but her own handmaid to attend upon
her, this princess, the daughter of Pharaoh, prepared to bathe.

On drawing near to the river, she looked in her loveliness and lo, she
saw the ark hidden among the reeds, black but glinting in the sun, and
rocked gently to and fro upon the rippled water. She stayed and, with
the palm of her hand above her eyes, steadfastly watched it awhile, in
wonder of what this strange object could be. Then she bade her handmaid
wade into the water and bring it in.

This she did. Lifting up the ark in her arms from out of the water, she
carried it to her mistress, and she herself opened it. And there,
mantled up softly within, its cheek flushed with sleep, was a little
child, which, as soon as the bright beams of the sun pierced into the
narrow darkness wherein it lay, stirred in its slumbers, awoke and wept.
The daughter of Pharaoh stooped, and taking the child into her arms,
nestled it to her breast, and soothed its fears.

At sound of her gentle voice it looked up into her face and stayed its
weeping; and with the tears yet wet upon its cheek, thrust out a hand
and smiled. The young princess gazed at it in wonder and delight. She
was smitten to the heart by its beauty and helplessness, and was filled
with compassion. Glancing covertly about her, she said to her handmaid:
'See now, this must be one of the Hebrew women's children. What shall be
done to keep it safe--for surely it is in great danger.'

At this, the child's sister, who had been intently watching all that
took place, drew near, and bowing herself before the daughter of
Pharaoh, asked if she should go and call one of the Hebrew women, to
nurse and tend it.

'Do as thou sayest,' said the daughter of Pharaoh, 'and go quickly, for
I know not how long the child has been without food.'

Her heart bounding with joy and excitement, the little maid at once ran
off to her mother and told her everything that she had seen and heard.
They came back together, and the daughter of Pharaoh, after but one
look into the woman's face, gave the babe into her keeping.

'Take this child into thy charge,' she said, 'nurse it most carefully,
and see that no harm come to it. If any should ask whose child it is,
send word at once to me, and I will protect thee. It shall stay with
thee until it is grown a little, and is of an age to be safe with me.
And thou shalt have the wages due to thee.'

At this the woman--who was indeed the child's own mother--could hardly
keep back her tears, for joy. She bowed herself before the daughter of
Pharaoh and in all things did as she was bidden. From that day on her
care was over. She loved the child ever more dearly, her one sorrow
being the thought that he would some day be taken away from her. And the
daughter of Pharaoh provided all that was needful for the well-being and
comfort of mother and son.

As soon as he was grown to be of an age when he no longer needed her,
his mother brought him to the daughter of Pharaoh. She rejoiced at it.
Slaves were appointed whose only service it was to wait upon him and to
bring him up as if he were by birth and right of the royal house. The
princess treated him in all things as if he were her own son, and she
called him Moses, 'Child of the Waters', for--as if some compassionate
divinity had hidden him there--had she not found him among the reeds and
rushes by the river's brink?




THE BURNING BUSH


As Moses grew up, he revealed rare gifts of mind and spirit. He was by
nature quiet and patient and not easily roused. But, once angered, his
heart burned like a furnace, and when he was resolved on a thing no
earthly power could turn him aside from it. His dark eyes were set deep
beneath clear-cut brows and, unlike the young men of the Egyptians, a
short square beard covered his cheek and chin.

What he gave his mind to be mastered; and though he was slow of speech,
he was of a spirit that could persist, and press on through all dangers
and hindrances. He was a born leader of men and of a will that commands
armies. He became learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians, and while
still in his youth was admitted to the college of the priests in On or
Heliopolis, the City of the Sun, where the father of Joseph's wife had
been High Priest. There, as legend tells, he was known as Asrasif.

But though he was of the high-born company of the priests, he kept
himself apart from their mysteries and rites in the vast and solemn
temple of Osiris, mightiest of the divinities worshipped by the ancient
Egyptians, and judge of the under-world of their dead. Like Joseph
before him, he was faithful to the Lord God of Israel. He prayed to him
in solitude under the open heavens, his face towards the east.

Obedient none the less to the severe discipline of the priests, he
shared with them in all exercises of the mind, music and geometry and
mathematics, and was familiar with the secret knowledge and magic of his
own age, and the lore of the starry-minded Chaldeans, the Assyrians, and
the Greeks.

He was skilled, too, it is recorded, in the strategy of war, and served
as an officer in the armies of Egypt when they defeated the invading
hordes of the Ethiopians. From childhood he had been accustomed to the
graces and manners and luxury of an Egyptian palace, but he knew of what
race he was, and that he owed his life and all that he had to his
mother's love, and his heart grieved continually over the tribulations
of Israel.

When Moses was grown up and in the full years of his manhood, he set out
one day, as was his custom, to visit his own people. And he came to
where slave-gangs of the Hebrews were at work under their foremen and an
Egyptian overseer. By means of wooden rollers laid upon the sand, they
were hauling a prodigious stone that had been hewn out of its quarry to
the place where it was to be used for building.

The sun blazed down upon the tawny sands of the desert; the air
shimmered like molten glass. These Hebrews, haggard and emaciated,
stared like brute beasts; the hands of those as yet not broken in to the
rope were blistered and bleeding. And as Moses watched them, they stayed
a moment to recover their breath, panting with exhaustion, the sweat
streaming down from their shaven heads and sun-scorched faces.

But the master of the slave-gang gave them no respite. With curses and
lashes he drove them on, treating them with less forbearance than he
would things without life. In compassion of their misery Moses could
hardly restrain the anger that flamed up in him. He turned swiftly away
and strode on.

Throughout the day their cowed and hopeless faces, the looks they had
cast him, their weal-scarred shoulders, haunted his mind. He poured out
his indignation to his elder brother, Aaron, sharing with him his shame
and sorrow at the woes of Israel.

Still in this trouble of soul, he was returning alone a little before
nightfall by the way he had come, when a cry of anguish suddenly pierced
the quiet, so shrill and piteous that it might be that of a snared beast
in the throes of death. He turned aside instantly out of the track. It
was no beast that had uttered the cry, but a young Hebrew, one of his
own kindred, who was pleading in vain for mercy against the cruelties of
an Egyptian that stood over him.

Unseen of either, Moses drew swiftly near. He glanced hither and
thither; a dreadful darkness had swept over his eyes. And like an angel
of wrath he ran in upon the Egyptian, and smote him, and flung him
lifeless to the ground. All sounds were hushed in the evening peace.
Moses stooped; he was alone, trembling and shivering, and cold with
dread. He stared on in horror of what he had done. Then he scooped out a
hole with his hands and hid the body of the Egyptian in the sand.

All that night he lay without sleep and could get no release from the
torment of his thoughts. The scene of his wild act of vengeance hung
like a picture in the vacancy of the dark, and he was stricken with
remorse.

He rose early and went out secretly to the place where he had hidden the
body of the Egyptian. And as he drew near in the red glow of the
morning, he saw two Hebrews who were bitterly quarrelling. Before he
could come to them, one struck the other down with the staff he carried.
His face was distorted with rage and hatred. Moses ran in and raised the
fallen man from the ground, and staunched his wound.

'Why dost thou strike this man?' he reproached the other. 'What evil has
he done? Is he not of our blood, mine and thine? Surely we at least
should be at one together, and not add to the miseries of Israel?'

The man turned and cursed him. 'Who art thou to come meddling and
spying?' he cried. 'Who appointed thee a priest and judge over us?
Wouldst thou murder me as thou didst yesterday murder the Egyptian?
Beware of it!'

His voice rang out loud and clear in the bright air. Moses turned
swiftly and hastened away, sick to the soul, and helpless. What he had
thought to be a secret had been revealed. Only a sprinkling of sand
covered the body of the Egyptian from the sight of man. He feared the
vengeance of Pharaoh; his one hope of safety was to flee out of the
country while yet there was time.

When indeed this matter was reported to the king, he was filled with
wrath. He had no love for Moses. Neither wholly Hebrew, nor in blood
Egyptian, he had proved his skill and resource in war. The king saw in
him a danger, and already suspected him of treason. And now that he had
occasion, he sought how he might kill Moses. But it was too late. He had
already escaped beyond the fortresses on the frontiers of Egypt, nor did
he pause in his flight until he found himself in a region south of the
land of Midian and eastward of the Red Sea. There in ancient times were
the turquoise and copper mines of the kings of Egypt.

After long wandering Moses came at evening, when the sun was low, to a
well, where there was a grove of acacia trees. Wearied out in mind and
body, but at last out of danger of pursuit, he sat down to rest. The
shade was cool after the heat of the day, the earth lay at peace beneath
the flaming skies of sunset, and a slender crescent moon was in the
west.

Now the priest of the Midianites who dwelt near there had seven
daughters. And a little while after Moses had come to the well-side,
these seven came down with their father's flocks, and began to fill with
water the stone troughs that lay beside it, to water their sheep. And as
they did so in the wild bright light of the desert skies, they talked
merrily together, their sheep and lambs bleating thirstily around them.

They had been there but a little while, however, when fierce and morose
herdsmen of the desert also came down with their flocks, and drove their
sheep away. Moses at once rose up and defended them against the
shepherds, and himself watered the sheep. The damsels thanked him,
marvelling who this stranger could be.

When they returned home to their father, Jethro, he asked them, 'How is
it you are come back so soon this evening?'

They told him of all that had happened at the well, and how a stranger,
an Egyptian, had not only protected them from the shepherds, but had
helped them to draw water and to give drink to their sheep.

'But where is this Egyptian?' said their father. 'Why have you let him
go? Haste, now, and bring him in, that I myself may thank him and that
he may eat with us.' They went out gladly and brought Moses in.

Moses supped with them that evening, and talked with Jethro late, and
slept in his house. The days went by, and still he stayed on as Jethro's
guest. The seven daughters of the priest never wearied of listening as
he talked with their father of the wonders of Egypt, its prodigious
funeral pyramids reared up by kings of bygone dynasties in the sands of
the desert, the solemn temples to its gods, its lore and magic and
learning, and the splendours of the City of the Sun. He spoke of the
Pharaoh, too, that now sat upon the throne, and of his victories and
conquests. And their hearts melted with pity as he recounted the woes of
his fellow-countrymen.

At length Jethro persuaded his guest to go no further, but remain with
them and become one of his household. Moses was well-content to do so,
though at times he was sick for home and pined to return to his own land
and to his own people. But he knew that the vengeance of Pharaoh against
any who had angered and defied him never faltered or slept, and that to
go back was to die.

And Jethro gave Moses his daughter Zipporah in marriage. Two sons were
born to him. To his firstborn Moses gave the name of Gershom, which
means a Stranger, for he himself was a sojourner in a strange land. The
other he named Eliezer, which means the Help of God, for in the day of
his need God had delivered him from the vengeance of Pharaoh.

The years that Moses spent in the household of his father-in-law in the
country of the Midianites--a people who in time to come were to be one
of the fiercest enemies of Israel--were serene and happy. He was never
to see their like again.

Now in the process of time the king of Egypt died, and his embalmed body
with all pomp and ceremony was laid to rest in the innermost chamber of
the secret tomb which he had himself caused to be hewn out of the rock
in the desolate valley of the dead. And his son reigned in his stead.

This Pharaoh, who was advanced in age when he came to the throne, had
neither the courage nor the sagacity of his father. He was treacherous
and boastful, stubborn and crafty. The Hebrews soon had cause to hate
and fear him, for he was as pitiless as he was weak. They groaned under
burdens too heavy to be borne, and their cry went up to God to deliver
them.

And God heard their cries. He remembered the covenant and bond of peace
that he had made with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, and he took
compassion upon them. And though they knew it not, the long years of
their affliction in Egypt were nearly at an end.

At the approach of summer, when the rains were over and gone, and the
sun burned hot in the sky, the grass-land in the region of Midian where
lived Jethro the priest began to dry up and wither. And, as was usual at
this season, Moses, who had charge of Jethro's flock, led his sheep far
back across the wilderness to the lower uplands of the sacred mountain
called Horeb, or Sinai. It was a region of vast steeps of naked rock, an
inhuman silent solitude; its crags bleached with sun and tempest, its
stones burnished by sharp winds and drifts of sand. Few living creatures
roved in the gaunt shadow of these prodigious peaks of granite, only the
wild goat found a footing there. And flights of birds could be seen on
high winging across to Arabia. But Moses by nature had ever been at
peace in solitude; his thoughts were his own full company at need. Here,
the thin mountain turf was still green and sweet; and he stayed for many
days in these desolate uplands, stark and affrighting even to those
whose home was the wilderness, his dogs and sheep his only company.

The silence around him stilled mind and heart. Yet he longed for news of
those he loved and from whom he had been separated so many years. The
wrongs of Israel had never throughout these years of exile ceased to
grieve and trouble him.

One morning early before the dews had dried, he led his flock to fresh
pastures, and there he lay down to rest, his staff in his hand, his dogs
around him, while his sheep and lambs, each with its own gentle shadow
beside it on the sward, grazed peacefully on. And as he sat alone, he
fell into a reverie, and his spirit wandered far. Dwindling in distance,
the eagle-haunted crags and crests of the mountains towered into the
blue waste of noon, while near at hand rose sheer the steeps of Horeb,
its summit hidden in cloud. The scream of a bird rang in his ear, and
aroused him from his reverie.

And lo, lifting up his eyes, he saw, above and beyond the rock-strewn
slope of the valley that mounted up before him, and in a place bare and
treeless, a burning bush. The flame of its burning went up from it as
from a torch, clear and fervent in the noonday sun. But though the bush
burned on as if with fire, it was not consumed. For the flame was not of
earth, but was the glory of an angel of the Lord.

Moses gazed at it in wonder, and at length arose, saying within himself:
'What marvel is this? I will turn aside and draw near and see this
strange sight, why the bush is not burnt.'

Leaving his flocks to roam as they willed, he went on up the valley into
the solitude of the mountain.

When the Angel of the Lord saw that Moses had turned aside and drew
near, he called to him from out of the midst of the burning bush,
'Moses, Moses!'

There was no sound else between earth and heaven, and Moses stayed where
he stood, his eyes fixed on its miraculous radiance. So still and clear
was the voice that it might have called to him from out of the inmost
silence of his mind. And he answered the angel: 'Here am I.'

Then said the angel of the Lord: 'Come not hither; but put off thy
sandals from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy
ground. I speak to thee in the name of the Lord God who sent me hither,
the God thy father worshipped, yea, the God of Abraham, the God of
Isaac, the God of Jacob.'

And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look upon God. And the
voice said: 'I have seen the affliction of my people in Egypt and I have
heard their wailing by reason of the taskmasters that oppress them. I
know their sorrows; and am come down to deliver them and to send thee
thyself to Pharaoh the King that thou mayest set my people free and lead
them out of Egypt.'

The words rang sweet as a clarion in Moses' ears, yet his heart misgave
him. 'Alas, Lord,' he said, 'who am I--an outcast and a fugitive
condemned to death--that I should confront Pharaoh face to face and
bring forth the people of Israel from out of Egypt.'

The Lord said: 'Be not afraid; I will surely be with thee. All those who
sought to kill thee in Egypt are now dead. And for token that it is I,
the Lord, who am sending thee thither, the day shall come when thou
thyself and all Israel shall serve and worship me upon this sacred
mountain.'

Moses, still communing with himself, turned his face away and gazed out
over the valley where his sheep were placidly browsing and into the
distance towards Egypt. And the light of the flame of the burning bush
smote on his face, gilding it as if with gold, and the whole earth was
still as though in trance.

'But it may be,' he said, 'when I come before the people and tell them,
"The God of Israel hath sent me, and I come to do his will," that they
will challenge me, and say: "But who is this God of whom thou speakest:
and what is his name?" How then shall I answer them?'

And the Lord God, speaking through the mouth of the angel, answered
Moses and said: 'I AM THAT I AM: eternal, infinite, the source of all
life, all love, all wisdom. And to thee and to my people I will be all
that I will reveal myself to be, though as yet thou hast no knowledge of
it. Assemble the elders of Israel and proclaim to them: "Jehovah, the
Lord God of your fathers, who was, and is, and ever shall be, hath sent
me unto you. I AM hath sent me unto you." This is my name and it shall
be my memorial to all generations. Then say this unto them: "The Lord
God of Israel knows all your sorrows and has seen your distress, and he
himself will lead you out and set you free from your bondage in Egypt
and bring you up at length into the land that he promised to Abraham, to
Isaac and to Jacob, even into Canaan, a good land and a wide, a land
flowing with milk and honey." And they will listen and pay heed to thee.
Then thou and the elders of Israel shall come together into the presence
of Pharaoh the king of Egypt, and thou shalt say to him: "The Lord God
of the Hebrews hath revealed himself to us and called us to do his
bidding. We entreat thee to let us go three days' journey out of Egypt
into the solitude of the wilderness that we may make solemn sacrifice to
the Lord our God."

'But the King of Egypt will refuse to hearken. He is set up in his
pride, and no plea or entreaty will move him or cause him to waver. Then
shall I stretch forth my hand and I shall smite Egypt with my marvels.
Egypt shall be afflicted and all men shall wonder. In that day not only
shall this Pharaoh set my people free, but they shall go rejoicing, with
their sons and their daughters, and burdened with the riches of Egypt,
jewels of silver and jewels of gold, and fine raiment. The proud and
haughty of Egypt shall heap gifts upon them and shall urge them to
hasten and be gone.'

But Moses, still doubting within himself, answered and said: 'But even
yet it may be that when I appear before the elders of Israel and say the
Eternal hath sent me, and declare the sacred name, they may still refuse
to believe me, and deny that I come from God. How then shall I give
proof of it?'

The voice said: 'What is it in thy hand?'

He answered: 'My shepherd's staff.'

Then said the Lord: 'Cast it upon the ground.'

Moses, as he was bidden, flung down his staff, and behold, as it touched
the rock on which it fell, it became a serpent, living and venomous, and
Moses started back from it in fear.

Then said the Lord: 'Put out thy hand without fear and seize the serpent
by the tail.'

Moses stooped, and seized the serpent; and its being changed, and lo, it
was his shepherd's staff that was again in his hand.

Then said the Lord: 'Thrust thy hand into thy bosom.'

He did so. And when he plucked it out of his bosom, it had become like
the silvery hand of a leper and was white as snow.

Then said the voice: 'Cover thy hand again.'

And when Moses withdrew his hand, it no longer resembled that of a
leper, but was restored to the likeness of the other.

Then said the Lord: 'If when thou appear before the elders of Israel,
they believe not that thou art come from the Eternal, and refuse to be
convinced either by the one sign I have given thee or by the other, and
will not listen to thee, then do thou fill a vessel with the water of
the river of Egypt and pour it out upon the parched sands on the bank of
the river, and the water which thou hast taken out of the river shall
become red as blood upon the sand.'

Then said Moses: 'O Lord God, I beseech thee to have patience with me. I
am by nature slow and halting of speech and ever have been. Nor even
while thou hast been speaking with me have I been able to say what is in
my heart, for I am a man without any skill in the use of words. How then
shall I speak before the elders of Israel so that they shall be
persuaded and believe in me, and that thou hast sent me?'

And God said to Moses: 'Who made the mouth of man? Who causes this man
to be dumb and that deaf, and who gives or withholds the sight of man's
eyes? Is it not the Lord God, the Creator of all? Go then, and think no
more how thou shalt say what I have bidden thee say, for I myself will
guide thy tongue and give thee speech.'

Moses bowed his head in deep and perplexed thought. He was divided in
mind. All his heart's longing was to obey the will of the Lord for the
redemption of his people. Yet distrust of himself and of his own powers
still held him back. His voice trembled. 'So be it, O Lord,' he said.
'And yet I would that the Lord would send someone to speak for him
better able than I am!'

At this, the anger of the angel of the Lord was kindled against Moses.
'Hast thou forgotten Aaron thy brother?' he said. 'Is he not a Levite
and a priest, and hath he no gift of words? Even now he is on his way
hither to meet thee, and when he seeth thee, his heart will be filled
with joy. Do thou then speak with him, and inspire and direct him in all
that he shall say. Thou shalt tell him of the wonders that have been
shown to thee this day. I have made thee my prophet before Israel and
before the King of Egypt, and Aaron thy brother shall be thy spokesman.
In all things thou shalt be his inspiration, as if thou thyself wert of
God, and he thy prophet. Take thy staff, and this rod that I give into
thy hand. With it thou shalt do miracles and show that I the Eternal am
with thee.'

    *    *    *    *    *

The voice ceased and Moses was alone. High overhead the virgin crest of
Horeb pierced the sky, its shadow flung dark across the hollow steep on
which he stood, as the sun went down into the west. The flame pure as
crystal and of the light of gold that had dwelt in the midst of the
bush, yet had touched neither twig nor leaf with fire, no longer shone
upon his face and filled his mind with its radiance, for the angel of
the Lord had gone his way.




THE PETITION TO PHARAOH


Moses went down into the valley and gathered together his flock and led
them back across the desert to Jethro. He said nothing of what had
passed during the days of his absence. His face was changed. The vision
he had seen haunted his eyes. He spoke like one who has been very near
to death and what lies beyond it, and whose mind is far away. He told
Jethro that he wished to leave his service awhile, and to return into
Egypt. 'Let me go, I pray thee,' he said, 'so that I may visit my own
people again and those near and dear to me in my own country, for I know
not even if they are still alive.'

Jethro was very gracious to him; the years they had spent together had
deepened their affection one for another. He could see that some strange
event of which he himself had no knowledge had deeply moved and troubled
Moses, and he divined a little of what was in his mind. He asked no
questions, but fondly embraced him. 'Go in peace,' he said, 'and may all
things be well with thee and with thy brethren from whom thou hast been
parted so long.'

When they had first met together, Moses had been a stranger, friendless
and solitary, his very life in danger. The day was soon to come when he
would return into Midian and to Mount Horeb, and they would meet again,
but he himself would then no longer be a shepherd of sheep, but the
leader and commander of the whole host of Israel.

Having bidden his wife and his two sons farewell, Moses set out on his
journey. And while he was passing through the wilderness at the foot of
Mount Horeb he met his brother Aaron who was himself come to visit him.
He kissed him and great was their happiness. They had much to tell one
another; and as they slowly paced along side by side through the parched
flats and sandhills of the desert towards Goshen, or sat at evening in
the camping-place where they were to sleep, Moses shared with his
brother the anxious thoughts that filled his mind. He told him of the
wonder of the burning bush and all that the Lord had bidden him do in
Egypt, and of the signs and portents that were to be revealed. And they
faced together the supreme ordeal that lay before them, giving one
another confidence and resolution.

When they came into Goshen, they called together the elders or chief men
of Israel, and Aaron revealed to them everything that Moses had told him
concerning his communion with the Lord on the sacred mountain of Horeb,
and Moses himself showed them the signs and wonders of the Lord. The
people believed. The Lord God had seen their sorrow and was
compassionate. Their hearts were filled with joy and longing and ardour;
they bowed their heads and worshipped.

On a day appointed by Pharaoh, Moses and Aaron and the elders of Israel
were brought into the hall of audience in the palace of the king to
present their petition. They prostrated themselves before him and made
obeisance. And Pharaoh demanded what reason they had for appearing
before him.

They answered him: 'We come not as suppliants before Pharaoh, but have
been sent hither by the Lord, the God of Israel. Our words are his
words, and it is his command that we bring to the king. Thus saith the
Lord: "Let my people go out of Egypt that they may make a pilgrimage
into the wilderness, and there keep a solemn feast and offer sacrifice
to their God."'

As he listened, the face of Pharaoh darkened with scorn and derision.
'And who is this God,' he said, 'that I should regard him? I neither
know nor heed him. Nor will I let the Hebrews go.'

They answered him: 'We entreat thee to have patience and to listen to
our petition, seeing that it is not merely we, thy servants, who plead
before thee, but the Lord God of the Hebrews who hath made known his
will unto us. It is little that we ask: only that our people may be
granted a brief respite from their toil in the king's quarries and
brick-fields, and may go forth on a three days' pilgrimage into the
wilderness there to sacrifice to their God. Else peradventure some great
evil may befall them--pestilence or the sword.'

'I say unto thee,' said Pharaoh in his wrath, 'I neither know this God
nor heed him. If God he be, what sign or token canst thou show that he
has sent thee? The Gods are mighty, and manifest themselves on earth in
marvels beyond man's understanding. You say you are this God's envoys.
Give proof of it then, and it may be Pharaoh himself will do him
honour!'

Then in the presence of the king and of his lords and counsellors who
were in attendance upon him, Aaron cast down before the throne the rod
that was in his hand. And behold, before the eyes of all assembled
there, the rod was changed and became a living serpent. They recoiled
from it in astonishment and fear. And Aaron stooped and plucked it up
from the ground, and it returned to its former shape and semblance, and
his rod was again in his hand.

But Pharaoh himself sat unmoved on his throne, a smile of secret mockery
on his high narrow countenance. He gave command that his wizards or
magicians should be summoned into his presence--men skilled in occult
and secret arts. In the robes of their rites, and each with his magic
wand or rod in his hand, Jannes and Mambres their leaders, they entered
the great hall and made obeisance to the king. And as Aaron had done, so
did they.

They cried their incantations, and cast down their rods before the
throne, and these too of the secret sorcery they knew became as living
serpents. And though Aaron's rod had the mastery over theirs and
swallowed them up, no sign of wonder or apprehension showed on Pharaoh's
face. He turned abruptly and addressed Moses and Aaron by name.

'Now indeed,' said he, 'can Pharaoh testify how mighty a God has sent
you hither! Wondrous in truth are the marvels that he shares with the
least of Pharaoh's magicians! But I have heard of you; and nothing good.
What insensate folly was this in your minds by which you designed to
deceive me? You crave audience of me and avow some God of the
Hebrews--who swarm like pestilent flies in the land--has bidden you go
and make merry with him in the wilderness. But what, in the hidden
treason of your designs, you are bent on doing is to breed discontent
among my work-people, to decoy them away from their labours and pamper
them with idleness. Understand then; the Hebrews shall not go; and I
warn you to bring no more complaints before me. Look well to it.'

That same day Pharaoh sent for the overseers whom he had set over the
Hebrews, and commanded that in future not only should the straw that had
hitherto been given to them for the making of bricks be withheld, and
that the slave-gangs themselves should find where they could what they
needed, but that in spite of this the daily tale of bricks required of
them should in no wise be reduced.

The overseers and gangmasters made known to the Hebrews that from that
day forward, by the king's decree, no more straw would be supplied to
them as heretofore out of the royal granaries: and that in future they
must find what straw they needed as best they could.

Now the only substitute available was the stubble that had been left in
the fields after the gathering in of the harvest. Of long straw they
could get none. Then day by day they wearied themselves in the idle and
waste labour of grubbing up this stubble-straw; and the tale of bricks,
which each gang was compelled to make, fell short of what was required
of them.

And as day by day the overseers and their clerks, on checking the
brick-piles, found the quantity of new-made bricks to be far less than
was customary, they sent for the Hebrew foremen of the slave-gangs and
beat them, threatening that a worse punishment was in store for them if
the tale of bricks should fall short on the morrow. Enraged by this
injustice, the Hebrew foremen met together and in a mob made their way
into the city to appeal to Pharaoh. Herded together in the stifling heat
by the armed guards who had been sent out to meet them, they were
admitted no further than into the outer precincts of the palace, while
two of them were led in before the king.

'We come to Pharaoh,' they said, 'to plead for justice. Why are his
servants so vilely treated? The overseers goad us on and rage against
us: "Make brick, make brick!" But how shall bricks be made without
straw? And why are we pitilessly beaten if a full day's tale of bricks
fall short of what it should when half thy servants' time from dawn till
dark must be spent in scrabbling stubble out of the fields? The blame is
not ours but Pharaoh's and his overseers', who deal unjustly with his
servants.'

Then said Pharaoh: 'Return thanks to what gods you have if, ere night
come, you hang not by the neck to the loftiest gallows in Egypt. It is
not because you have too much but too little to do that you come
flocking out of Goshen in a rebellious rabble to make complaint. You are
idle; you are idle! This also is why I am pestered with men of your
race, puffed up with pride and folly, and asserting that some God
requires your sacrifices in the sands of the desert. Begone from out of
the city and trouble Pharaoh no more, lest the full vengeance of his
wrath fall upon you, and that soon!'

And he decreed that the daily labour of the Hebrews should not be
reduced by a single brick. The foremen of the slave-gangs were driven
like sheep to the slaughter from out of the city. Their appeal to
Pharaoh had left them in worse straits than before. They were indeed in
evil case; on the one side an implacable tyrant and his overseers; and
on the other the resentment of the Israelites who, worn-out with this
double toil, worked under them and for whom they were answerable.

As they went on their way, disputing together and racked with the rough
usage they had received, they encountered Moses and Aaron. Eager for
news of what had passed, they had come out to meet them. The mob raged
with fury at sight of them.

'Be God our witness of the evil you have brought on us,' they shouted
against them, 'and may he judge between us and reward you as you
deserve! You have poisoned the mind of Pharaoh against us, and made us
to stink in the nostrils of all Egypt. And now because of your meddlings
he will not rest until he has destroyed us altogether.'

Moses turned away and left them, their menaces and reproaches ringing in
his ears. As soon as he was alone, in anguish of soul he poured out all
that was in his heart to the Lord. All that he had attempted had come to
nothing. Pharaoh had not only contemptuously rejected his petition, but
had avenged himself on the Israelites and embittered them against
himself.

'O Lord God,' he cried in his misery, 'why hast thou sent me, and yet
hast forsaken me? All that I do is in vain.'

And as he prayed, his mind became more serene. And the Lord comforted
Moses in the solitude of his communion with him.

'I am Jehovah the Lord God,' he said, 'who appeared unto Abraham and
Isaac and Jacob; I am the Almighty whom they themselves worshipped. But
they knew me only in part and could conceive of me only as their own
hearts revealed to them. They knew not that I am the Eternal, who was
and is and ever shall be. Yet it was I the Lord who established my
covenant with them, that I would give the land of Canaan--the land
wherein they themselves sojourned--to their children's children. Speak
again to my people. Bid them have faith and be not cast down. The
Eternal will be their salvation, and will redeem them from all their
grief and woe.

'But if heartsick and impatient and made desperate by the cruelties they
endure, they reject thee, and refuse to listen to thee, then do thou
thyself return again to Pharaoh, and in all things as I bid thee, do.
Stubborn with pride is the heart of Pharaoh, and his eyes are darkened.
But my wonders shall be revealed, and a day shall come when thou thyself
shalt be as a God to him, and he will humble himself before thee and
plead with thee to intercede with the Lord of Hosts on his behalf, lest
he himself be destroyed.'




THE PLAGUES OF EGYPT


At the season of the annual inundation, when the waters of the Nile
sweep down in flood from the mountains of Abyssinia, Pharaoh, attended
by his courtiers, his priests and officers, proceeded in state from his
palace to take part in a festival which, as in years gone by, was to be
held upon the river. On his progress thither through the throngs which
had come forth to acclaim him, and before he had embarked into the
silken-sailed vessel that had been prepared for the ceremony and was
moored beside the quay, Moses and Aaron confronted the king by the
riverside, and yet again entreated him to grant the petition they had
made on behalf of the Israelites. And again he refused to listen to
them.

Then in sight of Pharaoh and of the great company assembled there, Moses
lifted up his rod and smote the swirling waters. And behold, even as
they watched, from shore to shore the whole surface of the flooding
river began to run red as blood.

But though many were dismayed at this marvel, it moved Pharaoh not one
whit. This also was within the knowledge of his wizards and magicians,
and he paid no heed to it. When the ceremony was over, he returned to
his palace. Nor did he show any sign of relenting when report was made
to him that a wonder unknown in living memory had brought horror on the
whole city.

For now the river not only continued to flow blood-red, but the fish in
it perished. Its tide was laden with their puffed-up carcases, floating,
belly upwards, as the flood-water swept from the mountains down to the
sea. The river stank; and not the river alone. The water of the canals
also that had been cut out for the irrigation of the fields glistened in
the light of sunset, red as blood. Even in the reservoirs of the
Egyptians, in their tanks and cisterns, in the very pots and jars they
used in their houses--there was water red as blood. As it staled it
putrefied and became foul and corrupt. Neither man nor beast dared taste
of it. And the Egyptians were compelled to dig round about the river for
water fit to drink, and to sink wells.

So it continued for seven days. And when the seven days were at an end
Moses came again into the presence of Pharaoh. He warned him that unless
he consented to do as the Lord God of Israel had ordained, the creeping
things of the earth would bear witness against him and be a cause of
shuddering and dread to the whole realm of Egypt. But Pharaoh stubbornly
refused to pay heed to him, and dismissed him with contempt.

And even as Moses had foretold, there began to breed in the corrupt and
blood-red waters of the river an unprecedented plague of frogs. The
mud-shallows amidst the beds of reeds and rushes and the fringes of the
water were soon astir and alive with them. They crawled up in an
innumerable host from out of the swamps. They spread in myriads over the
low-lying lands on either bank of the river, and swarmed everywhere,
creeping and hopping not only into the orchards and gardens, fresh and
lovely with their leafy trees and flowers, and into the lilied pools and
conduits, but into the innermost rooms of the houses of the Egyptians,
their bed-chambers and their beds, their cooking stoves or ovens, and
even into the bowls wherein they kneaded their dough for the making of
bread. Squat and noisome, there was no cranny or crevice free of them.

Clammy and cold as the mire from which they came, they climbed up, in
the dead of night, upon the Egyptians' bodies as they lay asleep, and
leapt about the clods in myriads as they worked in the fields. The air
resounded with their croaking. Swarms of these harmless, bright-coloured
creatures had been seen in Egypt in previous years, to be soon devoured
by the waterfowl or to return into the Nile. But there is horror to man
in nature's multitudes, and now, leaping and creeping, or staring and
inert, they swarmed in every dwelling, even in the houses of the
wealthiest nobles and the private chambers of Pharaoh and his queen.

The Egyptians were filled with loathing of the frogs. Why had their gods
brought such a visitation upon them? If magic could bring such a pest,
why could it not be conjured away? But the priests and sorcerers could
do nought. At length Pharaoh himself sent for the chiefs of the Hebrews
and commanded Moses to intercede with his God.

'Think not,' he said, 'it is beyond the power and knowledge of my
magicians to breed frogs. That is simple of proof. But to rid Egypt
swiftly, and as with a gesture, of the plague of them that now afflicts
the land--that were in truth a wonder. Entreat thy God, then, to remove
this vexation from the land, seeing that it is a cause of distress to my
people and an affront even to me myself. Then shall I know that he is
indeed a mighty God, and that it is fitting the Hebrews should be given
grace from their labour in order that they may do him honour.'

Moses stayed a moment before he made answer to the king.

'What is thy servant,' he said at last, 'compared with Pharaoh, lord of
all! Thou thyself shalt have this glory over me, and shalt decide at
what hour I am to entreat the God of the Hebrews on thy behalf.'

Pharaoh gazed at him stonily but concealed his anger. 'Why, then, let it
be to-morrow, and ere the sun set,' he answered. And this he said to try
Moses, for he had no belief in his mind that the plague was other than a
visitation of nature.

Then said Moses: 'So be it. To-morrow I will make my prayer, and the
frogs shall be destroyed, and from that day onward none shall be found
alive anywhere in Egypt, except only in the waters of the river. By this
shalt thou know that there is in power none like unto the Lord our God;
and that when he commands, the mightiest must obey.'

The plague of frogs ceased. They perished suddenly in their myriads in
the fields and orchards, in the gardens and the houses, and wheresoever
they had crept for harbourage. Alive they had been pest enough, dead
they were a foulness. The Egyptians, to be rid of their carcases, raked
them together and piled them up in heaps that rotted in the sun. The
air was filled with their stench.

But when it was reported to Pharaoh that as if by a marvel the land had
been suddenly freed of this plague, and that to him had been accorded
the renown of it, his mood changed. As lightly as he had given his word,
so he dismissed all thought of it from his mind.

And Moses stretched out his hand, and with his rod he smote the dust of
Egypt, as he had smitten the flooding waters of the Nile. And lo, in the
brooding heat of the sun, from the sod-caked shallows of the river there
issued a venomous swarm of gnats. They rose, droning, like clouds of
fine dust into the air, their wings shimmering glass-like, the sound of
them faint and shrill as a harp-string. Athirst for blood, they pestered
man and beast both day and night, so that none could get peace or rest
from them.

When Pharaoh summoned his wizards and bade them with their magic
incantations breed life out of the dust, though in fear of his vengeance
they made no answer at that time, they knew that all their enchantments
would be in vain. This wonder was beyond their magic, and they
themselves were dismayed and gave Pharaoh warning. 'We entreat Pharaoh
to beware,' they said. 'These vile Hebrews have knowledge to bring about
mysteries of which we ourselves are ignorant. What now is all about us,
haunting the very air we breathe, is no magic, but a cause of grave
disquiet. We see in it the finger of God.'

Yet such was Pharaoh's pride and self-will that he refused to listen to
their counsel. In his vengeful malice against the Hebrews his heart was
hardened, and the dews of the mercy of heaven were withdrawn from him
because of his stubborn opposition to the will of God that he knew and
feared yet refused to obey. He denied further audience to the Hebrews.
And when Moses intercepted and confronted him as in his two-horsed
chariot he proceeded with his courtiers on his way to the river, and
warned him that unless he relented, worse evils would assuredly follow,
he invoked the curses of his gods upon him, and, his countenance
distorted with rage, drove furiously on.

But repentance followed hard upon his folly. The wind veered, and began
to blow soft yet persistently from out of the south--parching and
sultry. And borne in on the stream of it there flitted in upon Egypt
legions of dog-flies. Hovering in the air or crawling upon the ground,
they crept into every byre and stable and pen and dwelling-house, and
were a torment and a curse to all within their walls. The children
wailed for pain and weariness. Man's business was brought almost to a
standstill. Nor does the dog-fly betray its onset with the twangling of
its wings. It settles in silence, stabs with its sharp weapon into the
living flesh, and the pang of it is a warning that comes too late.

Yet though throughout the length and breadth of Egypt there was no
escape from this blood-sucking pest of dog-flies, the land of Goshen
where dwelt the people of Israel was wholly free from them. The Hebrews
groaned under persecutors as pitiless in human shape, but of dog-flies
there were none.

The ravages of these flies among the Egyptians became at last beyond
endurance, and Pharaoh sent in haste into Goshen for Moses and Aaron.
They made obeisance to him where he sate in splendour in the midst of
his court upon the royal dais, under its canopy of gold and blue and
scarlet. But he was compelled to raise his voice to make himself audible
above the droning of the dog-flies. He spoke harshly, his face enflamed,
his voice hoarse with rage and chagrin.

'Up, and delay not, but get you gone,' he said. 'Your petition is
granted. Return at once from whence you came. Prepare to make your feast
in Goshen and there sacrifice to your God. Three days' grace, and three
days' grace only, shall be given you, and my overseers and taskmasters
shall be withdrawn meanwhile.'

He appeared to speak in haste and as if without forethought, yet his
words were as crafty as his intention. And Moses was not deceived.

'Our petition to the king,' he made answer, 'was that he should give
grace to the Hebrews to make a three days' pilgrimage into the
wilderness, to hold a solemn feast there, and there only, to the one
true God. Beasts, then, in plenty we shall need for sacrifice, oxen and
bullocks. But as Pharaoh knows well, these are held sacred to their gods
by the Egyptians, and it would be a needless cause of offence to them if
we remain in Goshen and sacrifice there. There would be riot and tumult.
The people would rise up and stone the Hebrews, and bloodshed would
follow. Nay, O king, it is into the wilderness that the children of
Israel must go, and not less than three days' journey, for such is the
will of God.'

Pharaoh sat motionless, his lean cheek resting on his hand, his face set
in a sullen frown. There was silence in the great hall, but for the
whispering stir of the dog-flies.

'So be it,' he said at last. 'There is wisdom in your appeal to me; and
it is true there might be this danger. The least sign of riot or
rebellion is hateful to me and would meet with instant retribution. Let
then the Hebrews go their way well beyond the confines of Egypt into the
desert. But not too far: too far, I say. And now delay no longer, but
intercede between me and the Lord thy God.'

'Thou hast spoken,' said Moses. 'I go now to entreat the Lord to free
Pharaoh and his people from the visitation that he has brought upon
them. But let not Pharaoh vaunt himself over me if the Lord be merciful;
and let him not in mockery deceive me yet again, and yet again withdraw
the consent that he has now given that my people shall go in peace and
sacrifice to their God.'

God answered Moses' entreaty, and the dog-flies ceased in Egypt. But yet
once again Pharaoh the King was false to his own word, hardened his
heart, and returned to his obstinacy as of old.

And retribution speedily followed. There came a dreadful murrain or
pestilence that spread through Egypt, attacking the cattle, the horses,
the oxen, the sheep, and even the camels of the traders that were in the
land at that season, so that multitudes of them languished and died of
its ravages. Yet of the flocks and herds that belonged to the people of
Israel in Goshen none were harmed, and not a single one perished.

Word of this being brought to Pharaoh, he himself made inquiry of his
overseers. They reported that the cattle of the Hebrews had wholly
escaped the pestilence, that it raged only in Egypt. Nevertheless he
disregarded it. And while the murrain was still in the land, Moses and
Aaron went out and met Pharaoh in the way as he was returning into his
palace. And when he refused to listen to them, Moses was consumed with
anger at this fresh insult to the Lord. He snatched up two handfuls of
soot or ashes from out of a kiln, used in the baking of pots and
glass-work, that stood near, and before the very eyes of the king tossed
them on high and sprinkled them towards heaven.

'Lo, now: watch thou and wait!'

The ashes were scattered; a light wind carried the dust of them hither,
thither, and dispersed it far and wide. And behold, there broke out on
the bodies of man and beast foul boils and swelling blains, inflaming
the skin. Nor did the courtiers and noblemen of Pharaoh's household
escape this malady, nor even his priests and magicians.

For when one morning early, after days of weary waiting, Moses once more
demanded an audience of the king, not one of the magicians was present.
They were disgraced and in deep despondency, and their very faces were
so disfigured by reason of the boils upon them, that they were ashamed
to show themselves and be humbled before him.

Yet again Moses warned Pharaoh of what would ensue if he continued to
ignore and defy the will of God. He foretold that on the morrow there
would descend such a storm of hail on Egypt as had never been witnessed
since the foundation of the kingdom. Pharaoh himself affected to be
unmoved, and answered him disdainfully. But many of his counsellors and
officers of state who were present, having taken to heart the wonders
that had already been revealed, had come to fear the Hebrews and the God
they worshipped. They gave orders secretly to their servants that from
daybreak till nightfall on the morrow not one of their herdsmen was to
drive his cattle afield. Let him keep them safe in shed, and himself
indoors.

Pharaoh slept uneasily that night, fell into a fitful slumber a little
before dawn, but awoke again early and rose from his bed to look out
from his window at the skies of morning. A scene of splendour and
ill-boding met his gaze. Mounting into the vacancy of the heavens and
borne upon a wind counter to that which breathed fitfully then died down
and rose again on the earth, vast leaden clouds, domed and turreted and
utterly dwarfing in their majesty even the temples and palaces of the
city, were lit with the silvery radiance of the rising sun.

They towered higher and higher until the whole firmament was concealed,
and the light died. And it was as though morning were retreating into
the glooms of night. And as Pharaoh watched, out of the hush and
stagnancy of the heavens a tempest of wind suddenly swept across the
city, and the livid dark was riven by a burst of flame, dazzling his
eyes, so that he clapped his hands over them to shut out the glare. For
a few moments he stood blinded and motionless, while the very stones of
his palace trembled beneath him at the crash of thunder.

And after the thunder came a storm of hail. It whitened instantly as if
with hoarfrost the whole valley lying on either side the looping waters
of the great river. Throughout the confines of Egypt the steady tumult
of its falling could be heard even above the reverberations of the
thunder, and the fire of the lightning ran along upon the earth, now
hoary with hailstones of ice. The men and the cattle that had escaped
the pestilence and that were exposed to this tempest of hail fled in
panic for shelter, smitten as they ran by its sharp-edged shards of ice.
Within a few minutes from its first onset the crops of ripening barley
were utterly ruined, and the blue-flowering flax was beaten to the
ground and laid low. The fields of wheat and of spelt that were as yet
only in the green blade alone escaped. Never had the like of it been
seen before in Egypt.

In the midst of the tempest Pharaoh sent in hot haste for Moses. He sat
pale and trembling, his voice scarcely audible in the din of the thunder
and the hail, while the lightnings glimmering overhead filled the great
chamber with their wild blue light. And he confessed that he had sinned.

'The God of Israel is a God of righteousness,' he said. 'I and my people
are in the wrong. Entreat thy God to still these mighty thunderings and
to stay this hail. They oppress my very soul. I will let the Hebrews go
and you shall stay no longer.'

And Moses answered the king: 'As soon as I am gone out from the presence
of Pharaoh and have departed out of the city, I will lift my hands in
supplication to the Lord, and the thunders shall cease in heaven and
there shall be no more hail. Thou hast vaunted thyself in thy pride, and
he has been merciful. With but one deadly pestilence he might have
smitten Egypt and swept away both thee and thy people like chaff before
the wind from off the face of the earth. The soul of Pharaoh is in the
hands of God. Thou hast been preserved only that thou mayst acknowledge
his power and be the cause of his honour and glory throughout the world.
But that day is not yet. Thou hast professed to be penitent, but the
words of thy mouth are one thing and the heart within thee another. And
I know well that in thy secret mind and in the minds of thy priests and
counsellors there is no true fear of God.'

Moses turned and left him. The hail abated and the lightnings and the
thunderings ceased. The sun shone out again in splendour, but on an
Egypt ravaged with storm, its fields of harvest sodden and desolate. And
when Pharaoh saw that all again seemed well and fair, he flattered
himself that by his cunning pretences he had once more outwitted the
leaders of the Hebrews. None the less he was shaken in spirit. He not
only hated Moses but feared him, and was disquieted with dread of the
divine power he still defied but could no longer challenge or refute.




EGYPT IS AFRAID


Days and weeks passed by, yet reports continued to reach the king of the
havoc to the crops and the loss of life and property that had been
caused by the tempest and the pestilence and the disasters that had gone
before. His realm was seething with discontent. Rumours that Jehovah,
the God of the Hebrews, was the cause of their troubles had filled the
people with fear and dark forebodings. The whole traffic and commerce of
the country was almost at a standstill and its market-places were
deserted and empty of merchandise. Moreover, report of the fatalities
that had fallen upon Egypt had already spread far beyond its confines
and among kings and nations ever awaiting an opportunity to assail her
when she showed signs of weakness or was divided against herself. In the
midst of these cares and anxieties, Moses appeared yet again in the
presence of Pharaoh. He was received in one of the lesser rooms of the
palace and but a few of the king's most confidential advisers were in
attendance upon him.

'Thou hast seen. Thou hast heard,' said Moses. 'Thou knowest the evils
that have come upon Egypt. At the mere nod of thy head my people could
go free to worship their God. Yet again, and yet again, hast thou
withdrawn the solemn word spoken with thine own mouth. Take warning, O
king, while still there is time. Heed now, though it be late, the will
of God that I have made known to thee, lest his judgment fall upon thee
yet more heavily and thou cry unto him, but in vain, in despair and
remorse. For I say unto thee, if still thou art obdurate, after the
tempest shall come the locusts. They shall descend upon Egypt and shall
devour every green thing growing that has escaped the hail. Their
destruction shall be such as none alive has witnessed since the day that
he was born!'

When he had withdrawn from the presence of the king, his nobles and
counsellors began to murmur among themselves. They had the welfare of
Egypt at heart. And though few of them were yet convinced that the
calamities which had befallen the country were due to the intervention
of a God they neither knew nor reverenced, they had themselves seen the
bitter humiliation of Pharaoh's priests and magicians. They had learned
also that this detested leader of the Hebrews was a man to whom all
their abstruse and secret learning was an open book; that his deed
assuredly followed his word; and that he was possessed of powers against
which Pharaoh's craft and obstinacy might serve him for a while but
which would at last overwhelm him in defeat.

They spoke openly. 'How long,' they said to Pharaoh, 'shall this man be
allowed to entice us on from one destruction to another? The whole
country has been laid waste by him and is rank with discontent.
Pharaoh's enemies exult at news of it. And now this traitor threatens us
with yet another plague that will destroy the little that remains to us
of our fruit, our crops, our very bread. Famine will surely follow. Our
foes will descend on us and the glories and conquests even of the king,
thy father, be wiped clean away. These Hebrews ask nothing more than a
brief respite from their labours that they may sacrifice to their God.
We beseech thee then to placate them and to let them go. The hand of
Pharaoh is mighty; he can afford to relax it a little that at his own
chosen moment he may clench it the more irresistibly.'

But there were others of his counsellors who believed that the appeal
made by Moses was merely a device, and that as soon as the Hebrews were
released from the discipline and control of their overseers and
taskmasters, his design was to lead them in open rebellion against the
lordship of Egypt. Pharaoh wavered between the one faction and the
other. In spite of what had gone before, he paid little regard to Moses'
threat, for locusts were seldom seen in Egypt and seemed to him of small
account. But he thought to gain his own ends by compromise and craft. He
sent again for Moses and Aaron and those of the elders of Israel who
were with them.

'It must by now,' said Pharaoh when they were come before him, 'have
been made plain to you that menaces are powerless to move me. It has
never been my desire to refuse whatever may be just and right. In
stubborn folly you thought to defy me, and clemency alone has prevented
my vengeance from falling not only on you yourselves but on your people.
They shall make their pilgrimage; they shall keep their feast in the
desert. But first let me know which among them shall be chosen to go,
and which of them shall remain in Goshen?'

And Moses answered the king: 'We will go with our young and with our
old, with our sons and our daughters, with our flocks and our herds.
Thus will we go. From greatest to least of us, O king--halt and blind
and helpless, the babe at its mother's breast and the old man trembling
on the brink of the grave--not one shall remain behind. Israel is one;
and the Lord God Jehovah hath bidden Israel to his feast.'

Pharaoh turned with a gesture of scorn to the nobles and counsellors who
had opposed him. 'See now,' he cried, 'what overweening insolence is
this!'

Then he once more confronted Moses. 'In sooth,' he said, 'thy God must
be a mighty god if I ever consent to let thy children go. Thine own
words have betrayed thee. From first to last thou hast been contriving
this secret treason against me, intending when once thy people, these
Hebrews, have withdrawn beyond my borders that they shall never return.
Mark well: I will have none of it. If you would serve your God, go; but
your grown men only; for that and that alone was your petition. I have
spoken; trouble me no more!' And he commanded his servants to drive the
Hebrews out of his presence.

Then Moses stretched out his rod over the land of Egypt; and a dry and
parching wind began to rise from out of the east. It blew, laden with
the arid heat of the vast wastes of the wilderness of Arabia and the
desert of Syria that is beyond Canaan. And it continued without ceasing
all that day and all that night. And behold, on the morrow at daybreak,
the locusts came up with the wind.

Drifting in from the sands of the wilderness in which they were
engendered, they advanced, host upon host, in league-long clouds so
dense from their vanguard to their rear that their sun-shimmering wings
spread a shade over Egypt and veiled the face of day. The whizzing of
their multitudes above the earth awoke even those that slept, and struck
terror into all that heard.

Horn and gong sounded the alarm. Men ran this way and that in terror,
their beasts in panic. And when about the middle of the morning the wind
fell to calm, this living cloud came wafting down like flakes
innumerable of drifting snow. Where they settled, there they stayed,
their wings close folded, until the earth was mantled in a moving pall
and was black with them. They were strown so close where there was any
plenty of food that an upper layer of them, eyed and ravenous, straddled
over the one beneath; and above that, others. For though the grasshopper
or cricket, which is of the kin of the locusts, is happy company enough
to man as he shrills on his blade of grass in the summer sun, or chirps
in the warm dark, the ravages of an army of locusts were a loss beyond
computation in these countries of the east.

In the stagnant calm that had followed, the murmur of their voracious
chirpings and gnawings shook the air. And the locusts devoured every
green leaf from off the branches and every sprouting blade of wheat or
remnant of barley that the tempest had spared, and the fruit also that
was swelling upon the trees. There remained nothing green and verdant on
either side the Nile.

Never before in Egypt had there been seen the like of these hosts of
locusts for numbers and destruction, and never shall the like be seen
again. The people were in despair. They had begun to take heart again
after the devastation caused by the tempest of hail and lightning; and
now the little that had been saved was lost to them for ever. Famine and
starvation lay in wait for them; and they saw in this no natural evil
but the hand of God. And though in a frenzy of haste they dug deep pits
and trenches, and kindled high fires of flame and smoke, the locusts
were destroyed in such myriads that their own bodies put out the fires
and filled the pits. And still in their multitudes they came marching
on. As well hope to repel the flood-tide of the sea.

Hour followed hour of that disastrous day, and messengers from all parts
of Egypt were dispatched with urgent reports to Pharaoh from the
governors of his provinces and the overseers of his granaries. Even
those mounted on horseback were compelled to turn aside to avoid the
clotting swarm of locusts that were trampled by thousands under their
horses' hoofs. And Pharaoh saw clearly the danger that threatened him if
this pest were not speedily removed. He was dismayed; and in his fear he
forgot his pride. Without consulting his counsellors and statesmen, he
sent urgently for Moses and Aaron, and confessed that he had sinned. He
sued them to forgive the affront of which in his haste he had been
guilty when at their last audience with him they had been driven by his
servants from out of his presence.

'I do entreat thee,' he implored Moses, 'to mediate between me and the
Lord Jehovah yet once again, that he remove this atrocious plague from
Egypt. It is unendurable to me. That done, I will decide how what thou
askest may best be achieved.'

They left him, and he withdrew himself, his mind in torment, and waited
for what the day might bring forth. The Lord God heard Moses' prayer.
There came a wind from the west, streaming between earth and sky, and
the locusts were drawn up in its flood of air and swept like dust from
off the floor, and perished in the watery waste of the Red Sea. The
fringes of its foam upon the sands of the shore were black with them.

And when Pharaoh was assured that this new danger, like the plagues that
had preceded it, was at an end, his mind and mood abruptly changed. He
hardened his heart and returned to his stubborn connivings.

In my own chosen time, he thought within himself, I will consider and
will decide this matter. These rebellious Hebrews must be taught that
neither they nor their God can compel me to take action against my will.
Let them wait until I choose to be gracious. He showed no sign of
keeping the solemn protestations he had made to Moses, and did nothing.

Nor did Moses himself as in days gone by appear again before Pharaoh. He
too made no sign. He waited in patience--knowing too well this stubborn
and feeble king to believe he would keep faith with him.

In due season the will of God was revealed to him. There came a day when
he stretched out his rod not over the waters or the dust of Egypt but
towards heaven. And at his word the violent and burning wind called
Hamsin that springs up from out of the south, from the waste of Libya,
began to blow, lifting with its blasts the sand and dust of the desert
in billows so dense and lofty that the sun's radiance in mid-heaven,
from a brilliant orange, dwindled to a circle red as blood and fainter
than that of the moon, and then vanished.

There arose also dense emanations of vapour from out of the ground and
the low lands of the river, and all Egypt lay canopied in a hot and
unnatural night, in a darkness which may be felt. Finer than crystals of
snow the sand borne in on the wind silted through every crevice and
cranny and mingled with the Egyptians' victuals, and with their wine and
drink. At the distance of a few paces man's shape was blotted out; all
sense of direction was lost, so that none dared venture out of doors or
stir in the streets. Even within the houses the heated air stifled
throat and lungs, and the inmates went groping and stumbling, with
nought but their feeble lamps to pierce the gloom. For three days
continually they saw not one another, neither rose any from his place to
go abroad.

But in the land of Goshen the sun as usual rose and set, and there shone
clear the natural light of day.

Towards the close of the third day Pharaoh sent for Moses. After long
and fevered debate with his advisers, he was wearied out. Divided in
policy, they were at their wits' end; the wiser among them urging him to
be rid of the Hebrews for good and all, and to defy the will of God no
longer; the rest, obstinate and futile as himself, counselling him to
temporize. As was his usual practice, he gave way in a little and
trusted to his subtlety.

The lights that had been brought to illumine the great chamber of
audience flared dimly in the thick and heated air, scarcely piercing its
hollow vault of gloom. And Moses when he was brought into the presence
of the king drew nearer to the throne than hitherto. He made obeisance,
rose and stood mute. The wafting of the fan-bearers stirred on his
cheek. He fixed his eyes through the murk upon Pharaoh's countenance as
the king addressed him.

'I have yet again,' said Pharaoh, 'remembered me the pledge I gave you,
and have considered your petition. And this is my decree. The Hebrews
shall be allowed to leave Egypt and make their pilgrimage into the
desert to serve their God; and as a further concession, their little
ones shall go with them. Three whole days' grace shall be given them,
then shall they return. None shall remain behind in Goshen during those
three days, except only your flocks and your herds. Of them you will
have no need.'

And Moses answered the king: no longer as does a suitor pleading for a
monarch's favours, but as one who makes terms with the vanquished.

'Pharaoh in his wisdom is pleased to make sport of his suppliant,' he
said. 'For how shall Israel make solemn sacrifice to the Lord if our
sheep and our cattle remain in Goshen? They too shall go with us, and
not a hoof be left behind. For not until we come to the place that the
Lord has appointed shall we ourselves know what he will require of us.
Ay, and thou thyself must give us beasts, the choicest of thine own
herds, for the feast that Israel shall make in the wilderness, and these
of his mercy shall be accepted of thee as a peace-offering to the Lord
our God.'

Pharaoh rose from his throne, blinded to reason, his face transfigured
with fury.

'Must and shall,' he cried, 'are these thy threats! Get thee gone; and
take heed to thyself! Enter my presence no more. For on the day thou
seest my face again thou shalt surely die.'

Then said Moses: 'So be it. Thou hast spoken well. I will see thy face
again no more. Nay, not until thou thyself send for me in irremediable
terror and despair. But I have a word for thee before I go. Hearken to
it!

'Thus saith the Lord. Again and again we have made our humble petition
to thee, according to his word, and thou hast scorned and defied him.
Thou hast been warned, and not once but many times have the justice and
might of the God of Israel been revealed to thee. Yet when thou didst
show any shadow of relenting and didst plead for mercy, his mercy was
vouchsafed to thee. But now, this is the end.

'There comes a midnight, and that soon, when the God of Israel will
manifest himself yet once again; and thy heart shall melt in thee like
water, for the anguish that is come upon thee. But thou shalt relent
too late. In that night the angel of death shall wing his way from one
end of Egypt to the other, from the mountains even to the sea, and when
all the land is hushed in sleep he will smite the firstborn of every
household in Egypt, from the highest to the lowest. From the prince
himself, thy eldest son, even to the firstborn of the slave woman who
grinds corn at the mill--none shall escape. There shall go up to heaven
that night such a cry of lamentation throughout all the land of Egypt as
has never been heard before, and shall never be heard again.

'But in Israel shall be peace and safety. Nor shall one of the least of
her children come to harm. So serene shall be that night in Goshen that
not even a dog shall lift its tongue and howl in menace of woe against
the moon. And by this thou shalt know that the Lord hath set his seal
upon his chosen, and made a severance between the Egyptians and Israel.
Yea, and one word more. In that day the proudest nobles and counsellors
that stand about thy throne shall come in grief and horror of mind and
prostrate themselves before me and make obeisance, even to me,
entreating Israel to be gone and to return to Egypt no more. Then, and
not until then, will I lead God's people forth.'

Moses turned away from before the throne, and in the gloom of the vast
gilded hall no voice answered him, nor was any attempt made to stay or
molest him. And he went out from Pharaoh hot with anger.




THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER


He returned to Goshen. He knew that the long conflict of mind and will
with Pharaoh was at an end. In the presence of his nobles and
counsellors he had not only defied him face to face, but had forewarned
him of a calamity compared with which the judgments that had already
befallen Egypt would be as dust in the balance, and which would pierce
the king himself to his very heart.

No further parleyings with Pharaoh were now conceivable. They were only
once to meet again. And though not even the most headstrong and violent
of the king's advisers might dare counsel the king to arraign or destroy
Moses openly, there were other methods of ridding Egypt of its enemies.
Moses knew well that from this day forward his life would be in
unceasing danger. But he gave no thought to it.

Since he had returned from his quiet and serene existence as a shepherd
with Jethro the priest of Midian, he had known no release from care.
Each day that passed had brought its own ordeal. But his diffidence and
self-distrust had left him. He was filled with a great weariness, but
his spirit was unshaken. He had come back to his own people after many
years' absence; and few had remembered him. Fewer still among the chief
men of Israel had not in the long struggle wavered in their trust in him
as their leader.

But now, though to all intents he might seem as yet to have failed in
his mission, not only was his name a thing of dread in Egypt, but he was
beloved and renowned among his own people, and he was hailed throughout
Israel as the herald sent from the Eternal to free them from their woes.

When doubt assailed him, he had spent long hours of meditation in
solitude on the fringes of the desert. In that silence, broken only by
the night cries of beast and bird, he had watched the stars wheel onward
to their setting, and in a voiceless communion of heart and soul he had
learned all that the Lord God would require of him. He cast all thought
of himself from out of his mind, and laboured fearlessly on in ardour
for Israel. And he knew that the day of deliverance was at hand.

He called together the elders. They met by stealth and after nightfall,
and Moses laid before them all that had passed during his last audience
with the king. He warned them that in his fury Pharaoh might decree
inhuman reprisals against the Hebrews to avenge the humiliation he had
endured in the presence of his courtiers. He might endeavour by every
crafty means he could devise to incite them to open revolt. But they
must endure in patience whatever the day might bring forth. They must be
strong and resolute; they must trust in the Lord God of Israel.

Egypt's pride was soon to be broken; for what had now been demanded of
the king was no longer a mere three days' truce from their quarries and
brickyards, but a release for evermore. They were about to set out on a
journey from which there would be no turning back. Jehovah would
scatter his enemies, and Israel would go free. Canaan, the land of
promise, their predestined home--this must be the vision continually
before their eyes. The whole world should hear that they were no longer
a captive and helpless race enslaved by a tyrant, but a nation free
among nations, the chosen people of God.

Many of those who listened were old men wasted with age and weariness.
From childhood their days had been spent in a cowed and hopeless
servitude. The lash had been their wages; sleep their only refuge from
misery; and death their one assurance of release. Yet they had lived on
and suffered and endured.

Others among them were in the flower of their strength and manhood,
lean, scarred and ravaged with toil, hollow of cheek, but fierce-eyed,
fanatical and on fire with hatred of their oppressors. And they too sat
motionless and intent. One and all, they had listened in silence, and,
except for the fleeting looks upon their faces and the light that burned
in their eyes, had showed no sign of what was passing in their minds.

But in the pause that followed, there rose up from among them a murmur,
a sigh, of joy and longing beyond all speech. The radiance of a hope no
longer faint and far had broken in upon them as if with the light of the
risen sun. Tears coursed down their cheeks, furrowed with woe and
despair. They bowed their heads and worshipped.

But there were still many things to be considered, and many questions to
be answered. They debated earnestly together and far into the night, and
when at length the assembly broke up, and they went out silently into
the darkness every man to his own place, their plans for the days that
followed had been prepared. They had made a solemn vow to obey in
everything the will of the Lord God, as Moses had revealed it. In sure
and certain hope of their deliverance, and at the hour appointed, the
host of Israel was to be in readiness, and none should remain behind.

By evening of the next day every man in Israel knew that the day of
deliverance was soon to dawn and how he himself was to prepare for it.
Yet these glad tidings had been spread abroad with such caution and
secrecy that not a rumour of them reached the ears of the Egyptian
overseers or the masters of the gangs.

    *    *    *    *    *

Now, until this time, the beginning of the Hebrew year had been in the
first month of harvest. But henceforward, as Moses had proclaimed to the
elders, it was to be in the earliest month of spring. The night on which
he had called them together was that of the vernal new moon. It had been
ordained therefore, for an everlasting memorial of the year now before
them, that this was to be accounted their New Year's Day.

Moreover, it had long been the custom in Israel to keep sacred the day
when the moon of springtime shines like snow in the heavens, and to
share together in a feast, as happy as their wretched state would admit,
in honour of the Lord. Two weeks--and two weeks only--were yet to run
before the first new moon of Israel's New Year would come to its
fulness, and the feast they were then to share in joy and solemnity
would far excel any that had ever gone before. It was to be prepared for
therefore with scrupulous care, since the Lord God himself had appointed
it for a remembrance to all Israel.

The days passed heavily by. Midnight followed midnight. The sun rose and
sank to his setting in skies continually windless and serene. The horned
crescent of the moon appeared in the dying light of evening, and
increased in the lustre it borrowed from the sun. So perfect a calm
reigned in the heavens over Egypt, after the horrors of storm and
tempest, whirlwind and darkness, that Pharaoh and the counsellors who
concurred with his policy began to console themselves with the belief
that all trouble with the abhorred Hebrews was now at an end.

On the night after Moses had last appeared before him the king had
striven in vain to compose himself to sleep. The imprecation that Moses
had uttered against him rang on in his ears, like the knelling of a
bell, and in spite of an outward indifference, he had been so much moved
by it that he had given command to his most trusted servants to keep
unceasing watch over the prince, his firstborn.

But as dawn succeeded dawn, and his son was restored to him again safe
and well, and no evil omen had shown itself to those who kept watch
within and without his chamber, his spirit revived in him. He began to
upbraid himself, and even to mock a little at his fears. Though never
within memory had Egypt suffered so grievously, though the state of his
realm and people was a cause for grave disquiet, how could it be proved
beyond doubt, he questioned within himself, that this was due to divine
retribution? And even if it were so, it seemed that the God of the
Hebrews had wearied of his demands.

He smiled, the dark eyes in his lean cavernous face fixed in reverie, as
he pondered how best to contrive the death of their insolent leaders, to
defame even their memory in the eyes of their own people, and to quell
without mercy but at not too great a cost--for the life even of a slave
had its price--any disorder or revolt that might follow.

But though Pharaoh could thus deceive himself, the apprehensions of the
wiser of his counsellors were not so easily allayed. Though, too, at
threat of instant vengeance the king himself had given command that no
word of what had passed during the last audience he had granted to Moses
should be whispered abroad, rumour of it had spread far and wide, and
had filled the people with terror of an impending doom.

The Hebrews were now feared as much as in former times they had been
hated and despised, and those of the Egyptians who lived in touch with
them, and the dwellers in the Egyptian city of Psapt that was in Goshen,
sought by every means in their power to placate them with gifts and
bribes. Nothing that the Hebrews asked of them, and they asked freely as
Moses himself had bidden them, was refused. They accepted these things
not as an indulgence but as a right, wages long owing for the evils they
had suffered and their centuries of toil.

As ordained by Pharaoh, his overseers and taskmasters had cruelly
increased the labour and the torments of the Hebrew gangs that worked
under them, until they were almost beyond human endurance. But the old
sullenness and apathy had vanished. Some divine secret hope seemed now
to make their sufferings of no account. They toiled on as if all
resentment had been clean forgotten.

An ancient song of Canaan, wild and plaintive and sweet, had spread from
mouth to mouth. To the Egyptians it was meaningless, and yet as they
hearkened, a hidden menace jarred its strains. It haunted them and they
feared the sound of it. But when even speech was forbidden between slave
and slave, by the light on their faces they seemed to be still singing
in their hearts. A hush of dread and expectancy was over the land.

On the tenth evening of the new Hebrew year so brightly shone a great
gibbous moon that the light of day waned without interval of darkness
into the light of night. On this day, as Moses had commanded through the
elders, every householder in Israel had set apart from among his few
sheep or goats a lamb or a kid of one year old, the best he had, the
first born of its mother, and without any defect or blemish. This too
was a sacred symbol, for ever afterwards the firstborn among Israel were
to be accounted sacred to the Lord.

This firstborn lamb was intended for the feast that was to be partaken
of by himself and his whole household four days afterwards, the feast
day appointed by the Lord. And if any household, owing to the fewness
of its members or its children, were too small to need a lamb for its
own use only, it was to share one with its neighbour.

That day, longed for beyond all telling, dawned at length. The Hebrews
set out as usual from their quarters to the brickyards, the quarries and
the great temple that was then in building. It was a day of furious
heat, airless and ominous. The overseers of the gangs, fearful of laying
before Pharaoh misgivings so vague that they could find no proof of
them, were nevertheless convinced that the Hebrews were secretly
plotting against them, and barbarously drove them on. Many swooned with
exhaustion by the way, and died, untended, where they fell. But no
cruelty devised either by hatred or terror could now extort from the
Hebrews a single rebellious word or action: not even so much as a groan
of pain or of weariness.

At length the sultry hours drew towards evening, and the gangs were
dismissed from their toil. For the last time the hewers of stone laid
aside their picks and their mallets, and the makers of bricks their
waterskins, their shovels and moulds; and all turned homeward. The
gangmasters and overseers withdrew to their own quarters; and the
quarries and works, where never more was any son of Israel to be seen at
slavish toil again, lay idle in the wild colours of the declining sun.

At the brief hour that comes between sunset and the dark every
householder in Goshen took the lamb that he had set apart and
slaughtered it for the feast. Then he dipped into its blood a bunch of
hyssop or marjoram--a wild, sweet, aromatic herb that grew freely on
the walls of almost every dwelling in Goshen--and he sprinkled the blood
on the door of his house, on its posts and on its lintel. The doom
foretold to Moses by Jehovah was at hand. The angel of death, whose face
is veiled, would be abroad in Egypt that night, and no human dwelling
would be spared from his visitation except only those thus with the
blood of the lamb. After the sprinkling, sprinkled the door was shut and
made fast. From this moment until the hour appointed by Moses, no man in
Goshen ventured abroad; none went out and none came in.

When night fell, a profound quietude layover the settlements of the
Hebrews. The dewy moon-bright air was chill and sweet with springing
grass and flower. No light gleamed out from any window of the mean black
hovels walled with sunbaked mud. Every door was shut--its posts and
lintel stained dark with blood.

But within those walls was a continual stir and business. The whole long
day had been spent by the woman of the household in preparing for the
night. Nothing she treasured or might need was to be left behind, except
only what was too heavy or cumbersome to be carried away. When the lamb
had been skinned and dressed and made ready, she set it down to roast at
the fire, whose ruddy glow illumined the narrow walls.

Flat cakes and biscuits without yeast or leaven (for nothing that had
any taint of corruption was to have any part in the feast) had already
been kneaded and now were baking. Bitter herbs--wild lettuce, endive
and nettle--for symbol of the long sufferings of Israel, had been
gathered and cleansed for a salad. She did all that she had to do with
the utmost care, having provided as far as possible only as much food as
would be eaten that night, for no remnant of this sacred meal was to be
left over until the following morning. Whatever remained unconsumed was
to be burnt in the fire.

An hour before midnight, all was ready. The children of the house, who
had been sent early to bed, were woken from sleep, and everyone within
it, even the little ones but lately out of arms, gathered together to
partake of the feast. In years gone by this moon-bright harvest festival
had been held with rejoicings. They had sat down to eat, drink and be
merry at leisure, and had for the time being almost forgotten their
misery. There had been no need then for haste or secrecy.

But this--both the first breaking of their fast this fourteenth night of
Spring, and their last anxious supper in the land of their
captivity--was no ordinary feast. It was the most solemn hour in the
long history of their race--a token that from that day forward Israel
had dedicated its firstborn to the service of God. Since by his mercy,
on this disastrous night for Egypt, the angel of death was to spare and
pass over the people of all Israel, the feast was to be called the
_Feast of the Passover of the Lord_. And his divine influence would be
shed on all who took part in it, worn-out in body, deadened in soul, and
brutalized though many of them were.

They ate standing, the men of the household with their girdles about
their loins, their sandals on their feet, and staff in hand; the women
and children in whatever clothes could be provided that would shield
them against the cold of the night air in the darkness of the desert.
Few words were spoken. Their hearts were too full for speech. They
longed for, yet dreaded the ordeal that lay before them. These hovels,
mean and squalid though they were, had been their homes. They were to
see them no more. They pined for the tents of the wanderer, but they
were to venture out into the dread unknown and on a pilgrimage from
which there could be no turning back. Who could foresee what dangers and
what foes were awaiting them in the drear wastes of the wilderness--the
resort, as they had heard, of monstrous beasts and evil demons, with
hollow voice and secret music, luring to destruction the unwary and the
lost?

Yet there were few among them who did not steadfastly believe in the
wisdom and genius of their great leader, or doubted that he had been
divinely chosen to set them free. But Pharaoh was mighty and merciless.
Death or maiming or torture was the punishment he meted out to his
enemies who defied him. How many of their own harmless babes had the
Nile swallowed up in its infested waters! And as they looked at their
children gathered round them, an icy horror shook them at the thought of
the judgment of God soon to be revealed against Egypt, which even the
tyrant king himself could not escape.

Astonished at being roused from sleep at so late an hour and at sharing
in a supper that seemed as strange and marvellous as a dream, the
younger children in hushed voices questioned their father about what
they did, and why they were going out in the middle of the night, and
where they were going to.

He gathered them around him. It was a feast, he told them, which even
they themselves had been expressly bidden to share in by the Lord God.
He spoke to them of Canaan also, a little land lying between wilderness
and sea, only fifteen days slow burdened journeying from north to south,
only ten from east to west, yet a land wondrously rich in vineyard and
orchard, mountain, valley, pasture and wellsprings, its vales
marvellously fair and sweet with flowers at this season of the year. A
land flowing with milk and honey, their earthly paradise, the haven
where they longed to be.

There, in the vale of Hebron, before he had been sold to the
Ishmaelites, Joseph himself had lived as a child with Jacob his father
who loved him. This was the land that, long time gone, had been promised
of God not only to Jacob but to his father Isaac also, and to Abraham
before him, who had worshipped him in faith and hope.

And now, after all these years of Israel's woes and slavery, they
themselves, children with all their lives before them, were about to set
out on a journey to a place of peace and refuge for which those who were
at rest in their graves had pined in vain with a heartsick longing. In
time to come when they had grown up to be men and women, and when, with
each returning Spring they kept again this solemn feast, their own
children also would question them as they themselves had questioned him.

By then, it might be, the doings of this strange night would be no more
than a faint, far memory in their minds. Let them strive then with all
their might to keep it clear and vividly in remembrance, so that in
their turn they should be able to tell their children all this feast had
meant to them, and the wonders that had gone before, and would yet be
revealed. Let it be to them for a lifelong token in their hearts; let
them bind its remembrance like a frontlet between their brows.

The children listened, their eyes shining, their hearts wildly beating.
They promised their father to do all that he had bidden them do, and to
keep all that he had said in remembrance.

So, throughout Goshen this, the first feast of the Passover, was being
kept; and all Israel was awake and ready.




THE FLIGHT FROM EGYPT


The moon rode high in the heavens above Egypt, smiting with its silver
the wide waters of the Nile, and glazing as if with hoarfrost the walls
of her temples and palaces and the slabbed sides of her prodigious
pyramids. There slept the kings who centuries before had built them for
their last resting-place, trusting, though vainly, that their mummied
bodies in the long darkness between this world and the next would never
be disturbed.

Ink-black shadow chequered the streets, the idle quarries, and the
brickyards that all day long had been astir like a swarming nest of
ants. Except for the watchmen in her frontier forts and desert camps,
and the sentries who kept guard over the palace and armouries of
Pharaoh, the whole realm of Egypt lay hushed in sleep. In his own royal
city the howl of a dog, the footfall of some homeless prowler or of one
abroad in trouble or on an urgent errand, and the far yell of wolf or
hyna, prowling on the outskirts of the wilderness, were the only sounds
that broke the silence.

Few stars blazed in the windless heavens, except those that, rising or
setting, hung low on the earth's horizon. They were quenched in the
glare of moonlight that flooded the skies. At the approach of midnight,
the whole land of Egypt, transfigured with loveliness, lay dazed as if
entranced. But the avenging angel had gone his way; and the silence was
not only the silence of sleep but of death.

At midnight cockcrow, lamps began suddenly to shine and flit in the
dusky moonlit gloom within the dwellings of the Egyptians and to gleam
from their windows. Doors were flung open. Cries of grief and horror
pierced the hush, and were echoed on from house to house, from court to
court. The wide high streets where stood temple and palace and the
mansions of the wealthy, and every narrow by-way were suddenly thronged
with a multitude of people, demented with anguish, seeking help and
finding none.

Tidings of the woeful calamity that had befallen them spread on from
mouth to mouth. And with every moment, terror not only of the known but
of the unknown pierced some poor human breast.

Stark and shivering with dread, the attendants whom Pharaoh had
appointed to keep watch over his firstborn entered his chamber and
roused him from sleep. He started up out of his dreams as if at the
touch of a spectre. Prostrating themselves before him, with tears and
groans, they told him that the son he loved lay stricken and lifeless
upon his bed. He gazed at them, his high-boned narrow face wan and lank
and vacant, as if, though he had heard the words they uttered, his mind
were incapable of understanding them.

He questioned them, and shook as if with the palsy when he realized the
full meaning of the news they brought him. And he rose up in the night,
he and all his servants and all the Egyptians, and there was a great
cry in Egypt, for there was not a house without its dead.

His statesmen and his counsellors were sent for. All was confusion. They
came into his presence, misery on their faces and grief in their hearts.

In the depth of night messengers were dispatched to Goshen urgently
summoning Moses and Aaron. They were brought at once into the presence
of the king, the women and servants of the palace who met them on their
way fleeing in terror at sight of them. The palace was loud with their
wailings and the lamentations of the mourners. The bright moon shone in
upon its gilded stones, and the nobles, assembled there in attendance on
the king, after one glance at these Hebrews, averted their eyes. Pharaoh
himself came down from his dais and advanced as if to meet them in the
midst.

But at a few paces from them he stayed, his face stricken with woe,
mutely scrutinizing them, and advanced no nearer. He spoke like a man
almost bereft of his senses.

'I have summoned you hither,' he said, 'only that I may speak with you
face to face. Pay heed to me now as you hope to be heeded of God. Tarry
not for the morning but gather together all the people of Israel and
lead them out of Egypt. Let them leave nothing that is theirs behind
them, neither their children nor their flocks nor their herds, nor
anything they own or need.

'Go,' he said, 'and serve the Lord your God, even as you have said it is
required of you.' He turned, stooping, then raised his haggard face and
looked earnestly on Moses. 'As for thee,' he said, 'I entreat thee to
give me thy blessing in the mercy of thy God, for the bitterness of
death is come upon me.'

He commanded that all things that might be required should be given to
the elders without stint, and that Moses himself should be obeyed in
everything as he might direct. Word was instantly sent to every
household in Israel. But all were in readiness.

They divided what they had to carry away with them between those who
could bear it best. Their beasts of burden were already fed and watered,
saddled and laden. They took the raw dough they had prepared for baking,
they wrapped up their kneading-bowls in the woollen mantles they wore
upon their shoulders, and which would serve them as a covering by night.
They gathered their children together, and with their asses, their
flocks and their herds, assembled in companies, each man in the place
that had been appointed him beforehand, under his own chief or elder.

Though the moon gave light in abundance, torches flared; the night was
thronged with their host. And the Egyptians--those who dwelt round about
Goshen and in its chief city--far from attempting to stay or hinder them
in their flight, urged them on. They left their dead, and with terror
knocking at their hearts, adjured the Hebrews to intercede between them
and the vengeance of Jehovah. Throughout their lives these Hebrews had
been reviled and scorned and hated. Now the Egyptians loaded them with
gifts and whatever might prove of service to them. They bribed them with
their most precious possessions--jewels of silver and jewels of gold,
vessels and fine raiment, their ear-rings, amulets, bracelets, and
golden fillets. Their one desire was only to persuade and to incite them
to be gone. 'Else,' they cried one to another, 'we be all dead men!'

At break of dawn on the fifteenth day of the first month and in the
springtime of this their first new year appointed by Moses, the whole
host of Israel, men, women and children, in their thousands, and in
their clans and tribes, began their march. They went up armed and with a
high hand out of Egypt. And a multitude went with them--Egyptians who
had intermarried with them, and prisoners taken in the frontier wars who
had shared in the labours of the slave gangs. The earth shook with their
trampling, and the cold air of day break was filled with the bleating
and bellowing of their flocks and cattle and the sound of their
chantings as they marched on.

Thus was fulfilled the vision which comforted Jacob when he dreamed that
night long gone at Beersheba on his journey into Egypt. So Joseph
himself had foreseen and foretold in the hour that comes before death.
Nor was the solemn oath that had been sworn to him forgotten. All these
years his bones--Pharaoh's ring upon his finger, the necklet of gold on
his breast--had lain close-swathed and embalmed in spices in the painted
and gilded coffin that had been prepared for it by the most skilful of
the embalmers in the service of the king, his master. The bearers chosen
by Moses himself lifted it from its abiding-place in Goshen and bore it
away, to keep it in safe charge until they should come at length into
Canaan, the land of his desire. There to lay it to rest for ever in
Shechem, in the tomb that had belonged to his father Jacob.

They pressed on--an exceeding great multitude--by way of the long,
narrow, cultivated strip of land that lay eastward of Goshen; from
Rameses on to Succoth or Pithom, the great cities which the Hebrews
themselves had built during their long bondage in Egypt. Thus they
followed the canal of fresh water between the Nile and the sea which had
been made by the Pharaoh who ruled Egypt when Moses was a child. It was
a full four days' journey. Each nightfall they pitched their camp, and
with every dawn prepared to continue on their way. They made what speed
they could, but were compelled to keep pace with their flocks and herds,
and were encumbered with heavy burdens.

And the angel of the Lord went before them, by day in a pillar of cloud
to lead them the way, and by dark in a pillar of fire to give them
light. Thus was the angel of the Lord continually their beacon, by day
and by night, in cloud or fire.

From Succoth they pressed on to Etham, which lay on the borders of the
wilderness of that name. There again they pitched their camp and rested.

The direction in which they were now marching would bring them, if
persisted in, to the coast of the Great Sea. Here was the ancient
highway followed by the caravans between Egypt and Gaza, and by the
armies of Pharaoh, and it was guarded by fortresses and strongholds
against the attacks of marauders.

And the word of the Lord came to Moses, bidding him turn back from
Etham, lest the men of Israel, unused as yet to war, might fear to go
forward. Next morning, therefore, when they had eaten and made ready,
they turned southward towards the wilderness or desert that lies to the
east between Egypt and the Red Sea. And Moses led them by way of
Pi-hahiroth where was the sanctuary of Osiris, the Sun-god of Egypt, and
which lay on the coast between Migdol and the sea towards Baal-zephon--a
tower sacred to the tribes that dwelt near by. There, over against the
shores of the leaden sea, they pitched their camp.

Throughout their march from day to day they had been closely watched.
Spies had followed them, mingling with the throng, and had reported
their every movement to Pharaoh and whatever else could be discovered of
their secret plans. And when word was brought to him that the Hebrews
had assuredly fled out of Egypt, with intent to free themselves for ever
from his yoke, and that the whole host of them was now moving south
towards the sea, then that evil genius in his mind which had led him on
from one disaster to another, whispered within him that surely now he
had them at his mercy.

Hatred of Moses blinded him to all else. Jehovah had done his worst; he
feared him not. He put away his grief for his dead son, and thirsted
only for revenge.

He summoned his chief officers and laid before them the reports that had
been brought to him by his spies. 'See now,' he said, 'these Hebrews, in
their ignorant folly, are encamped near the watch-tower of Migdol,
their aim, it is clear, being to follow the nearer shore of the sea
which will entangle them in at length between its tides and the
mountains. Surely this god they worship has abandoned them. We have them
in our power, and may be avenged on them once and for all for the evil
they have brought upon Egypt. They shall drink bitterly of the might of
Pharaoh and shall cry, "Woe! woe on us, for the day that we were born!"'

Those of his counsellors who were as stubborn and stiff-necked as
himself acclaimed his decision. And he made ready his chariot, and he
mustered his army, and set it in array--his helmed footmen with lance
and shield, his archers with their bows and hatchets, his horses and his
chariots; his whole power and strength. And he made ready to march.

But first, for vanguard of his army he dispatched six hundred of his
chariots with their charioteers and bowmen, bidding the captain in
command of them spare neither horse nor man until he had come in sight
of the Hebrews, and had brought them to bay. These, then, pressed on in
hot pursuit, leaving Pharaoh himself with his main army to follow after
them. And all that day they drew steadily nearer, while still the
Israelites were encamped near the sea strand.

Towards evening, scouts of the Israelites who had been sent out by Moses
to keep watch beyond the camp and to give warning if any danger
threatened, distinguished afar off across the sands of the desert the
faint clouds of dust raised by Pharaoh's pursuing chariots, the vanguard
of his army. And a heavy rumour of sound was borne on the air towards
them like distant thunder. They stood transfixed, intent and listening.

But their ears had not deceived them. It seemed the distant tramplings
even loudened as they hearkened, and the dust cloud of the chariots
showed no changes as do the vapours of evening. They turned instantly
and fled back into the camp, for lo, Egypt was marching after them, and
they were sore afraid.




THE CROSSING OF THE RED SEA


Their report ran like wildfire from one end of the camp to the other,
and it was seized with panic terror. These men of Israel, born into
slavery and forced their whole lives long to toil for a tyrant, were
unused to any discipline except that of the lash and the goad. They had
no knowledge or experience of warfare. They were hampered with their
flocks and herds already spent by forced marches, and were burdened with
a vast hoard of baggage. Only the open spaces of the wilderness lay
around them, even to the sea, and there was nowhere any place of defence
for their women and children. When then they knew that the dreaded
armies of Pharaoh were in pursuit of them, their hearts melted like
water. And in their despair they cried to the Lord.

But there were some among them who had been compelled to accept Moses as
their leader against their will, men by nature rebellious, malcontents.
They forced their way into the presence of Moses and reproached him
bitterly for the mortal danger into which he had brought them.

'Was it,' they reproached him, 'because there were no graves for us in
Egypt that thou hast enticed us out to die in the wilderness? Why hast
thou so dealt with us, compelling us to flee out of Goshen; ay, and our
helpless women and children? There at least our lives were safe. When
thou didst first return to Goshen and began to incite us to revolt
against the king, did we not again and again adjure thee to leave us
alone that we might continue our labours in peace and security? Were we
the only slaves in Egypt? Is Pharaoh to be cheated of what is his? Far
better to live in the vilest bondage under the Egyptians than to die
here in misery and our bones bleach in the sands of the wilderness!'

Moses faced them without wavering. Nor did he answer them in anger, or
reproach them for their faint-heartedness.

Far more clearly than they, he knew the supreme danger that now
threatened them, and the massacre and horror that would follow if he
swerved for an instant from his authority over them. He needed time to
consider: but he remained steadfast and unmoved.

'Fear not,' he adjured them, 'but stand fast. Every man in readiness and
unafraid. And you shall see the salvation of the Lord. It shall be
revealed to you this very day. Believe only in Jehovah, the Lord God
himself, whose wonders you have seen in Egypt. He has seen fit that this
Pharaoh should harden his heart even yet again, to pursue after Israel.
Blind and stubborn, this proud king believes in his folly that Jehovah
hath forsaken us, and that we know not which way to escape, being shut
in between the desert and the sea. Watch and wait! For it is Pharaoh
himself who shall be taken in a snare, and the Lord shall have glory
over him, and all Egypt shall know that he is the Almighty. For I vow
unto you that these warriors of Pharaoh, the dust of whose chariots
beclouds the skies, you shall see again no more for ever. Jehovah
himself shall fight for you, if only you have faith and hold your
peace.'

He went out alone from among them, and continued on his way until he
came down to the margin of the sea whose full flood-tide now lapped its
sands. The waste of waters stretched out before him; and there in
solitude, his face towards the distant land of Canaan, that he himself
was to see but never tread, he prayed, wrestling in agony of soul for
the safety of Israel. The sweat stood on his face as he bowed himself in
entreaty before the Lord.

But peace at length calmed heart and mind; he was comforted and rose up.
It was the hour of the setting of the sun, and even the eastern verges
of the horizon to which he raised his eyes were inflamed with its last
beams. The whole ample canopy of the heavens was lit with wondrous light
and colour, ever changing, melting, its fires mounting, to fade and die
with night. He lifted up his hands over the sea in enraptured salutation
of the Eternal whom he worshipped. Then in the swift cold oncoming of
the dark he returned back into the camp.

The pillar of cloud, that had gone on before the host of Israel, had
removed and now stood kindled between the starry skies and the wrath
behind them. Between the huge straggling host of the Israelites and the
pursuing vanguard of the armies of Pharaoh, there settled a region of
dense gloom--illumined, like the smoke of a burning mountain, by the
sombre pillar of fire that was the abiding-place of the angel of the
Lord.

Perplexed, and apprehensive of what this unearthly apparition in the
heavens might portend, the captain in command of the chariots sent out
scouts to reconnoitre. They faded from view in the mounded obscurity of
the desert, but only one of them returned to him alive, wounded and
terrified, and with nought but his tongue-stump wherewith to speak.
Pharaoh's urgent orders in mind, the captain of the vanguard hesitated,
but at length, after consultation with his officers, and confident that
he had the Hebrews in his power, since their flight was now cut off by
the sea, he determined to advance no further in the darkness, but to
attack at dawn. His men and his horses were hard spent and needed a
brief respite. All that night long the Egyptians came no nearer.

But with sunset a wind from between east and north had begun to rise,
trumpeting mournfully between earth and sky. In the cold of the dark it
steadily increased in force and at last grew exceeding strong. It roared
under the night, burdened with whispering sand, beneath a sky wildly
brilliant with stars, and, in the small hours, lit with the beams of the
waning moon.

Sleep came but fitfully to those huddled together about their
watchfires. The women lay in terror of the tumult, clasping their little
ones to their breasts, soothing their cries. Yet this was the wind of
their great mercy, for in its vehemency it drove back the tumultuous
fast-ebbing tide of the sea towards the south-west until its very bed
was exposed beneath the stars, and where had been water was now land.

Thus the wind continued to blow in the cloudless dusk of the now
dwindling moon, and in the watch that comes before morning the whole
host was aroused. Even the children who were old enough to walk and who
had been slumbering peacefully, lapped warm against the cold, were
awakened. And behold, when they looked out towards where at sunset had
been the tumbling billows of the sea, there lay before them a mile-wide
ford stretching across from shore to shore. The whole hidden desolate
channel of the sea lay exposed, and beckoned them on.

The watchfires of Israel had burned low, and were now heaped high with
fuel, to deceive what spies might be lurking behind them. Strict orders
had been given that all voices and sounds be hushed. In silence the men
drew together in their ranks and companies, and at about the beginning
of the last watch of the night they began to move forward. Leading on
their timid flocks and their herds and their beasts of burden, they
descended the gently sloping sands that had margined the flood-tide the
night before, and advanced on to the wind-swept floor of the sea, its
salty boulder-strown sands faintly glimmering in the moonlight and the
wan of day.

Thus the whole multitude of Israel, with their women and their children
in their midst, pressed onward. But for the occasional bleating and
lowing of their beasts, the wailing of an infant and the plashing of
foot and hoof in the oozy sands and shallow pools of brine between the
rocks, they marched in a profound silence, marvelling as they went, and
filled with a wild elation between joy and fear at this miracle of the
Lord.

And when the main body of them had reached the eastern shore, then the
rearguard who had kept watch on the western shore, followed after them
with all dispatch. And in the first crystal of daybreak the pillar of
cloud and fire was seen to be in front of them in the wilderness beyond
the sea. There they halted.

Roving tribesmen of the desert a little before dawn came to the
commander of the chariots of Egypt to report this wonder. Utterly amazed
and dismayed at news of it, he summoned his officers. The peril of
Pharaoh's wrath was on their heads, they dared not pause or consider.
The trumpets sounded; the charioteers and bowmen leapt to their
stations; the horses were harnessed; the advance began. So translucent
were now the eastern skies that even at this distance they could see
afar off the faint-gleaming ensign or standard of Moses beyond the
further shore.

The sight filled them with fury. Urging on their horses with lash and
cry, they pressed forward in their battalions at their utmost speed.
Their iron rumblings shook the air. Else all was still; for the wind
that had filled their ears with its hollow trumpetings throughout the
night had fallen to calm.

And as the foremost chariots drew near to the sea-shore, the sun rose,
dazzling clear in the stilled air of the morning. It showed for an
instant its full orb of splendour above a louring accumulation of cloud
that lay on the horizon in the south-eastern quarter of the heavens.

But only for a moment, for the clouds mounted swiftly up after it into
the skies, borne on by lofty winds, and now far below them a hot breeze
of the desert began to stir, whipping the sand into scurrying whirls and
puffs, that swept up like the dancing of phantoms, then fell to earth
again.

Having come to hightide-mark on the sea-shore, the charioteers made no
pause, but drove on furiously into the bed of the sea, following the
pitted track from shore to shore left by the multitude of Israel. But
the silt was sodden, the advance slow, and they strove in vain to keep
rank and order. Daylight now had dimmed, for clouds were massed on high
and obscured the zenith. The morning was black with storm.

And the angel of the Lord looked down from out of the pillar of cloud
upon the chariots of the Egyptians. And the angel of the Lord in his
splendour troubled and discomfited the Egyptians. Lightnings rent the
gloom, and the thunder thundered, with torrents of rain. And when they
were come into the midst of the bed of the sea, the wheels of their
clogging chariots sank deep into the soft sand, so that they drave
heavily. The horses, flecked with foam and affrighted, reared, plunged
and stumbled; some bared their teeth and whinnied; and many of the pins
that held wheel to axle were snapped asunder, and the wheels fell away.
And now, however wildly the leading charioteers, with their stooping
bowmen, lashed and shouted, they made but little progress; and they were
dazed and confused by the tumult of the storm.

And some among them, who feared the power of Moses and the wrath of
God, were suddenly seized with terror and turned back in their tracks,
crying 'Away! Back! Away! The Gods are against us! Jehovah fights
against us!'

But still those in the rear continued to press on. And in this mellay
they struggled one against another in fury and consternation in the
midst of the bed of the sea, their hearts pierced with dread of they
knew not what danger, their one desire being to regain dry land and flee
back away into Egypt. But still their captains urged them on.

Then Moses in the presence of Israel stretched forth his hand toward the
sea. And behold there sounded out of the distance--above the din and
tumult of the rain and thunder, and the shouts of the charioteers--the
roar of water. In a liquid wall of crystal its lightning-lit torrent
swept surging back into its customary channel. The Egyptians heard; they
turned faces haggard with fear, and knew in their souls the doom that
was upon them. But too late; snowy with foam the sea, in its course and
strength, swept down upon them in one vast billow, and returned into its
bed. Its waves met over them, and submerged them in the deeps, and not
one of them remained alive.

Thus the Lord God saved Israel that day from the vengeance of Pharaoh
and the armies of Egypt; and the corpses of the charioteers were flung
up by the tide of the sea before their eyes, and the sea-shore was
strown with their dead. And all Israel was filled with awe and wonder.
They believed in their inmost hearts in the Lord, and in his faithful
servant Moses, and rejoiced with an exceeding great joy.

In the peace that followed the storm Moses and Aaron and the elders of
Israel gathered the people together in a solemn assembly.

And Miriam, the prophetess, took a timbrel in her hand, and the women of
Israel went out after her with dancing and music, and sang to the Lord a
song of joy and triumph and thanksgiving. And these were the words of
the song they sang that day, while the people with their voices in their
thousands on the shores of the sea took up the strains of it in mighty
unison; and the firmament rang again:

     _I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously;
     The horse and the rider hath he thrown into the sea.
     The Lord is my strength, of him shall be my song.
     Sing unto the Lord who alone is our salvation.
     He is my God, to him will I give thanks,
     The God of our fathers, and I will exalt him.
               Mighty he in battles,
               Jehovah is his name!
     The chariots of Pharaoh hath he cast into the sea,
     His captains and their hosts he hath whelmed in its waters.
               They lie drowned in its deeps,
               They sank like a stone._

     _Thy right hand, Lord Jehovah, is glorious in power,
     Terrible in its might, confounding thy foes.
     In the splendour of thy majesty thou didst shatter them that
          challenged thee,
     As fire amid the stubble ran the flame of thy wrath.
     Blast of thy nostrils, came the wind from out the south.
     It gathered up the waters till they stood upon an heap,
     And the floods were congealed in the heart of the sea._

     _Cried the foe in his pride, 'I will chase and overtake,
     Rich shall be the spoil I will seize and divide.
     My soul shall be sated with destruction and plunder,
     With unscabbarded sword I will glut my desire.'
     Thou didst blow with thy wind, and the wild wave covered them;
     Their clanging chariots gurgling sank like lead into the deep.
     O Lord Jehovah, what gods can be compared to thee?
     Glorious and supreme, who is like unto thee?
     Wondrous in holiness, and fearful in all mysteries,
     Lo, now thy foes are foundered in the sea.
     Compassionate in mercy, thou didst lead forth thy people.
     'Tis thou in thy compassion who hast saved them and redeemed._

     _The nations of the earth they hear, they are afraid.
     Pangs of fierce woe have seized the princes of Philistia;
     The proud dukes of Edom are dumb with amaze;
     The mighty men of Moab they shudder as they hearken;
     The hearts of all Canaan melt away in fear.
     Terror and astonishment have seized upon their chieftains,
     Confounded with thy wonders, they sit stark as is a stone.
     They shall watch, O Lord Jehovah, thy people pass through them.
     Thy people march on--thy redeemed and thy chosen.
     Thou shalt bring them in and plant them in the mount of thine
          inheritance,
     The place thyself hadst made to be to thee a dwelling;
     The Sanctuary, O Lord, established by thy hands._

     _There the Lord shall reign for ever and for ever,
     In the glory of his Kingdom, and world without end!_




THE WILDERNESS

THE DEATH OF MOSES


Thus came Israel out of Egypt; and the armies of Pharaoh were to trouble
them no more. But his hand was mighty and this blow to his pride bitter
to bear. They made no delay therefore and set forward on their great
pilgrimage. Even when there was nothing to impede or harass them, the
movement of such a multitude was very tardy since the whole host was
compelled to keep pace with the children and weaklings, their flocks and
herds. They had but few beasts and were heavily burdened, and the day's
advance from one night's encampment to the next was a distance seldom
more than five miles.

Their course at first lay through the desert of Shur or Etham, a region
of shifting sands along the eastern shore of the uppermost reaches of
the Red Sea, where there is little green pasture and wellsprings of
water are few. Beyond this desert lay the wilderness of Sin. Here they
turned eastward and came to Rephidim where they defeated the tribesmen
of Amalek who had raided and pestered them on their way, and strove to
prevent them from reaching the sweet waters of Paran.

They then advanced, ever ascending, towards the mountains of Sinai,
through a country well-watered and fertile with groves of palm trees and
acacias, and thickets of thorn and willow, the feathery tamarisk and
the bright-leafed myrrh.

And when Jethro, the priest of Midian, heard that the Israelites were
encamped at Sinai, forthwith he set out with his daughter Zipporah and
her two sons to welcome Moses. And Moses went out to receive his
father-in-law, and bowed himself before him and kissed him, and they
rejoiced to meet again. And Moses brought his wife and his sons and
Jethro to his tent, and there he told him of all that had passed since
their last farewell. And Jethro rejoiced for all the goodness which the
Lord had done to Israel. 'Now I know,' he said, 'that the God you
worship is greater than the Gods of Egypt and all gods beside.' And he
himself offered up sacrifice, and they feasted together, Moses and Aaron
and the chief men of Israel.

By Jethro's wise counsel, seeing that the labour of government and the
dispensing of justice was too great a burden to be borne by one
commander, Moses chose out the ablest men of Israel and made them
leaders over the people, rulers of thousands, rulers of hundreds, and of
fifties and of tens. And he made many laws and ordinances for the
guidance of the people and decreed the penalties and punishment of any
who should offend against them. In all small matters the rulers he had
chosen sat in judgment over the people. Only causes of great moment and
difficulty were brought before Moses himself.

The day came when Jethro must return to his own people, and he went his
way. But the host of Israel remained encamped among the mountains of
Sinai, amidst gigantic precipices of granite and porphyry. And in their
presence, though they were forbidden to draw near beyond the bounds set
for them, Moses ascended the sacred mountain called Horeb, on whose
slopes, when he sat keeping Jethro's sheep, he had seen the bush that
had burned with flame yet was not consumed--the glory of the angel of
the Lord.

Alone upon its summit he communed with God, and the utmost heights of
the mountain were hidden in a veil of flaming splendour, and the
mountain quaked, with thunderings and lightnings. There Moses remained
in communion with the Lord forty days and forty nights, and there
tablets of stone, inscribed with commandments for the obedience of
Israel, were committed to his charge.

And because he tarried there so long, the people were afraid and began
to murmur, believing that he had forsaken them and would return no more.
They abandoned their faith in the Lord Jehovah. Even in the shadow of
the mountain they gathered together the gold ear-rings worn by their
wives and sons and daughters. And following the rites of the Egyptians
who in the form of an ox worshipped a god named Ptah, Aaron himself set
up the image of a golden calf. And on the morrow after it was made, they
rose up early and offered sacrifice before it and prostrated themselves;
and when they had made sacrifice, they sat down to feast, and rose up to
dance and to chaunt wild songs before this golden calf, trusting in that
for their salvation. . . .

Nevertheless it was during their wanderings in the wilderness that a
great tent or pavilion was fashioned to be the Tabernacle of the Lord
and an enduring memorial to Israel wherein they might make atonement for
their souls. And all the people brought precious vessels and offerings
for its service, the chiefs of the tribes their gems, their gold and
silver and brass, and all who had much, according to their means. Fine
linen, dyed blue and purple and scarlet, silk, fleeces of rams and
skins, oil for the lights and spices for sweet incense. All these were
brought to Moses for the sacred adornment of the tabernacle; and even
the poorest among them gave not less than half a silver shekel.

Within the tabernacle stood the altar of sacrifice; and in an inner
chamber, veiled with embroidered curtains and named the Holy of Holies,
was laid up the Ark of the Covenant between the Lord and his people
Israel. This was a chest or coffer of acacia wood overlaid with gold,
and within it were the tablets of stone and other precious objects. It
was the most sacred symbol in Israel.

The whole tribe of Levi was devoted to the service of the Lord; and
Aaron, who was himself a Levite, was at this time High Priest, and his
sons Nadab, Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar, were priests who ministered
under him. They had made solemn vows, and had been anointed and
consecrated, and in their charge was the tabernacle and all that was
within it. There they burned incense before the altar, and watched over
the Ark of the Covenant, and fed with oil the seven-lamped golden
candlestick that burned in the holy place. And there they made
sacrifice.

When in its simple beauty and splendour the tabernacle was completed,
the elders of Israel met together in solemn assembly. And the glory of
the Lord descended upon it, filling it as with a cloud with his
radiance. It was an assurance to Israel of his presence there. When the
cloud was lifted from over the tabernacle, they continued their march;
but when the cloud rested upon it they camped in the place where at that
time they chanced to be, and remained encamped until the cloud was
lifted. For this great pavilion with its embroidered veils and curtains
was so constructed that these and its poles, its altar and the Ark of
the Covenant, could be removed and borne on with them on their
pilgrimage.

On the twentieth day of the second month of the second year after their
escape from Egypt, the people of Israel left Horeb behind them and
journeyed on through the mountainous gorges of the great and terrible
wilderness of Paran until they entered the lowlands of Kadesh in the
wilderness of Zin.

They were now nearing the southern borders of Canaan. Like a vision of
paradise, hope and longing for it had been continually in their minds,
the blessed goal of their long travail and afflictions. It was a country
that no man among them had ever seen with his own eyes, and it was as
yet strange to them and undiscovered. Twelve men were therefore chosen,
one from each of the tribes, for a perilous venture. They were given
orders to make their way across its frontier by stealth, and to spy out
the land, whether it were good or bad, wooded or barren; what manner of
people dwelt in it, their kings and chieftains, their cities and
strongholds, the numbers of their armed men, their might and wealth.

After forty days' absence the spies returned into the camp at Kadesh,
burdened with fresh figs and pomegranates which they had plucked from
the trees, and a vine branch with a cluster of grapes upon it so weighty
and bountiful that it had to be carried between two of them, slung upon
a staff.

They appeared before an assembly of the chief men of Israel and made
their report. They told how wondrous rich in corn and pasture was the
land they had seen, its groves of olives, its vineyards and fig trees
and its abundance of milk and honey, for they had ventured on into the
vale where Jacob had dwelt awhile when Joseph was a boy. But they
reported also of the walled cities they had watched or entered, and the
strong natural defences of the land, the power of its kings and the
people over which they ruled and their men of war. And last, they told
of the Anakim, a race of giants, men of prodigious strength and stature,
that dwelt in the region of Hebron.

Of the twelve spies only two, Caleb and Joshua, the son of Nun, incited
the assembly to march forward at once to invade the land, trusting in
God to give them the victory. The other ten, daunted and discouraged by
what they had seen, enlarged only on the mortal perils of such an
enterprise, and filled the assembly with such terror of what lay before
them that they rose up and cried out against Moses, 'Would to God we had
perished in Egypt! Would to God we had laid down our lives in the
wilderness! To advance further is only utter destruction--an evil death
to us all and perpetual bondage for our women and children.'

When Caleb strove to reason with them and to enkindle them with his own
valour, they threatened to stone him where he stood. They plotted
together to depose Moses, and to elect in his stead a commander who
would lead them back into Goshen by the way they had come, choosing
rather a life safe and secure but in miserable slavery under Pharaoh,
than to risk their all for so rich an inheritance in sure trust that God
would be with them.

So it had been continually. Even though in their dire need miraculous
waters had flowed from the rock, and, when other food had failed them,
they had been nourished as if from heaven by manna, the gift of
providence in the wilderness--manna that was white as coriander seed and
tasted like wafers made of honey, and that must be gathered early in the
cool of the morning ere the heat of the sun should corrupt it--yet in
spite of these divine mercies and the wonders that had been revealed to
them in Egypt, at every threat of danger or difficulty, dearth or
pestilence, they had murmured against him or broken out into open revolt
against their leaders. And the punishment of God had been heavy upon
them.

And yet again, now even that the Land of Promise was within but a few
days' march of them, they lost all hope and faith. Faint-hearted and
irresolute, they were never of the same mind from one day to another.
And the hordes of the Amalekites and the Canaanites descended upon
them, defeated them in battle and chased them back into the wilderness
of Zin. There they abode many long years.

Thence at length Israel journeyed to Mount Hor, where, in the presence
of Eleazar and Moses, Aaron the High Priest died and was buried. Thence,
they pressed on, southward, through the valley of Elath that lay at the
uppermost reaches of the eastern branch of the Red Sea, the Gulf of
Aquaba. And there they came to the ancient highway of the caravans
journeying between Mecca and Damascus. Skirting east of Edom, because
its king refused them passage through his territory, they entered the
land of the Moabites, with whom at that time they dealt peaceably, for
they were the descendants of Lot, the nephew of Abraham. And they
entered the mountainous region of Nebo, sheer ramparts of naked rock,
the colours of their peaks and gorges ever changing in the splendour of
the sun as it changes its station in the skies from dawn till eve. And
not far distant hence, the waters of the river Jordan flowed into the
sea.

So at length they were come again to the very borders of Canaan. And
Moses knew that his end was near. He spoke for the last time before the
congregation of the elders. He uttered prophecy and gave them his
counsel; and he blessed the people. Then he surrendered up the sceptre
of Israel to Joshua and charged him to be strong, faithful and of good
courage, since to him had been given the glory of leading Israel into
the land which had been promised them of old.

When this was done, he himself, weary with age and feebleness but of an
indomitable will, went up alone to the heights of Mount Pisgah. There in
solitude he gazed out westward, beyond the turquoise-blue waters of the
Salt Sea and the river Jordan, over the sand-coloured plain of Jericho,
the city of palm trees, towards Canaan, whose wooded mountains and
valleys lay spread out beneath him, in the last beams of evening, and to
the utmost shores of the Great Sea. He knew that it was not the will of
God that he himself should set foot within its borders. So, but in agony
of mind, he had stood alone, gazing out over the waters of another sea,
while the chariots of Egypt were approaching the rabble of his
defenceless followers, and only a miracle could save them from the
vengeance of Pharaoh. Now he was at peace in the assurance that all was
well with Israel, their pilgrimage at an end. His soul was refreshed
with this vision of the future, and he longed to take his rest.

There in solitude he died, the Lord God his comfort; and he was buried
in a valley of Moab, though no man knows the sepulchre where he was
laid.




THE FALL OF JERICHO


For forty years the Israelites had wandered and sojourned in the
wilderness, in its wastes of scorching sun by day, and bitter cold by
night, and they had seen hard warfare. They had defeated Sihon, king of
the Amorites, bearded men and hardy, and had slain him with all his
host. They had invaded the land of Og, the King of Bashan, a monarch of
mighty stature who ruled over sixty cities fenced with walls and with
gates and bars, and whose throne was of wrought iron; and they had
vanquished Balak and the five princes of Moab who had allied themselves
with the tribesmen of Midian.

They burned their cities and destroyed their strongholds and captured a
very great booty, with many thousands of sheep and oxen and asses. But
hardships had been heavy upon them, and death had wasted them.

Of the grown men among them who had been upwards of twenty years of age
when they crossed the Red Sea in their flight from Egypt, not one now
remained alive. Many of them had been faithless or rebellious. They had
died by the way, or had been slain in battle. But the youngest children,
who with dream-ridden eyes had shared with their mothers and fathers in
the first solemn midnight Feast of the Passover a whole lifetime ago,
were now in the full vigour of manhood. And their own sons had grown up
to be young men hardy and fearless. They too had suffered but had
endured.

And Israel, though but a race of desert tribesmen, ill-armed and few in
numbers by comparison with the great nations around them, from being
little better than a cowed and unruly mob of fugitives, had become a
doughty, resolute and disciplined people, fierce of spirit, implacable
in battle, and under captains bold and valiant and skilled in war. They
were now moreover a race united and at one; their hearts aflame with
ardour for the one true God they worshipped, even though they could
follow his will but stumblingly, and were aware of him but darkly and in
part.

All Israel mourned for Moses thirty days, and when the days of their
great mourning were over, they marched on from the mountainous region of
Nebo and encamped about seven miles northeast of the mouth of the Jordan
where it pours its waters into the Salt Sea. It is a region sere and
sombre, and sunken lowest of any land on earth beneath the level of the
oceans.

But about two days' march beyond and westward of it stood the rich city
of Jericho. Strongly fortified, it reared its massive walls amidst the
plain, between the river and the mountains of Canaan. And on its
downfall hung the conquest of all that lay beyond.

That day Joshua sent out two men, spies, with orders to make their way
by stealth into the city and glean what knowledge they could of its
power in men and arms and engines of war, and the strength of its
defences. They disguised themselves, crossed over the Jordan by one of
its fords, and pressed on across the burning plain until, after the heat
of the day, they neared the bright oasis in the desert in which at the
foot of its hills the city lay. Here were gardens wildly green and sweet
to eyes parched with the weary sands of the wilderness. Groves of palms
and cypresses, and bowers of green orange trees in bloom--there too,
hedges of budded thorn and aromatic tamarisk, gourd and cucumber and
fig, and plenteous vineyards. A stream of marvellous clear water gushed
forth from its well-spring in the hills, to brim pools darting with
fish, and the moat about the walls--thence to spend itself in a hundred
channels, refreshing the gardens in the plain. And many birds made music
by the waterside, for it was the hour of their evensong.

The two spies rested here, in hiding. Never even in their dreams had
they looked out upon a paradise so fair. Verily Eden itself might once
have been found here. Here then they lay until the sun had set behind
the mountains, and the light of day had swiftly ebbed out of the
heavens. And a little before nightfall they rose up and made their entry
into the city by its eastern gate.

Already dark was down, and since the streets of the city would soon be
deserted and any chance wayfarer might arouse suspicion, they knocked at
the door of a house that seemed to be open to travellers, to seek
lodging for the night. A woman named Rahab dwelt alone in this house,
and she herself opened to them. Scanning their faces in the light of the
lamp she carried, she admitted them, asked their business, and made
them welcome. She set bread and wine before them and left them to
refresh themselves.

But though they knew it not, the chief watchman at the gate had seen
them enter the city, and mistrusting them for the spies they were, had
had them followed to the woman's house. When it was reported to the king
of Jericho that two Hebrews were concealed in the city, he was greatly
wroth. He commanded that they should be seized instantly and brought
before him, and that his torturers should be in waiting.

There came anon, then, a guard of soldiers to Rahab's house and beat
upon the door. Spying out on them from a window, she guessed on what
errand they were come. She ran in haste to the two spies where they sat
supping together, and warned them of their danger. 'Follow me now, at
once,' she bade them, 'and with all caution, for there is not a moment
to lose.' And she herself ran on before them and led them up on to the
flat roof of her house, which was built upon the city wall and
overlooked the plain beyond it. There she hid them, heaping over them
bundles of flax which had been laid out in order, to be dried in the sun
for the weaving of linen. She bade them lie close until she came again,
and not so much as stir or whisper.

Then she ran down and opened to the guard; and when they questioned and
threatened her, she told them that the two men they were seeking had
indeed come to the house and had entreated lodging for the night. But as
she knew not whence they had come or who they were, she had denied them,
and had herself watched and seen them go out of the city a little
before dark, while there was yet time and the gates were not shut.

'Whither they went then I cannot say,' she said. 'But they were spent
and on foot and cannot have gone far. Pursue after them quickly and you
will certainly overtake them.'

The soldiers left her, and set off as they thought in hot chase of the
spies towards the fords of the Jordan, with intent to cut them off
before they could cross over, though by now it was dark and the moon had
set. And the gates of the city were shut after them.

When all sound of them was stilled, Rahab shut to her door and barred it
and returned to the spies on the roof. She called to them softly and
they crept out of their hiding-place. And she told them why she had
given them shelter and had not betrayed them to their enemies. Even at
first sight of them, she said, she had pierced through the disguise they
wore, and knew them to be spies and Hebrews. For dwelling as she did
near the gateway of the city, which was continually thronged with
travellers and strangers, she had long since heard the rumour of the
approach of the hosts of Israel. She had heard moreover how the Lord God
they worshipped had driven back the waters of the Red Sea for their
salvation, confounding the hosts of Pharaoh; and what fate had overtaken
the kings of the Amorites, Og and Sihon, when they had set themselves in
array against them.

'Of a truth,' she said, 'as soon as we of the city heard these things
our hearts melted within us. The king and all his captains are sick with
apprehension. Why else should his soldiers have come knocking here to
seize two helpless strangers unless it be for fear of him that sent you?
I am myself a sinful woman and of little account, yet I assuredly know
and believe that the Lord God who wrought these marvels is the true God
that reigns in heaven above and over all things on the earth beneath it,
and that the walls and towers of Jericho are less than nought against
them that believe in him and do his will.'

She stayed, gazing into their faces in the thin sprinkled light of the
stars that burned wildly in the skies above them, her eyes darkly
luminous, her countenance pale and rapt with the eager motions of her
mind and the ardour of her heart. 'Wherefore then,' she continued
earnestly, 'I beseech you to vow unto me by the living God that since I
have showed you kindness, you also will show kindness to those whom I
love, and will save the lives of my father and my mother, my brothers
and sisters, in the day of evil, and deliver us from death. What power
had I? What if the commander of the armies of Israel had sent out a
thousand spies into the city and all had been taken and done to
death--what would that have availed against your God, Jehovah? Seeing
then that I have kept faith with you, I pray you keep faith with me
also.'

Then said the two spies: 'Our lives for thine--if thou utter no word of
why we came here or whither we go. We swear it unto thee. As in our need
thou hast dealt truly and kindly with us, so in the day that Jehovah
shall give us the victory will we deal kindly with thee.'

She was comforted. And she stooped and peered down over the wall of the
city to see if aught were stirring. The air was sweet with the mingled
fragrance of the spring, and in the hush of night the voice of the water
coursing in its channels rang clear and changeable. She turned to them
eagerly, yet as though in the peace and silence, sorrowful thoughts had
found entry into her mind.

'Come, now,' she said. 'All is quiet and there is none to overlook us.'
And she brought them down from the roof into a chamber below, and to a
window that hung over the city wall, for her whole house was built high
out on the great width of the wall. And she took a strong cord woven of
scarlet and bound it fast to the beam of the window, while the two spies
stood back watching her and intently listening. And while they waited,
their eyes took in all that lay around them in the small light of her
lamp, her loom, her hanks of bright-dyed yarn, and the cloth she had
woven.

When all was ready for their departure, they spoke earnestly with her,
so that everything should be clear between them, and nothing should
miscarry when the day of reckoning came.

'It was close on nightfall,' they said, 'when we entered the city, and
we looked but scantly about us. The streets are strange to us, and we
know not where thy people dwell. When we are gone, visit them secretly,
then, and bind them by oath to breathe not a word of anything thou shalt
say to them. And when the city is besieged and the day of the assault is
come, see that they all meet together in this house and that not one of
them be absent. For assuredly in the heat and terror of battle there
will be no help or hope for any found at large in the streets against
the vengeance of Israel. Do this then, and let no man else hear of it.
And when all thy family are come together, bind this scarlet cord in the
window for a signal, so that we and our captains shall see it there, and
shall know which house is thine. Thus only shall you all be saved. But
if any that are with you venture out of doors of this house into the
streets, then he goes at his own risk; and we ourselves shall be
guiltless of his blood.'

She vowed solemnly unto them: 'Be it all according as you have said; and
may the God of Israel remember me! And now,' she added, 'delay not a
moment longer, but get you gone into the mountains and stay in hiding
there at least three days. By then the men who are in pursuit of you
will be wearied out and will have given up hope of finding you. Then
shall you return by night by the ford, and none will molest you.'

So she sent them away in safety. And they climbed down by the cord from
the window that hung over the wall of the city, and fled under cover of
night into the mountains. There they lay close, venturing out only after
dark for food, until three days were gone by and they were out of danger
of discovery. The third night they crossed the Jordan and returned into
the camp at Shittim. And they reported themselves to Joshua.

'Truly,' they said, 'the Lord hath delivered this country into our
hands. The King of Jericho and all his officers and the people that
dwell in the city are faint with dread because of Israel.'

They told him also of the oath they had made to the woman who had saved
them from falling into the power of the king. Joshua bade them bear it
continually in mind, and ensure that it was kept to the letter. He
commended the two men, and was well-content with what they told him.

On the morrow the Israelites raised their camp at Shittim and marched
towards the Jordan. They pitched their tents on the eastern shore of the
river and remained there three days. Now it was the season of the year
when the Jordan is deep in flood and overflows all its banks. It
stretched out before them like a shallow sea, but deep and tumultuous in
midstream. And there seemed to be no means whereby so great a host could
cross from one side to the other, for the fords were now drowned in
water, and boats they had none. But Joshua, their commander, was a man
of supreme energy of mind and of a high courage. And the Lord was with
him.

On the third day he sent his officers through the camp, among the
people. They proclaimed that on the morrow, by the grace of God, Israel
would resume the march, cross the Jordan and enter Canaan; and that they
were one and all to sanctify themselves in preparation for this great
day; for the Lord would do wonders. At these tidings all marvelled, and
there was quiet in the camp from that hour onwards.

By sunrise on the morrow, as their Captain, Joshua, had commanded, the
people had broken up their camp and were now assembled in their clans
and companies and were ready. And the priests bearing the Ark of the
Covenant advanced in solitude from out of the camp and continued on
their way until they came to the shallow flood-waters that lay shining
between them and the Jordan's usual channel. And behold, as the naked
soles of the feet of the priests bearing the Ark were dipped in the brim
of the water, a wondrous miracle was revealed to all that gazed. For the
river that yesterday had run, swirling in flood and burdened with
wreckage, in the deep gorge of the Jordan, was now dammed; its waters
being heaped up near the city called Adam, above twenty miles from where
Israel had been encamped.

And the priests, without pause, chanting their hymns of praise, went on
down into the channel until among its boulders they were in the midst of
the river's bed. There they stayed, the staves of the Ark resting on
their shoulders, its gold wondrous in the sunrise. And when they had
taken up their station there, the trumpets sounded. And the whole host
of Israel--the men of war, the common people, the women and children,
the camp-followers--went down after them with their flocks and their
herds, their beasts of burden and all that they had. As they filed past
the priests--none drawing near them--and looked on the Ark with its
cherubim of gold, they lifted up their voices in wild acclamation, in
sure trust that while this sacred emblem of Jehovah was safe in a place
so full of peril, so too were they.

Hours passed by while the vast multitude of Israel moved slowly on,
threading its serpentine way across the gorge. When all were safely gone
their way, none hurt or injured, and not even a single lamb lost, the
priests followed after them, till all were on dry land.

Then Joshua commanded that twelve picked, sturdy men, one from each of
the tribes, should return into the river-bed, and bring up upon their
shoulders thence twelve very hard and heavy boulders from the place
where the priests had stood who bore the Ark. These Joshua set up in a
circle at Gilgal, for a trophy and memorial to all that came after of
the wonder that had been seen that day, so that their children's
children to unnumbered generations should be continually reminded of how
by the grace of God, after issuing from the wastes of the desert, they
had crossed that great river, the Jordan, in safety and dry-shod.

And Israel continued the march that day and went up into the plains of
Jericho, and because of this marvel the people were moved with awe and
wonder and looked with fear upon Joshua even as they had feared Moses
before him.

The haze-blue mountains of Moab now left behind them, they encamped in
Gilgal many days and there fulfilled the rites of their religion as they
were bidden by the priests. There, too, on the fourteenth day of the
first month of the new year, they kept the Feast of the Passover and
offered up solemn sacrifice. It was the night of the vernal full moon,
as it had been in Goshen, and though in this desolate region of Gilgal
little verdure is to be seen but that of the prickling briar and the
thorn, and springtime shows but thin and sparsely, yet the early flowers
of the year were now in blossom, and the birds and beasts rejoiced in
its sweetness. Throughout the forty years since the first Feast of the
Passover had been held in Egypt never had there been such joy in Israel.
It seemed almost beyond belief that the woes and hardships and the hopes
so long deferred of their pilgrimage were over, and that the very soil
on which they stood was the land of their desire. Here at Gilgal the
host rested, while the men of war prepared to go forward to the siege of
Jericho.

On the morrow after the feast, the women of Israel baked unleavened
cakes of flour ground from the old corn of the last year's harvest. From
that day onward the manna which had been their food in the wilderness
ceased and they lived henceforward on the fruits and produce of Canaan.

    *    *    *    *    *

Now it came to pass one day about eventide, that Joshua, having with his
chief officers gone through the camp and assured himself that all was
well and in order, and a strong watch posted, withdrew himself alone. He
went on across the plain until, in the half light under the hills beyond
it, the sombre bastions and walls of Jericho loomed into view, the last
faint hues of sunset streaking the western skies. A part from a few wild
nocturnal creatures which had scurried into shelter at sound of his
approach, no living thing had crossed his path.

The shades of night gathered swiftly around him as, vigilant and alone,
he gazed out over the flat plain towards the mighty stronghold. The day
of Israel's ordeal was at hand. And on him alone, their Captain chosen
by God, its fortunes now hung. His dark clear eyes became fixed in
reverie; his mind in labour with his thoughts. And as he stood musing
there, the thrill as of a great peril suddenly troubled his heart. He
turned abruptly, his hand on his sword-hilt, and looked. And behold, he
was no longer alone, for at a few paces distant there stood as it were a
man, his sword drawn in his hand. Yet his look was not like that of
mortal. There dwelt a light upon his brows that was not of earth or of
its skies now fading in the west; his countenance was serene and
glorious. And Joshua in awe and wonder drew near and accosted him.

'Art thou,' he said, 'for Israel, or comest thou out armed to fight for
our adversaries?'

And he said: 'Nay, but as prince and captain of the host of the Lord God
am I come.'

Joshua doubted no more. He fell on his face to the earth, and made
obeisance and worshipped. 'Answer me, I beseech thee!' he cried. 'What
sayeth my Lord unto his servant?'

And the prince of the Lord of Hosts said to Joshua: 'Loose now thy
sandals from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy.'

And Joshua did so; and with all the strength of his mind he paid heed to
the words the stranger uttered. Then he went his way and returned
through the darkness into the camp.

    *    *    *    *    *

Rahab had spoken truly. Rumour of the approach of Israel and of the
victories they had won over the lands eastward of the Jordan had spread
far and wide among the kings and chieftains and the people of Canaan.
The name of Jehovah who had abased the gods of Egypt was a thing of
dread to them. When then report was brought to the King of Jericho that
even while the waters of the Jordan were in flood they had been gathered
and heaped up as in a wall to give Israel passage, and that the whole
host was now encamped at Gilgal, he was stricken with a deadly terror.
There was no spirit left in him, for fear and dread of Israel. He dared
not sally out to meet them.

And those that dwelt on the outskirts of the city withdrew into its
shelter, carrying with them whatsoever corn and food and treasure they
possessed and could carry away in haste. Its walls and battlements were
manned, and the whole city was straitly shut up. None came out and none
went in. Before even an enemy had showed at its gates, Jericho lay as if
besieged.

And at Joshua's own time the army of Israel, men of valour, forty
thousand strong, marched out from Gilgal and drew near to the city and
encamped there. And the King of Jericho and his captains awaited the
assault.

But day followed day, and still there showed no sign of when or how it
would be delivered. Spies that were sent out under cover of darkness
never returned; false alarms set the city in sudden violent uproar; and
open revolt was beaten down with a cruel hand.

And in the midst of this suspense there came a day when the watchmen on
Jericho's topmost turrets, as they peered out over the plain in the
cheating dusk of daybreak stood aghast. A strange and terrifying
spectacle met their eyes.

There debouched from out of the camp of Israel upon the plain rank upon
rank of its men-at-arms, by their troops and their companies, each under
its own captain, and in a great silence. Wending their way well beyond
bowshot from the walls of the city they advanced in close order, as if
to encompass the whole circuit of the city. And when the men-at-arms
were passed on, there followed in a space seven raimented priests
bearing seven trumpets of rams' horns set in silver that were wont to be
sounded on days of festival and jubilee in the tabernacle. After them,
borne by four other priests upon its staves, there came an object that
filled them with disquiet and boding, though they had no knowledge of
its use or meaning. It was the Ark of the Covenant of the Lord. And in
the rearward of the Ark, yet other thousands of armed men in close
defile followed in its train.

Thus in the midst of the host went the Ark of the Lord, the priests
preceding it, and, as they walked, blowing with their mouths into their
clamorous trumpets of rams' horns. Else Israel marched in silence. Not a
man of them spoke to his neighbour, nor made they any sound with their
voices, though the clarions of the silver trumpets rang echoing clear
and solemn against the walls.

The horror and mystery of the spectacle struck with a deadly cold the
hearts of the king and his captains and the defenders of the city as
they looked down and watched from their prodigious walls. They had never
seen its like before. No wild onset of assailants shouting shrill
battle-cry, no twangling storm of arrows hailing upon the walls, nor
crash of battering ram. Nought but this voiceless multitude of gaunt and
fearless tribesmen, sun-scorched and lean with long travail in the
thirsty wilds of the desert, marching on and on in a hush broken only by
the shuffle of their footsteps in the sands and the sudden horrific
rending of the air by the blasts of the silver trumpets of their
priests. And after the priests, this gold-slabbed coffer--its bearers
clad in strange embroidered vestments--awful emblem of Jehovah, the
unseen and unimaginable foe. This and this only. For when the city had
thus been compassed once about, the army of Israel withdrew into its
camp.

Thus at daybreak for six days one upon another the whole host of the
army of Israel made the circuit of Jericho; and to those who manned its
walls, wearied out with the last watch of night, it was as though the
city were an island girt about and encircled with a slow-moving river,
not of waters but of men. They were besieged with fear, fear of these
enemies without and of the fate awaiting them, and fear of the horror of
the mystery within their imaginations.

The seventh day dawned, clear and cloudless in the spring of the year,
and yet again the city was encompassed round about as it had been
hitherto, but in the mien of those who made the circuit of the city
there had come a change. They trod as if exultant, and speechless with
joy. And when this day the full circuiting was completed there rang from
out of the trumpets of the priests a shrilling clarion, wilder and
longer than any that had sounded yet. And when the echo of this
clangour ceased, the whole host of Israel suddenly shouted together with
a great and mighty shout. And it came to pass, when after the sound of
the trumpets the people shouted, that the walls of Jericho were broken
and fell down flat, and its gates were flung open, and the army of
Israel went in, every man straight before him. They took the city by
storm and burned it with fire, and destroyed all that were within it,
except only the woman Rahab, her father and mother and her household, as
had been sworn to her by the spies.

    *    *    *    *    *

From conquest on to conquest under Joshua the armies of Israel marched
on. In the first few years that followed the fall of Jericho, of the
kings and chieftains whom he met in battle and who warred either in
their own might in defence of their cities, or banded themselves
together in alliance under one among them greater than they, he
vanquished thirty-one.

But centuries were yet to pass before the nations in Canaan were finally
subdued. And though the land was divided by Joshua between the tribes
each within its own boundaries, according to its strength and numbers,
they were not only repeatedly at war with their enemies, but in strife
one with another. The day was yet far distant when Israel was to be
established as a kingdom under the domination of one king, mighty and
glorious; his seat Jerusalem, the Zion of the Lord.




SAMSON

THE ANGEL


South-westward of Canaan lay the territory that had been divided by
Joshua between the tribes of Dan and of Judah. The country given to
Judah was bounded on the east by the bitter waters of the Salt or Dead
Sea. There, eastward of Jericho, lay the desert barren and desolate.
Northward, with its high ridges and deep gorges, ran the border-line of
Judah from the Jordan to the Great Sea, the cities of Gilgal, Jerusalem
and Bethlehem lying a little beyond and northward of it, in the
territory of Benjamin. This for the most part was a mountainous
district, well watered and fruitful, its lowlands or foothills rich with
cornfields, olive-yards and good pasturage. Furthermost to the south of
Judah lay Beersheba, with its flat, grassy and well-watered plateau, and
beyond its river that flowed into the Great Sea was the territory of
Simeon.

But though in the days of Joshua the chief cities that lay in the great
plain westward of Judah to the sand-duned shore of the Great Sea had
been captured for Israel, they had been lost again. Here under the
dominion of their princes dwelt the Philistines, a nation rich and
powerful, skilled and fierce in war, lords of the islands, traders and
seamen, who had come from afar, and after settling in Egypt, had made
frequent raids on the southern coasts of Canaan, and had finally
invaded and subdued it. They had established themselves between Mount
Baalah in the north and the city of Gerar in the south; and in the
course of time had advanced into the territory of Dan, and into central
Canaan. And they held it in subjection for many years.

In face and feature they resembled the ancient Greeks, with straight
noses, high narrow brows and thin-lipped mouths. The gods they
worshipped with cruel rites were Baal and Dagon, and Ishtar or Ashtoreth
also, the Moon Goddess. Their troops wore pleated caps upon their heads,
strapped beneath the chin, with a cuirass of leather, and kilts to their
knees. And they were armed with a small round two-handled shield, a
spear, and a short broadsword of bronze.

For many years the territories of Dan and Judah and the southern parts
of Canaan remained in subjection to the five fierce and crafty princes
of Philistia, and paid tribute to them as their overlords. The Southern
tribes were not only divided among themselves but again and again had
proved faithless to the one true God, had forsaken his worship and
followed after the gods of the heathen nations around them. They forgot
Israel's miraculous deliverance of old time, and the wonders that had
been revealed to them in their long sojourning in the wilderness, and
how the Lord had brought them at length into the land that he had
promised for their inheritance to Abraham and Isaac and Jacob.

Yet did he never forsake his chosen people, and when in their anguish
they repented of the evil they had done, he again and again raised up
deliverers, leaders able and far-sighted in action and enterprise. These
men were called Judges in Israel; and of these judges none was more
feared and hated by the Philistines than Samson. And this is his story.

There lived in Zorah, a shady village in the hills on the borders of
Philistia, a man of the name of Manoah. He was a Danite, but unlike many
of his fellow-tribesmen he had kept true to his faith and was a man of a
devout heart. He was no longer young, and his one sorrow was that he was
childless. This was a grief even more bitter to his wife whom he
loved--that they had no son to live after them when they were gone, and
to be brought up in the fear and love of God.

Now one day this woman was alone in her house, and though her fingers
were busy with what she was doing, her mind fell into a reverie. So
intent did she become on the gentle longing thoughts that haunted her
daydream that when, as if at an inward call, she looked up and saw a
stranger standing beside her, she had no knowledge of how he had come,
nor even if he had spoken.

But at one swift upward glance into his countenance she knew him to be a
prophet or messenger of God. Though, in truth, this was no man, but an
angel.

And the angel said to the woman: 'Take comfort and grieve no more
because thou art childless. I am come hither to tell thee that a son
shall be born to thee--a son who from the day of his birth shall be set
apart in the service of the Lord.'

The woman bowed herself before the angel. So great was her astonishment
at his presence there, and her happiness at what he had said, that she
could make no answer in words. And the angel revealed to her that for
token that this son was not like other children but that he had been
consecrated to the Lord, the hair of his head should not be shorn, as
was the custom in Israel, but allowed to grow freely and naturally. 'And
be thou thyself,' said the angel, 'heedful in all that thou doest. Drink
no wine, eat only food that is pure and wholesome, and remember well all
that I have said unto thee. For thy son is the gift of God, and he shall
begin the deliverance of Israel from its enemies the Philistines.'

The woman bowed herself again before him, but when she raised her head,
behold, the angel had left her as he had come, and she was alone.
Whereupon she rose up and went off in haste to find her husband,
trembling and overjoyed, and she told him all that had happened.

'As at this very hour I was sitting alone,' she said, 'my thoughts far
away from all around me, I turned my head and looked, and lo, there
stood before me a man of God, the like of whom I have never seen before.
For his look was like the look of an angel. And it filled me with such
awe and wonder that I could find no words even to enquire of him whence
he had come, nor did he tell me his name.

'But this he said, and my heart leapt within me to hear it--he did
solemnly assure me that our prayers--your prayers and mine--have been
answered, and that I shall have a son. And more than that even, for he
is to be consecrated to God from the day of his birth. And he bade me
also, Manoah, take great heed in all that I do and in what I drink and
eat, since our son will not be as other children but is given to us of
God and will do wonders for Israel.'

Manoah rejoiced with her, but was troubled within himself. And he prayed
that night that this prophet or man of God should return and visit them
again, so that he himself might see him and learn from him all they
should do.

The Lord answered his prayer. And the angel came again to the woman. It
was morning, and before the sun was high in the heavens. Seated beneath
a solitary oak at a little distance from the house, she was working with
her needle, and was alone. Her heart was filled with joy and
expectation, and when she saw him she hastened out to meet him and
entreated him to remain where he was until she could bring her husband.
And she herself went in search of him.

She found Manoah with his workers in the fields.

'Come instantly,' she said, 'for the man of God is here, and is even now
waiting for thee in the shade of the oak.'

Without pausing, she ran on in front of her husband, and Manoah followed
after her. When he came to where the angel was standing beneath the
widespread branches of the tree, he enquired of him courteously, 'Art
thou the man who spoke with this woman?' And the angel answered him,
'Yes.'

Manoah questioned him concerning all that had been in his mind. 'I pray
thee, tell me,' he said, 'when thy words come true which thou hast
spoken concerning the son that is to be born to this woman, what are
the vows that he shall make? What shall I teach him? How is he to be
trained and brought up so that in nothing I do amiss, but ensure that he
shall remain faithful in the service of the Lord?'

The angel answered Manoah: 'Let the woman give heed to what I have
already told her. In everything that I have bidden her, let her obey.'

Then Manoah said to the angel: 'Wilt thou not tarry with us a while, and
rest thyself, until we have made ready a meal, to strengthen and refresh
thee?'

But the angel answered: 'Even though I remain here a little, urge me not
to take food with thee, for that cannot be. If thou wouldst offer
sacrifice, thou must offer it to the Lord.'

'Tell me, then, only thy name,' said Manoah, 'so that when what thou
hast foretold to this woman come true, we may always keep thee in
remembrance and do thee honour.'

'Why inquirest thou of me my name,' said the angel, 'seeing that it is
secret, and above man's understanding?'

Then Manoah, marvelling in his mind what manner of man this was, chose
out from his herd a kid for sacrifice. He took the kid to a great stone
or rock that jutted up out of the green grass not far distant from the
oak tree, and laid dry sticks on the stone, and placed the body of the
kid upon the sticks, and he kindled them with fire, for a sacrifice and
thanksgiving to the Lord.

And as Manoah and his wife, kneeling together a few paces from the rock,
watched the flames ascending into the clear morning sunshine, the
stranger himself drew near to the rock, and lo, the flames seemed to
beat down upon him, and the radiance of his countenance was more intense
than their eyes could bear. They bowed themselves to the ground, and the
angel rose up and ascended from them in the flames of the sacrifice and
vanished into the heavens.

Manoah sprang hastily to his feet, his mind filled with astonishment and
dread, and he knew now that this stranger was no man but an angel. He
turned trembling to his wife: 'What shall we do?' he said. 'God's
judgment will fall upon us. We have seen his angel face to face and
shall surely die.'

But his wife, whose heart and mind were so welling over with joy and
thankfulness that there was no room for fear, eagerly reasoned with him.
'It was in truth,' she said, 'an angel of the Lord, and now I see that
deep within me I knew it from the moment I looked into his face and his
eyes dwelt upon mine. But of a truth there is nothing to fear. If God
had intended to destroy us, he would not have accepted this sacrifice;
nor would he have let us remain here and witness all that we have seen;
nor would the angel have foretold all that he did foretell.'

At this Manoah was comforted, and they rejoiced together and were at
peace. The angel never afterwards appeared again to him or to the woman.
And when, as he had foretold, her son was born, she named him Samson,
which means, 'Radiant as the Sun'.

In everything that the angel had bidden his mother so was Samson brought
up. Neither as a child, nor when he had grown up into boyhood, was
there any that could compare with him in beauty and grace and strength
in the country round about Zorah, either among his own people or among
the Philistines.

He was swifter of foot than a wild animal, impulsive and fearless, yet
he seemed not to be aware of his strength, nor had he any vanity, for
his face was lit up as a lantern is by the flame within it; and his hair
which from his birth had never been clipped or shorn surrounded his face
like dark strands of gold. When he was past his first childhood, his
mother plaited it and bound it behind his head in seven braids, to keep
it untangled and from falling into his eyes.

In all things he obeyed the vows that had been made on his behalf before
he was born. He was the never-ending delight of his mother's heart, and
Manoah watched over him, and while he was still young restrained him and
as far as possible kept him at home. But he was of a rash, wilful and
tempestuous nature, as quick to take offence as to forgive, and bent on
having his own way.

As he grew up towards manhood, he went in freedom everywhere, learning
the ways and habits of the birds and beasts of the steeps and ravines
among the mountains, and the craft of the hunter, fearing nought. And he
chose companions not only from among his own kinsmen and the boys of the
village whose white houses nestled on the mountain side, but ventured
also down into the plain and into the company of the Philistines. He
mastered their ways and minds, fickle and crafty; though in his heart he
despised them.




THE RIDDLE


While Samson was still a young man, he went down one morning, as he was
wont to do, into a fortress town of the Philistines called Timnath,
which lay a few miles beyond the valley south of Zorah, and west of
Bethshemesh. At the entry of the town, as he went on his way, he met a
young woman who was the daughter of one of the chief men of Timnath.
Samson turned his eyes, and glancing into her dark narrow face was
entranced by her beauty. His fair face paled, his lovesick heart stood
still.

From that hour onward he could think of nothing else. She haunted him,
as may a dream; and when he returned home he spoke to his father and
mother of this young woman, vowing that he would have no peace or quiet
until they consented to let him win her for his wife.

But Manoah and his mother were distressed to hear it. They pleaded with
him. 'Is there no young woman gracious and beautiful enough among thy
kinsfolk or among our own people that thou shouldst without a moment's
thought choose for thyself a wife from among these heathen Philistines?'

But Samson refused to listen to them, so wildly burned his love for this
young Philistine woman. 'Nothing you can say or do,' he repeated, 'will
move me by a hair's breadth from my purpose. Why are you then
continually reproaching me, reasoning against what is not in my mind
but is eating out my very soul? If you have any love left for me, go
down to Timnath and do whatever is needful to persuade her father to let
me take her to wife. I can neither sleep nor eat for thinking of her. I
love her, and there is none to compare with her.'

But in spite of his entreaties Manoah and his mother could not persuade
themselves to consent to do as he wished. It was utterly against their
hope and faith and desire. They were grieved by his wilfulness and
obstinacy, but said no more. They did not know that the Lord had willed
it so; nor did they foresee what would be the outcome of it--the blazing
up of a lifelong feud between Samson and the hated oppressors of Israel,
and the beginning of Israel's deliverance.

Now one morning Samson was again on his way down from Zorah into the
valley beneath, and bound for Timnath. As he hastened on, leaping and
scrambling down through the wild and rocky gorge of the mountain, now in
shafting sunshine, now in shade, he approached a place where the
vineyards of the Philistines were spread out over the lower terraces of
the hillside, their branches green with their young clusters of grapes.
He heard a confused, low droning of bees, and turned aside by a narrow
defile through a thicket where flowers grew starry and sweet and
burdened the air with their fragrance.

As he stood there, spying about him in search of the hive where these
wild bees had stored their honey, his heart suddenly stilled within him
at some faint call of danger. And of a sudden before he could move hand
or foot a fierce and roaring young whelp of a lion sprang out on his
path from its covert in the thicket. Its roar ran echoing from crag to
crag. With twitching tail and bristling hair, and eyes fixed ravenously
on its prey, it crouched low to the dust in the rocky hollow, then leapt
upon him. And Samson unarmed as he was, its breath smiting hot upon his
cheek, its rankness in his nostrils, met unmoved its furious onset.

And the spirit of the Lord that was his strength came mightily upon him.
With one hand he seized the lion by the shag of beard upon its chin,
with the other its upper jaw, and with a single wrench of arm and
shoulder he rent it asunder limb from limb as easily as if it had been a
kid. He stayed to recover his breath, then flung its carcase out beyond
the narrow track, pushed back through the thicket into the gorge and
continued his journey to Timnath. There he made his way to the house of
the father of the young Philistine woman, and talked with her; and as he
talked with her his love increased, so that it seemed an anguish almost
beyond bearing to part from her and to return to Zorah.

When some days afterwards he was climbing up through the gorge beyond
the vineyards of the Philistines on his way home, he turned aside out of
the track to look for the carcase of the lion he had killed. He found it
there; but the flies of the air and the insects of the dust had picked
its bones clean and white, and its hairy hide was dried up in the
violent heat of the sun. Stooping, he discovered that a swarm of bees
had made their hive within the arching ribs of its dry body, and
already there was a rich store of honey. He was hot and hungry, and with
the palms of his hands he scraped out a fragment of the oozing comb and
refreshed himself with its honey as he went on his way. When he reached
home he gave some of the honey to his father and mother, but he uttered
no word concerning his encounter with the lion, or that he had found the
honey in its dried-up carcase.

Convinced at last that they would never consent to his marriage with the
young Philistine woman, he himself went down alone and persuaded her
crafty father that she should be given to him for wife. This done, he
prepared for his wedding feast, which was to be held, not, as was the
custom in Israel, in his own house, but in the house of the Philistine.
Many guests from among her kinsfolk and friends were invited, but none
of his own people; and of the Philistines some had long been known to
him, and one of them was his bosom friend. Apart from the women, thirty
young men in all, perfumed and anointed, sat down with him at the feast,
which continued, as was the way with the Philistines, for seven days.

The mornings were spent in singing and dancing, and in contests of
strength and skill. At night they feasted. Contests of wit, also, for
they asked riddles one of another, eating and drinking and rejoicing
together. Samson listened to them, as he sat in his bright-coloured
wedding clothes, his fair hair braided in seven plaits behind his head.
And while he watched them he grew ever more ill at ease, for though
they flattered him to his face, there were many among them who mocked at
him behind his back and were hostile to the marriage of one of their
kinswomen to a man of an alien and hated race. The thought irked him and
he pined to outwit and humble these braggarts. He sat brooding, then, of
a sudden smiling within himself, he stood up and challenged them.

'Hearken, now, all of you, and I myself will ask you a riddle. And if
any man among you can give me the right answer to it within the seven
days of the feast, then will I pay for forfeit not only to him but to
each and everyone of you a change of finest linen and a robe as splendid
as any now upon your backs. But beware of it, for it must be a wager
between us. And if you fail to find the answer, then shall you
yourselves pay me thirty changes of fine linen and thirty robes as good
as mine--one of both from each of you!'

He turned and glanced at his bride who sat beside him in her place. She
smiled at him with glittering eyes, and he laughed.

Merry with wine, the young Philistines took up his challenge. 'Tell us
your riddle,' they shouted, 'and thou shalt have the answer to it far
sooner than we the forfeit!'

Then Samson said: 'This is my riddle--

    Out of the eater came wherewith to eat,
    And out of the strong the sweet.

Answer me that!'

For the next day or two the Philistines racked their wits to find an
answer to it, but found none. They were enraged at the thought of this
Hebrew triumphing over them, and some of them sought out Samson's young
wife and threatened her.

'Did you entice down this boasting young Danite and choose him for a
husband merely in order to beggar us all? Who is he that we should load
him with robes and fine linen? Look well now, if thou canst not coax out
of thy husband the meaning of this riddle of his so that we can give him
his answer before the seven days of the feast are over, it is thou
thyself shall pay the forfeit, for of a surety we will burn down thy
father's house and thee inside of it.'

At this threat Samson's wife was so sore afraid that with all the
cunning she could she set about persuading Samson to tell her the
answer. But at first without avail. When they were alone again together
she began to weep.

'Again and again,' she said, 'have I besought thee to confide in me. But
all in vain. To think thou shouldst have made up this riddle out of
thine own head and asked it of my friends, my own people, without so
much as sharing a syllable of it with me! How canst thou say thou lovest
me and yet wilt not share with me this one small secret?'

But still Samson refused to tell her. 'Why,' he said, 'I have not even
so much as mentioned the riddle to my own father or mother! How then
should I tell thee the answer however much I love thee?'

On and on she continued to pester him, taunting, beguiling, weeping, if
so be by any means she could seduce him to confide in her. At last
Samson could endure her wiles no longer, and on the seventh morning he
told her the answer. And as he lay sleeping in the heat of the day, she
sallied out softly and revealed it to the young Philistines.

That night, the last night of the feast, the young men sat in triumph,
smiling craftily one at another, until at a late hour Samson reminded
them that the seven days' grace he had given them was over, and that his
riddle remained unanswered. 'Where is the forfeit you promised to bring
me,' he said, 'every man of you a vestment of fine linen and a wedding
robe? Have it again, and I defy you to answer me:

    'Out of the eater came wherewith to eat,
    And out of the strong the sweet.'

One and all they sat sullenly knitting their brows and gazing at him as
if at a loss, then at a signal they rose and derisively sang out the
answer:

    'Sweeter than honey on earth there is nought.
    Nor in stronger than lion can its sweetness be sought.

What sayest thou to that, Samson? Swoop back on the carcass thou hast
hidden in the gorge. Maybe thou shalt find thy forfeit hidden under its
skin.'

Samson's eyes roved slowly from one face to the other as they stood in
mockery around him, and at last he turned his head and gazed full into
the face of the woman, who with painted cheek and brow, and head
garlanded with flowers, sat beside him at the feast. She stared stonily
back at him, but her hands trembled.

'Ay,' he said to them all, his rage and his hidden contempt of them
working within him, 'I see the way of it. Having not the wits of a man
among you, you crept off and bribed the woman.'

Blazing with fury at her treachery and at the crooked and paltry fashion
in which his guests had cheated him, he set off that night with a few
young men of his own tribe valiant enough to go with him. And they came
down before daybreak to Askelon, the chief city of the Philistines,
which reared its towered walls on high above a pallid sea. There they
hid themselves, and out of their ambush waylaid and slew thirty of the
men of Askelon and plundered them, and brought back the clothes they
wore in payment of Samson's wager with the young Philistines.

But his anger against the woman whom he loved and who had deceived him
was not abated. He refused to see her and returned to the house of his
father. At this, without word to Samson, his father-in-law, the
Philistine, dealt with him even more treacherously than had his guests;
for he robbed him of the daughter he had given him to wife and bestowed
her in marriage on one of the Philistines who had been at the wedding
feast--even on the young man who was Samson's bosom friend.

As time went by, and knowing nought of what had been done in his
absence, Samson's anger against his young wife began to wane. 'Surely,'
he thought within himself, 'she cheated and beguiled me not of her own
will but for fear of how my enemies might revenge themselves against
me.' He pined and fretted for her company, being by nature generous and
forgiving. In spite of her deceits, he still loved her. So, a little
before the wheat harvest, he forgot his pride and went down again to
visit her, taking with him for a present and a token of his forgiveness
a young kid. But when he reached her house and asked to see her, her
father came out to speak with him, and refused to admit him.

'What! is it thou?' he said, averting his eyes and cringing before him.
'We thought never to see thee again. How couldst thou have forsaken my
daughter within a few days of her marriage! She grieved for thee, and to
console her and for her own honour's sake, I have given her in marriage
to thy friend.'

But even as he said the word, he quailed at the wrath burning in the
young man's eyes. 'Of a truth I lament for thee,' he continued hastily,
'if it be that thou still lovest her. But how shall it profit us to go
back upon the past? What is done, is done; and thou thyself art to blame
for it. But come, now, take heart: she has a younger sister who is even
more beautiful and desirable than she is. I pray thee let me bring her
to thee now, and thou canst take her in marriage instead.'

Without a word Samson turned himself about and left him. His heart raged
in him like a furnace, yet he shuddered as if stricken with cold. 'What
now!' he thought. 'How shall I avenge myself: how punish so vile a
treachery? Truly there is no evil I can wreak on these treacherous and
insolent Philistines that can wipe out so foul a wrong as this! By the
vows that I have vowed to the Lord I will be even yet with these enemies
of Israel! Mine be the day and the hour!' And as he went his mind
seethed with grief and anger.




THE FOXES IN THE WHEAT


Midway on his journey back to Zorah he sat down to rest awhile in the
shade of a tree that arched its boughs over the gorge through which his
path lay homewards. Absent in mind, for it was fixed on one thought
only, he fondled the kid that still lay within his arm; and he turned
his eyes and looked out from his eyrie across the shallow downlands of
Philistia. The sun was setting, and as far as sight could reach,
stretched to the white sands of the sea the fenceless ripening
wheat-fields of his enemies, interwoven here and there with dark-green
vineyards and silvery groves of olive.

And as he sat, brooding and motionless, his gaze fixed on the scene
stretched out beneath him as if in the peace and unreality of a dream,
the wild creatures he had disturbed began to return to their haunts
again as if no human creature were by. Jackal yelled to jackal; and
almost at his feet from its lair in the ravine a fox presently stole
out, and couching itself down on the warm rock began to preen its coat,
taking its pleasure, and basking in the heat of the sun.

Samson turned his eyes and watched it without stirring. And suddenly, as
though a secret voice had spoken, a wild fancy leaped into his mind. He
threw back his head and laughed. The kid awoke, bleating; the fox leapt
into the air and was gone. The sound of Samson's mocking laughter
pealed on through the ravine, and the sunbeams caught the glint of his
bright hair.

The days that followed were spent in frenzied labour to carry out the
stratagem he had devised. First he fenced in a natural hollow at the
foot of the mountains from which a rocky channel or dried-up
watercourse, steep on either side, dropped down towards the plain. This
done, he set to work digging pits and setting gins and snares
wheresoever he knew was the resort of the wild foxes and jackals. He lay
in wait by day in the clefts of the mountain gorges, and at night in the
moonlit vineyards, and chased down and caught with his own hands these
wild, fleet-footed and timid creatures.

As he caught them, he carried them off and caged them up in the pen he
had prepared for them. From this they could neither leap out nor in any
wise escape. There he left them to their own devices until the hour when
he should need them. He toiled on without rest, urged on by one sole
furious desire--to teach these accursed Philistines a lesson they would
never forget. His strong-boned face and limbs scorched by the sun, his
blue eyes gleaming, he was taut and tense in every sinew, yet supple as
a serpent; and when he had captured as many of these creatures as he
wanted for his purpose, he spent tedious hours in preparing bundles of
little torches or firebrands of kindling-wood which he smeared over with
pitch and left to dry. And at last his work was done.

When then all was in readiness, he rose up one night in the small hours
and went down to his pen or hollow in the rocks. It was the season of
harvest full moon, and her bleaching rays streamed down on every
motionless tree and rock. He straddled over into his pen and into the
midst of the host of snarling beasts and by her light he caught them as
he wanted them, one in one hand and one in another. They struggled,
yelped and snapped at him, but were powerless to resist. He dragged them
tail to tail, then bound up one of his little torches or firebrands in
the middle between each two tails.

When all this was to his liking, he rested. The moon sank low, her
bright face paling as the hues of dawn began to well into the dark
crystal of the east. Moment by moment the light grew stronger, until the
whole firmament was dyed with the colours of sunrise. At length the
burning orb of the sun itself gilded the mountain-tops and from the rock
where he sat in watch, above the scurrying and infuriated animals in the
pen, Samson could survey the countless acres of the Philistines'
corn-lands, now showing like a vast sea of milk, for they were swathed
in a pearl-pale low-lying mist.

Little by little in the heat of the morning the mist began to lift and
waver and vanish away, until the wide unrippled miles of wheat-fields,
dry as tinder and white as lint, lay fully exposed, shimmering in the
faint airs that stirred under the vault of the blue sky. For by far the
greater part of their corn was as yet unreaped, though here and there on
rough patches of stubble it stood in stooks or sheaves--and all
sweltering in the ardour of the sun.

Then Samson strode down to the neck of the pen where the wall of rock
so narrowed that there was only passage-room for two or three foxes
abreast. He took fire and the torches he had made, and with one blow of
his foot broke down the hurdle which lay across this outlet, and seizing
the couple of foxes that were nearest, he kindled the torch between
their tails and set them free on the very outskirts of the fields. And
so he continued.

Instantly after, now here, now there, and in the twinkling of an eye,
and to and fro, as the frenzied creatures ranged--quarrelling, fighting,
scurrying this way and that--rose up and ran jets and spurts of flame,
scarcely visible at first in the blaze of day. But they spread like
wildfire, billowing on in ever-widening eddies across the plain, like
ripples of water on a pool, but soon surging together and circling on
and on, until wide stretches of the mounded plain roared together like
fire in a furnace, and in the wind raised by their own heat.

When, his last captives set free, Samson climbed up on high upon a rock
and once more surveyed the country of his foes, it was no longer a sea
of mist or of ripe grain his eyes beheld, but of fire; and a prodigious
column of smoke, black as a storm cloud, towered up into the heavens,
visible for leagues, and to ships far out to sea. He looked and laughed.

The fire raged on, past human hope of its being quenched or beaten out.
So fervent was the heat and so dense the smoke that the Philistines
could only watch it from a distance, helpless to draw near; until at
last not only the standing corn and what was reaped and in sheaves, but
many of their vineyards and olive-yards were no more than a smoking and
smouldering waste of ashes. They were beside themselves with fury and
dismay. It seemed beyond the wit of man to have wreaked such widespread
destruction in but a few hours.

'Who is it that hath done this? What enemy hath done this?' they cried
one to another. 'Away, away with him!' Indeed it was the law of the land
that if by mere mischance even one of their own people set fire to so
much as an acre of their fields at harvest-tide, he paid for it with his
life.

When they were told that this was the work of Samson--the Hebrew
son-in-law of the Timnite--and that he had done it to avenge himself
against them because his wife had been taken away from him and given to
a friend, their rage turned to consternation. Mortally afraid to meet
such an enemy until they were prepared, a band of these Philistines that
night went up by stealth at dead of dark and encircling the house of the
father of the beautiful young Philistine woman, they set it on fire and
burnt it to the ground. And he himself and his daughter whom Samson
loved and his whole household perished. Thus they thought to wound one
whom for the time being they feared to strike.

When Samson heard of it, tears gushed out of his eyes. He forgot the
woman's faithlessness and deceit and remembered only that he loved her.
A furious and bitter hatred filled his heart. 'So be it,' he said; 'if
this is their way of it, I will avenge myself against them seven times
over.'

He armed himself and went down in his fury, and not one of them escaped
with his life. Then aware that he had now raised all Philistia against
him like a nest of hornets, he turned east and fled away until he came
to a desolate precipitous steep of rock called Etam. This he scaled and
there concealed himself in a cave or fissure in the face of the rock,
where wild goats and ravens were his only company.

Spies carried news of where he lay, and the Philistines dispatched a
troop of soldiers in pursuit of him, with orders that they were to take
him alive and bring him down. They marched north, crossed the border,
and raiding the country of Judah, encamped that night in a rocky valley
named Lehi, not far distant from Samson's lair. On hearing this the men
of Judah took hasty counsel and sent an envoy to the captain of the
troop of the Philistines to demand what cause they had for invading
their country when they were in treaty with them, and had done them no
mischief.

The envoy returned with the message that while the Philistines agreed
that they had no quarrel with the tribesmen of Judah, they were come up
to capture Samson of Zorah, the chieftain of the Danites, who had
ravaged their harvest-fields, and now lay in hiding in the rocks of
Etam. 'Bring him down alive,' they said, 'surrender him into our hands,
and we will go in peace.'

The men of Judah had no mind to resist them. They feared the evils that
would follow if they opposed the lords of the Philistines. Setting a
guard at the base of the height they climbed up by the way Samson had
gone, and when they came in sight of the cave where he lay in hiding,
they blew a blast upon a horn, summoning him to show himself and to come
out and parley with them.

He had chosen his eyrie so well that it could be approached only by men
in single file, but armed though they were, and many against one, they
had heard too much of his prowess to attempt it.

When Samson appeared in the mouth of the cave they reproached him for
having been the cause of the Philistines' raid into their country. 'Who
art thou,' they said, 'a stranger and a Danite, to bring this danger
upon us? Knowest thou not that we are under the lordship of the
Philistines? We have heard of thy burnings and pillagings, but can see
no reason for such folly.'

'Even as they did unto me,' Samson answered, 'so only have I done unto
them.'

Then said the men of Judah: 'Thy feud is not our feud. We will have none
of it. Come down then and surrender thyself into our hands, else we
ourselves will starve and smoke thee out.'

But none dared draw near to him.

Then said Samson: 'Listen to me, traitors of Israel and cowards that you
are. I will consent to give myself up on one condition--that you vow to
me by the gods of the Philistines--for of the God of Israel you know
nought--that you will do me no harm yourselves, nor set upon me unawares
and murder me, but will deliver me over in safety to the captain of the
Philistines.'

To this they agreed, swearing by Jehovah that no harm should befall him
whilst he was in their hands, but that they would merely bind him and
give him up to the Philistines. Then Samson came down from his
stronghold in the rock and submitted himself to them. They bound him
fast with leather thongs, and led him away from Etam to the camp of the
Philistines.

When the Philistines saw the enemy they feared and hated approaching
them, dragged along like an ox to the slaughter, bound fast and at their
mercy, they raised a yell of triumph. At sound of it a frenzy seized
upon Samson. He shook his head, and lifting his face looked steadfastly
on them, and the spirit of the Lord God of Israel which was the secret
of his strength and which never in any danger forsook him while he kept
true to his vows as a Nazarite, leapt up in him like a flame. He heaved
his mighty shoulders and the thongs that pinioned his arms snapped and
fell off from him like flax burnt with fire. With a wrench he snapped
the bonds that gnawed into his wrists, and running, and stooping over
the carcass of a wild ass which a myriad flies had but just stripped of
its flesh, he snatched out its sharp-sided jaw-bone, and with this for
his only weapon advanced against his foes.

At sight of him radiant in his wrath and suddenly, and as if by sorcery,
freed from his bonds, the Philistines were seized with terror. They
turned and fled. But Samson was as fleet and sure-footed as the wild
black goats that ranged the crags of Etam.

'This for Israel!' he cried as one after another he smote them down.
'This for the Lord God Jehovah! And this for my own right hand!'
Exulting in his strength, he pursued and smote them until he was weary.
Then sated and exhausted, he flung himself down to recover his breath
and to rest himself upon a rock in the valley. And as he sat, with none
but the dead to share his solitude, he sang a song of triumph.

    'With the jaw-bone of an ass,' he sang, 'heaps upon heaps!
    With the jaw-bone of an ass hath Samson slain his thousands.'

Then he flung the bone out of his hand, and from that day this valley
was called Ramath-lehi, which means, Place of the Jaw-bone.

It was now high noon; the air of the rock-strewn waste in which he sat
alone shimmered with heat like molten glass, and buzzed with the low
drone of flies. The sun beat down upon his head, its only shield the
close-braided locks of his thick hair. His pulses throbbed. He was
parched and stricken with thirst and near fainting, and he wandered to
and fro among the barren rocks, scarcely able to see by reason of the
blinding dazzle of the sun and his own weariness. It seemed that in the
midst of his triumph he would perish miserably for want of but a sip of
water. And in his agony he prayed to the Lord to deliver him.

'Thou hast given thy servant this great victory,' he groaned, 'shall he
now die of thirst, and his body fall into the hands of thine enemies!'

The Lord answered his prayer, and lo, from out of a cloven hollow in the
rock there gushed water in a clear cold stream. Samson knelt down in the
hollow, and cupped his hands and drank, and drank again. He was
refreshed and revived and his spirit returned to him. To this place was
given a name which means, Hidden Well-spring of Prayer; and though three
thousand winters have come and gone, its waters flow in Lehi to this
day.

    *    *    *    *    *

The years went by, and Samson was chosen to be judge or chieftain over
the region of Israel where he dwelt. Now there was peace between his own
people and the Philistines, and now war. But so long as he lived, there
was never a time when his foes were not secretly conniving to seize or
ensnare him and to avenge themselves for the shame and evil he had done
against them. But he defied them and they dared not attack him openly.

There came a day when Samson went down even to the great walled city of
Gaza, and alone. Now this Gaza was one of the oldest cities in the
world. It lay furthest south of the five chief cities of Philistia--a
long day's journey from Samson's hills. Amid its widespread gardens of
palm and olive it stood upon a hill two miles east of the Great Sea, and
was on the coastal highway of the caravans from Tyre and Sidon and
Damascus journeying down to Egypt. Muffled in the cloak he wore, Samson
entered in by the great gate of the city a little before nightfall, and
he went into the house of a woman that lived there. At the usual hour
appointed by the governor of the city the gates were shut and strongly
barred and bolted. But unknown to Samson, one who stood idling at the
gates, and who had cause to remember him, had seen him knock, and enter
the house of the woman, and had recognized him.

He followed on after him, and setting another man of Gaza to keep watch
on the house, he himself hastened with his news to the governor of the
city, who debated how he might take Samson alive or kill him. Seeing
that it was now night, and there was no risk of his escaping out of the
city while the gates were shut, they determined to wait until daybreak
and to kill him then, for any attempt to seize him at close quarters in
the darkness would be at a heavy cost.

But Samson remained in the house of the woman for but a few hours. At
midnight, when all was still and the streets deserted, he rose, and
bidding her farewell stole out cautiously into the darkness. He peered
this way and that; there was no light showing and naught stirring, yet,
like a lion that snuffs at a snare, his mind was filled with a vague
mistrust; and he turned swiftly and passed on until he came to the city
gates. And when he reached them, behold, they were stoutly barred and
bolted against him. He stayed a moment, glancing about him and
listening, for it seemed the sound of a footfall some paces behind him
had of a sudden ceased.

At this he smiled within himself, and even while the watchman in the
tower above--so smitten with terror at sight of him that he dared not
challenge him or sound the alarm--stared down from his niche in the
wall, Samson seized the great doors of the gate and lurching now this
way, now that, wrenched both them and their timber-posts out of the
thick masonry of the tower, and heaving them up on to his
shoulders--posts, bar, locks and all--he set out into the open country
and carried them off to the top of a hill. There in mockery and derision
he set them up one against another for a perch to the wild birds; and
there they were found by the Philistines, who as soon as morning was
come had sallied out in strength in pursuit of him, and found him not.




DELILAH


Time went by, and as, while he was young and ardent and impetuous, after
but one glance into her face, he had come to love the beautiful young
daughter of the Philistine of Timnath, so again, when he was a man of
full age, he came to love another Philistine woman. Her name was
Delilah; she lived in the valley of Sorek and not far distant from the
village of Zorah, green then with trees among the hills, where Samson
himself was born.

His mother and father were now dead, and he lived alone, going down day
by day to visit Delilah in the valley of vineyards beneath. When word of
this was brought to the ears of the five princes or lords of the
Philistines, they came to the house of Delilah and communed with her in
secret.

'This man Samson,' they said, 'as thou knowest well, is the enemy of us
all. From the days of his youth even until now he has been the pest and
bane of thy people and the sworn adversary of their gods. Yet year by
year he grows in power and authority, puffing up these Hebrews with such
pride and trust in him that they have come to think of him as half-god
and half-man and invincible. But think not it is thee thyself we blame
for that. Far from it, since it has been put into thy power to win from
him the secret of his strength and valour. So strange and unnatural a
thing cannot lie in his own bodily force alone, but must depend upon
some magic or mystery connected with the God he worships. Do thy utmost
then to entice and to persuade him to confide in thee this secret. It
may be that he wears some charm or amulet which thou canst steal away.'

While they thus talked with her, and reasoned with her, though at first
she resisted them, Delilah's mind was wavering between her love for
Samson and her fear of the vengeance these tyrants would wreak against
her if she refused to do as they bade her.

Seeing this, they tempted her at last with a bribe. 'It is not in our
minds,' they said, 'that thou shouldst stain thy hands with his blood,
but only that thou shouldst entice his secret out of him and so deliver
him helpless into our hands. We swear unto thee that though he shall be
repaid in full for all his insolence and bloodshed and evil, his life
shall be spared. But thou shalt indeed have worked a marvel, and thy
name will be famous for all time among the women of Philistia. Moreover,
we will each one of us pay over to thee in reward eleven hundred pieces
of silver.' They watched her closely. But in greed of this great reward
Delilah hesitated no more and consented to betray Samson into their
hands.

When next he came to visit her, and they were sitting together in the
cool of the evening, she began to question him of the days when he was
young and when his father and mother were yet alive. She asked him of
his bringing up and of the sports and pastimes of his youth, and when he
had first come to know how much fleeter of foot and more supple of body
he was than any boy of his own age.

'I have heard tell,' she said, 'that even in thy childhood fear was
utterly unknown to thee, and that there was none to compare with thee in
craft and daring. Tell me,' she said at last, and as if the thought had
at that moment come harmlessly into her mind, 'tell me, what is the
secret of thy marvellous strength? What charm or talisman hast thou that
fills thee with such frenzy, and makes thee invincible against thy foes?
I burn with pride in thee, Samson; for I know that only by making thee
utterly helpless could they ever hope to subdue thee into their power.'

Samson told her freely of his early days in Zorah, but no further. When
she persisted in her questions, he rose, stretched out his arms, and
stood gazing out of window towards the vineyards on the hillside already
darkened in the shades of night, and from which the last wrack of
twilight would soon be faded away.

He smiled within himself and turned back to her. 'Why,' said he, 'if I
were bound fast with seven raw bow-strings--bow-strings, I mean, that
have never been dried, so that the knots would not slip--then my
strength would ebb clean out of me, and I should be empty, defenceless,
weak as any other man.'

Joy filled Delilah's heart to hear it. On the morrow she set out
forthwith and carried this news to the lords of the Philistines, and,
before evening, returned again to her house, bringing with her seven
undried bow-strings.

A little before nightfall, and when Samson had promised to visit her
again, there stole in to the back parts of her house a company of picked
men, chosen by the lords of the Philistines for their strength and
valour. These she concealed within, in an inner chamber, bidding them
stay there and watch and wait. 'Abide here,' she said, 'without so much
as stirring foot or finger until I cry out, and call you in. Then come
quickly, seize him, and begone!'

She had prepared dishes of fruit, and bread and wine against Samson's
coming. Flowers sweetened the house. All was still and in readiness. And
presently after she heard his footfall and his knock upon the door. She
rose and admitted him into the house and they sat and ate and drank
together.

When he was content and at ease, she laughed and showed him the seven
bow-strings. 'See,' she said, narrowing her eyes and half-whispering, 'I
have done as thou didst bid me. Now let me bind thee, merely in sport,
and thou shalt be wholly at Delilah's mercy; for we are utterly alone
together, thou and I.'

Samson himself put out his hands, and she bound him with the seven
bow-strings, knotting them one upon another, and making them fast. And
Samson sat smiling at her, feigning that his strength was gone and that
he was wholly in her power. So for a while they jested together, until
suddenly, as if some hint of danger had reached her ears, she turned,
sprang aside, and cried in warning: 'Alas! Samson, beware! The
Philistines be upon thee, Samson!'

Gazing swiftly about him like a lion brought to bay, Samson leapt to his
feet, and with a twist of his wrist snapped the bow-strings that bound
his arms as if they had been no more than a strand of tow touched off
by fire. And at sound of the snapping of the bow-strings the Philistines
in the inner room were seized with terror, slipped away into the
darkness and were gone.

Delilah herself trembled at sight of him and was filled with rage and
chagrin, but she pretended only to be vexed at his having deceived her.
'Why didst thou deceive me?' she asked him. 'What have I done that thou
shouldst have no trust in me? I bound thee in sport with the bow-strings
just as thou toldst me to, and when but to test thee I called out that
there was danger, they fell away from thee as if thine was the strength
not of one man but of twenty. I have never seen the like before. But
speak truly now and without mockery; are there no bonds strong enough to
bind thee--none? So that even if thou wert in deadly peril thou couldst
not escape?'

Samson laughed aloud and said: 'What are bow-strings? Thou couldst have
netted me in like a fish with them, yet still I should have broken
free.'

She continued to press him for an answer, coaxing and flattering him,
until at last and merely to get peace, he said: 'I told thee but half
the truth; but if I were bound fast with seven brand-new ropes, such as
are used for harnessing oxen but have never been chafed or strained, I
should become as weak as water; ay, with less strength in my bones,
Delilah, than thou hast thyself.'

So Delilah made ready the ropes, the supplest and strongest that the
lords of the Philistines could provide. And when she and Samson sat
together once more, she rose up and stole to door and window as if to
make certain that they were alone. Then she came and stooped and kissed
him.

'See now, Samson,' she said, 'here are the ropes. And now I am going to
bind thee; and truly thou shalt be made to go down upon thy knees and
plead for forgiveness before I set thee free.' And she bound Samson with
the ropes. When she had made them fast, and sported with him awhile, he
heeded so little what she had done that he became drowsy, and all but
fell asleep. Having assured herself that the liers-in-wait were at hand
in their hiding-place, Delilah drew back of a sudden, leapt up and cried
shrilly, as if in fear: 'Samson, O Samson, the Philistines be upon
thee!'

From out of a dream Samson rose up where he sat, and stretched his arms.
And he burst asunder the ropes knotted about him as if they were
pack-thread. And when Delilah realized that he had deceived and
outwitted her a second time, tears of rage filled her eyes. But she
turned and restrained herself, pouring out her reproaches, as if she
were weeping only because he had made mock of her.

'Why, and what danger could there be?' she taunted him. 'Are we not
alone? The mighty one of Israel is as timid as a hare. Have I ever
proved false to thee in anything? Surely no man who has any courage in
him would lie and lie again! I am of no more importance in thy sight
than a child that must be put off with any idle tale that comes into its
father's head.'

And as Samson soothed and solaced her, gazing fondly into her dark
narrow face, her cheeks inflamed with weeping, he was so much blinded
by her beauty to the treachery that was in her heart that he was almost
persuaded to tell her his secret. But he remembered his vow, and heeded
the warnings of the voice within him, though he was loth to obey it. And
as he sat brooding, his eyes wandered from Delilah's face and fixed
themselves upon her loom.

And when once more she dried her eyes and besought him by everything he
held dear to vex and cheat her no more, but to confess his secret, 'Now
hearken,' he said; 'but first, I entreat thee not to enrage me again
with warnings that danger is near. I might believe it to be the truth
and be moved once more to teach the Philistines, who as God knows are
the enemies of Israel, that it is for no love of them that day after day
I venture over the border. Maybe I have told thee foolish stories, but
why shouldst thou desire to share a secret that I have sworn never to
reveal? It is thou who art deceiving me. But now, hearken! Bow-strings
and ropes, thongs and bonds are less than nought to me. My strength is
in me myself. And if thou should weave the seven braided locks of my
hair into the web of thy loom yonder, the virtue would be gone out of
me, and I should be weak as a sheep in the hands of the shearers.'

Delilah laughed and was satisfied. And when next evening, wearied out by
the heat of the day, Samson had laid himself down to rest awhile, and
had fallen asleep close beside her loom, she softly and warily wove his
long hair into its web, and twisted and beat it close in together with
her weaving pin. When she had finished this handiwork and stayed to
watch him a while, it seemed to her impossible that any man of his own
strength, whether human or divine, could win free again.

Still as a child he lay in his sleep--this Samson, matchless among men
for might and beauty and for courage. For a moment her heart wavered and
she sickened of her treachery. But memory of the bribe soon to be hers,
and of his deceits in the past rose up in her, and with a gesture of
contempt the woman turned stealthily towards the inner room; and having
assured herself that the captain of the Philistines with his men were in
their hiding-place, she cried suddenly and wildly as if in terror: 'Oh,
Oh! Alas! Alas! The Philistines be upon thee, Samson!' And she roused
him from his sleep.

Samson awoke, gazing drowsily about him, and he raised himself upon his
knees. Then, as if he were merely drawing tent-pegs out of sand, with
one heave of his shoulders he wrenched out not only the web of the loom
but the posts also that held it securely to the ground, and he stood up
upon his feet. And Delilah flung herself flat upon the ground and wept.

When for the third time the lords of the Philistines knew that Samson
had deceived Delilah, they were bitterly incensed against her, and sent
word that she should have but one more opportunity of winning the bribe
they had offered her. Moreover, they warned her that if she failed yet
again to deliver Samson into their hands, they would burn down her house
over her head.

At this message Delilah's face wanned with fear. As the days went by she
could neither eat nor sleep for dread of the vengeance overhanging her;
and she gave Samson no peace.

He brought her gifts, but she refused to be comforted. 'How canst thou
say, "I love thee"?' she repeated again and again, sighing and weeping.

'What mockery and folly and what lies! I am weary of it all, and will
see thee no more. What love can be where there is no trust? Three times
hast thou mocked at me, made me a laughing-stock, and put me to scorn. I
am done. Keep thy secret, I will have none of it!'

Whereupon she would lay her head upon his shoulder and fall to weeping
again. And Samson's soul was vexed to death.

He could get no rest from her upbraidings, and in mere weariness at last
he heeded no more the voice of divine counsel within him. He reasoned
with her, entreated her, but all in vain. She sat sullen, shaken with
sobs, and refused to answer him. It was on the verge of night. Samson
arose and stood gazing out over the starry valley towards the darkness
of the sea; and his heart was distraught with sorrow and bitterness.

'Listen,' he said, turning himself about, and looking earnestly into her
face. 'It is true that until now I have told thee nothing but idle
tales. What deceit was there in that? What profit could it be to thee,
seeing that we love one another, to hear what should never be told? But
now I am sickened to the soul, and utterly weary. Remember only this,
that I would not reveal what I am about to tell thee to anyone but
thyself for all the wealth of all the lords of Philistia. And if thou
have any true love or kindness for me in thy heart, breathe not one word
of it, I beseech thee, lest my enemies should triumph over me. Here now
is the truth and all the truth.

'Even before I was born my mother vowed that my life should be devoted
to the service of the God of Israel. He alone is my strength. For I have
been a Nazarite ever since I was a child. And though in much I have done
amiss, I have kept faithful to my vows. And as a token of their
obedience, it is one of the vows of the Nazarites that their hair shall
never be shorn, nor any razor come near it. It is a sign and showing of
their service to the Lord. So, then, is it with me. Bind the seven locks
of my hair in seven looms, and I would pluck them out of the ground like
a weed. But if I were to be robbed of them altogether, then the
well-spring of my life would be dried up within me. The spirit of the
Lord would die out in me. Shamed and abandoned, I should have no more
strength than a beast abandoned in the wilderness.

'But how is it possible for thee to find any reason in what I tell thee.
It is between me only and the Lord God. And now, Delilah, let there be
peace between us, else we meet no more. And I entreat thee let no word
of this be ever so much as whispered of between us again.'




SAMSON BETRAYED


Delilah listened in silence, but her heart exulted within her, eager as
a vulture for blood, for she knew of a certainty that Samson had told
her the whole truth and had kept nothing back. She dried her tears, and
smiled at him fondly, clasping his hands. The night beyond the windows
was utterly still. Not an owl called, or jackal wailed.

Next day she herself hastened in secret to the prince of the Philistines
who was governor of the city of Gaza. 'I am come, and alone,' she said,
drawing aside the veil over her face; 'and of thy life let no man hear
of it. Have patience yet once more. Let the men be in their hiding-place
to-morrow as soon as night has fallen, and let them bring with them the
money that has been promised me. Many times has this Hebrew Samson
cheated me in the past, but if I have not this time decoyed his secret
out of him for good and all, then let them bring fire too, and burn my
roof-tree over my head. Ay, and make ashes of a woman deceived! But do
thou assure thyself that not a word be spoken of this; have patience;
all is well.'

When the morrow night was come, Samson and Delilah supped again
together. She had made ready of her best, dainties and delicacies from
the palace of the Philistine lord, fruit and wines and flowers. And it
seemed to Samson that never had Delilah loved him as now she loved him.
His misgivings and remorse died down in him, and he was comforted; and
being weary he laid his head down upon her lap. And singing under her
breath an old childish lullaby, Delilah soothed Samson to sleep.

When by his deep and placid breathing she knew that slumber lay heavy
upon him, she stayed her singing, and called softly to the man that was
in wait in the inner chamber to come into the room. And as she herself
directed him, he sheared off one by one the seven heavy braided
wheat-brown locks of hair on Samson's head as it lay within her lap. But
though an evil bitterer even than death itself was creeping upon him, he
was lost to the world and did not so much as even stir in his dreams.

When the barber had taken himself off, Delilah gently drew in a pillow
beneath Samson's head, and so, little by little, withdrew herself. Then
she rose, and with lamp shaded in her hand, stood looking down upon him,
shorn of his hair, and now muttering uneasily in his sleep. She shivered
with horror and hatred to see his shaven head, and drew in a deep
sighing breath. Then narrowing her eyes and stooping a little, she
almost laughed aloud. 'Peace, fool,' she muttered as though to herself,
and taking a pace or two backwards, she snatched up one of the thongs
that still lay there, and lashing the sleeper she cried in a shrill and
frenzied voice: 'Wake, O, wake! Arouse thee, sluggard! Samson! Rouse
thee! Thy God is in need of thee! The Philistines be upon thee, Samson!'
And yet again she smote him with the thong.

The words echoed into his mind as though from out of a vast and hollow
sepulchre. Dreadful shapes swarmed out upon him in his dreams. He
groaned and turned heavily in his sleep. But presently as she watched,
intent, he stirred again and he raised his head, his eyes opened, and
dazed and trembling, he peered stealthily about him. In the light of her
lamp Delilah smiled on him, but there was no meaning in her smile, and
Samson stared on at her as though he could not assure himself who this
woman was.

But gradually the full meaning of her cry broke in upon him. He sat up,
his eyes still fixed on her, in wonder of what cold horror had stolen
into his blood.

'I will arise now,' he whispered to himself, 'and shake myself as at
other times.' He laboured heavily to his feet, but endeavoured in vain
to rid himself of the deadly weakness and languor that had come upon
him. He put out his hand towards Delilah as naturally as a child to its
mother, for his mind was still numb with sleep.

Then he lifted his head, and at the same moment perceived the woman
cat-like and smiling, and the liers-in-wait that spied in upon him from
the inner chamber. With a lamentable cry like that of a beast wounded to
death, he leapt towards them, but stumbled and fell, rose up and fell
again, and knew that all was lost.

And the Philistines seized and bound him, many against one, and he could
not resist them. They led him away to Gaza. And the news of his downfall
ran like wildfire throughout Philistia. The streets of the cities
buzzed with it.

The lords of the Philistines, when he was haled before them in their
place of assembly, mocked at his entreaties to be put out of his misery.
They summoned their torturers, who bored out his eyes and blinded him;
and they set him to labour at a mill for grinding corn--for there were
no streams and so no water-mills in Gaza.

There, in the company of slaves and felons, he sat, day in, day out,
turning the upper stone of the mill upon the nether stone. And while he
toiled on, he could hear the coming and going of the people in the
streets, for the mill was near the city gates which in a night long gone
he had rooted up, posts and all, from their masonry, and set up on a
high hill in derision of his enemies.

Now shackled with massive fetters of bronze he groped on through life in
an endless narrow dark; helpless, his eyes gone. At night he lay in a
dungeon, haunted with bitter waking dreams of radiant light and
freedom--springtime in Zorah, and the mountains lit with the sun. His
only comfort was that at night he was alone, for the lords of the
Philistines had given command that all day he should be closely watched,
and whipped and goaded on.

But seeing at last there was no strength or spirit left in him, the
governor of the prison-house gave him in charge of one of his sons who
was little more than a child, and who delighted in tormenting him.
Strangers came from near and far to stare in wonder upon him who of old
had been the hatred and dread of all Philistia, and now was no better
than a beast of burden and humbled to the dust.

But while Samson languished in this misery of mind and body, the hair
upon his head--whose unshorn braids had been the symbol of his service
to the Lord--began to grow again, and strength to well back into his
limbs and sinews. In spite of his torments he asked no mercy of his
foes, nor revealed by the least sign that strength and hope were
reviving in him again.

    *    *    *    *    *

Now there stood in Gaza a temple of one of the gods of the Philistines,
the god Dagon. In shape, it is said that from his loins upwards, the
image of this god of wood and gold and ivory was in the likeness of a
man, but from the waist downwards, he was scaled and finned and tailed
like a fish. It is said also that Dagon was the god of the harvest.
Stark upon his pedestal, there he stood; the glory and terror of the
Philistines. And his vast temple with its wide flat roof and central
pillars was built outward from beyond the city above the steep of the
hillside on which were reared the city walls.

And the day of the yearly feast of Dagon drew near, when his priests in
their garbs and deckings of gold and gems would make sacrifice to their
idol. This, the lords of the Philistines had decreed, should be a
festival of triumph and jubilation beyond any that had ever gone before,
for had not their Dagon delivered into their hands their mighty enemy,
the judge and chieftain of Israel, who all his life long had been the
unconquerable foe of Philistia, and now was nothing but a mockery and a
jibe?

The day drew near, and by every road and track and by-way--and the
high-road from Jerusalem ran not far distant--a great press of people
from all parts of Philistia flocked into Gaza. Its streets were
thronged, and its walls and houses resounded with music and song,
dancing and merriment. At the hour appointed they flocked into the great
temple until it was overflowing with a host of men and women, the bright
and garish colours of their raiment blazing in the light of the sun. In
numbers there had never in Gaza been seen the like before. And in the
midst of the feast, when this vast multitude was hot and elated with
wine, there went up a cry to the lords of the Philistines, where they
sat in state in their high places.

'Bring in Samson, bring in Samson, that he may make sport for us!' From
wall to wall, from gallery to roof, the clamour spread. Every face was
turned in one direction, and their turbulence increased to a frenzy as
they shouted for Samson and sang the praises of their god.

So the lords of the Philistines sent word to the keeper of the
prison-house that Samson should be brought into the temple, and the
tumult sank down into a profound hush. But when, shuffling and groping,
Samson was led in by the lad who had charge of him and appeared in the
midst of the temple, a wild prolonged yell of hate and triumph went up
from the throats of all assembled there. The walls trembled at sound of
it. And Samson, mighty even in ruin, goaded on like a beast by whip and
cry, was compelled like some poor mountebank to make sport for them all
until they were weary.

At length even the most pitiless of his persecutors were sated of it,
and Samson stooped himself low, sick and exhausted. Then he turned to
the lad who was at his side and asked him to lead him a little nearer to
the two central columns or pillars which held up the roof. 'I pray
thee,' he muttered, 'let me abide there unseen and rest a while, for I
am spent and can make sport no more.'

And the lad did as Samson asked of him.

The people ceased to watch him, for the priests of Dagon were at their
frenzied dancings again, to the sound of drum and cymbal and instruments
of music. And Samson, laying his great hands upon the pillars, stood
there alone in the midst of the temple. He heard about him the shouts
and clamour of this great concourse of Philistines, and the wild
barbaric pealings of their brazen instruments. The noise of the
multitude was like the noise of a sea in storm breaking on a rocky
shore. And as he listened, his heart in sullen fury beating heavily in
his body, the spirit of the Lord as of old began to move in him. And he
lifted up his sightless face and prayed.

'O Lord God,' he said, 'I pray thee remember me, and have compassion
upon me. Give me back my strength again this once, O Lord God, and for
but a little while, that I may take vengeance on these Philistines--thy
enemies and mine--if only for but one of my two eyes!'

With his prayer, his life revived within him and a still splendour of
light filled his mind like the radiance of the sun. And he laid hold
upon the two main pillars of the temple, one with his right hand and the
other with his left hand, and he cried suddenly in a great voice, 'Lord
God of Israel, let me perish with thine enemies!'

Then he bowed himself, and with all his might thrust against the pillars
on which the roof of the temple was borne up.

A dreadful silence fell upon the host at his shout, and even while,
appalled, they watched, the pillars began to bend and crack and topple
beneath the thrust of his mighty shoulders. There came a rending and a
crash that resounded up into the cloudless dome of heaven like the
tumult of an earthquake. And the walls and the roof of the great temple
of the Fish God lurched inwards and downwards and descended upon his
image and his priests and upon all who were assembled there, in a horror
of lamentation and confusion.

So the dead that Samson slew at his death were for might and number more
than all those he had slain during his life. And when dark was come, his
kinsmen and the friends of the house of his father, Manoah, came down
secretly, and bore his broken body away, and buried it in a sepulchre
hewn out of the rock between Zorah and Eshtaol. There lies the dust of
Samson to this day.




SAMUEL

THE CHILDHOOD OF SAMUEL


In the days when the temple or tabernacle was at Shiloh--a little town
on a rounded rocky hill encircled by hills yet steeper, and by deep
valleys on all sides but the south--Eli and his two sons were priests of
the Lord. And there lived then in Ramah a man whose name was Elkanah. He
had two wives, one of them named Hannah and the other named Peninnah.
Now Peninnah had children; they were her pride, her love and delight.
But Hannah had no children.

The village of Ramah, with its low white-walled houses, lay in a wild
region, also among hills, the hills of Samaria, green with woods that
fringed the swift waters of streams never dry. And year by year Elkanah
with his whole household used to journey from Ramah to Shiloh, which lay
about twelve miles distant, to worship at the temple, bringing with him
his offering for the sacrifice, as did all the faithful in Israel.

At the feast that followed the sacrifice, he divided the good things
among his household, his children and his servants. He gave to each one
of them according to his share; but to Hannah he gave more than to the
others, for he loved her very dearly. When Peninnah saw this she was
filled with jealousy. She hated Hannah for her gentleness and beauty,
and because Elkanah loved her. And she never ceased to fret and pester
her, and to taunt her because she had no children. She made her life a
burden and Hannah knew not where to go to hide her grief and to be out
of hearing of Peninnah's bitter tongue; for, of all things in the world,
the one secret desire of her heart was that she might have a son.

Now one day, at the usual season of the year, when Elkanah and his
household were gone down to the temple at Shiloh and were together at
the feast, Hannah sat weeping apart from them. Her heart was forlorn
within her, and she could neither eat nor drink, for sorrow. Peninnah's
smiling face was dark with scorn; but her husband who could not bear to
see Hannah unhappy, drew her apart to comfort her.

'Tell me, Hannah,' he said, 'why are thou weeping? And why dost thou not
eat and rejoice with us? Come now, dry thy tears and grieve no more. Am
I not better to thee even than ten sons!'

Hannah tried in vain to smile at her husband, but his love and
gentleness seemed only to make her burden more difficult to bear. She
rose up and left him in haste and fled away to the temple to pray.

There she found herself alone, except only that Eli the High Priest was
seated not far distant in his chair, and near the pillar that stood
before the entering-in of the temple. And as Hannah prayed, she wept
bitterly and she poured out all her troubles; and in her longing she
vowed a vow to the Lord.

'O Lord of Hosts,' she said, 'I beseech thee to look in pity upon me. To
remember me and not forget me. Thou knowest all things, and in what
trouble I am. If only, O Lord God, thou wouldst of thy compassion give
me a son, then I myself would give him back to thee, and would devote
him to thy service his whole life long. I entreat thee to take pity on
me, for my sorrow is almost greater than I can bear.'

She continued to pray, and Eli, the High Priest, being seated at but a
little distance from her, could see the changing expressions on her
face. Her lips moved, but he could hear no words, only the sound of her
weeping, for she prayed silently in her heart. And she looked so
wretched and so woebegone that he thought she was drunken with wine. At
last in his anger he rebuked her, accusing her, and bidding her go away
and hide her shame.

Hannah stayed her tears and drew near. 'Indeed and indeed, my lord, it
is not so,' she said. 'I entreat thee not to think such shame of me. I
have not tasted wine to-day, but being in great trouble I came here
alone to pray. It is because my spirit is cast down with sorrow that I
have been weeping; but I have poured out my soul before the Lord and he
has comforted me.'

When Eli heard this and looked into her face, he knew that what she had
said was the truth, and he reproached himself for having spoken harshly
to her. He smiled at her tenderly and lifted up his hands in blessing.
'Go in peace,' he said, 'and may the Lord God of Israel have compassion
upon thee and grant thee thy petition.'

Hannah bowed herself before him. 'May thy servant,' she said, 'find
grace in thy sight.'

Then she went her way, and returned to the house in Shiloh where her
husband was lodging. The sadness of her mind seemed to have vanished
away like the mist of morning that falls in dew. She sat down to eat,
and Elkanah saw that her face was changed, and was no longer wan and
overshadowed with care; and he rejoiced, but said nothing. Next morning
they rose early and, having worshipped at the Tabernacle, the whole
company of them made ready to return home.

Hannah's prayer was answered. The Lord remembered her, and a son was
born to her, whom she called Samuel, which means, 'Asked of the Lord'.
And as she sat gazing into his fair, small, solemn face, or talking
softly to him as mothers are wont to do, or lulling him to sleep, it
seemed that her life was like a tree that has come to its blossoming,
and she was at peace with all the world.

The day came again when Elkanah prepared for his yearly journey to
Shiloh to bring his offering to the Tabernacle, and to keep the Feast.
But Hannah remained at Ramah. 'Be not displeased with me or take it
amiss,' she said to her husband, 'if this year I do not come down with
thee to Shiloh but stay here quietly at home. When the child is weaned
and has grown a little older, I will myself bring him to the sanctuary
and into the presence of the Lord, and he shall remain there for ever.
As thou knowest, Elkanah, even before he was born I vowed to give him
into his service. How could we ever be grateful enough for this
blessing, and how can I ever thank thee for all thy love and kindness.'

Elkanah smiled at her and kissed her. 'Do whatever seems best to thee,'
he said. 'Stay with the child then until he is weaned and is of an age
when thou thyself canst take him to Shiloh. And may the Lord bring
everything about according to thy prayers.'

So with Peninnah and her children he set out on his journey; and Hannah
in happiness and peace such as she had never known since she was a child
at her own mother's knee, was left alone with Samuel.

When he had been weaned and was old enough to need her care no longer,
she herself made preparations to take him to Shiloh. For her offering
she took with her three young calves, three bushels of flour and a
bottle of wine. With a servant to protect and attend on her, mother and
son set out together on this, their first and their last long journey
together. When she was come to Shiloh she presented her sacrifice to the
two priests, Hophni and Phinehas. And she herself with her small son was
afterwards brought into the presence of Eli. He searched her face in
vain; he did not remember her.

'It is no wonder, my lord,' she said, 'that my face is strange to thee.
But it may be thou wilt remember how in years gone by a woman came alone
to the temple to pray and stood in thy presence. She was in great
trouble and affliction of mind. And my lord, when he knew this, was
gracious to her and gave her his blessing, and bade her go in peace in
the hope that her prayers would be answered. Well, my lord, I am myself
that woman, and am now happy beyond words to tell.'

Then Hannah took Samuel by the hand, and gently urging him on, presented
him to Eli.

'See, my lord,' she said, 'here is the child himself, my firstborn, whom
I vowed, if he found grace in thy sight, to give into thy charge and to
lend him to the Lord. As long as he liveth he shall be lent to the Lord.
And may he bless him even as he hath blessed me!'

Tears were in her eyes and her heart welled over with joy and gratitude.
And the old man stooped and took the child by the hand, and kissed him
and blessed him. And from that day forward Samuel was left in the care
of Eli, and was a comfort to him. There he lived and there in a little
room alone he slept. And he helped in the services of the Tabernacle,
obeying the High Priest in all that he did. Child though he was, he was
girded like the priests themselves with a tunic of fine linen and with a
girdle of embroidered needlework; and, with Eli, he ministered before
the Lord.

Every year, too, when his mother came with Elkanah to Shiloh to keep the
Feast, she brought with her a little coat that she had made for Samuel
to wear when he was not in the temple. She listened while he poured out
to her all that had come about since last they had met. She rejoiced in
his happiness and to see how every year he grew in stature and
understanding, though her heart ached when the time came again to say
good-bye. And Eli blessed Hannah and her husband for the most precious
gift which it had been in their power to make. 'May the Lord reward you!
And for this child that you have lent to him may he give you many to be
a comfort to you throughout your lives.' And Hannah had other children,
three sons and two daughters; but Samuel was her firstborn, and she
loved him very dearly.

    *    *    *    *    *

Eli was now old and growing feeble, and in the last few years of his
life when he should have been at peace with God and man, he was in
misery and distress because of the evil reports that came to his ears
concerning his two sons, Hophni and Phinehas. They lived in open and
shameless sin, and were feared and hated by all who came to the temple.
They cheated the poor and simple of their offerings and abused the
helpless. But because they were priests of the Lord none dared to resist
or to accuse them openly.

Eli alone had authority over them. But though he reasoned with his sons
and rebuked them, his heart was divided between his love for them and
his hatred of their wickedness. He pleaded with them, beseeching them to
pay heed to him before it was too late.

'If one man sin against another,' he said, 'God of his mercy may be
appeased and bring peace between them. But if a man who is consecrated
to his service sin against God himself, to whom then shall he fly for
refuge? Who then shall intercede for him?'

But his sons only mocked at him behind his back, and went their own way
from one wickedness to another. And Eli withdrew himself more and more
into solitude with only Samuel to wait upon him.

There came at last to Eli a man of God who arraigned him face to face.
'I am come by the will of the God of Israel,' he said, 'to declare his
judgment against thee and against thy two sons, the abhorred of all
Israel. In the days when the people languished in misery and slavery in
Egypt did not the Lord choose from among them one to be his priest and
his anointed, and to stand before him at his holy altar? As with him,
the Lord's chosen, so with his son that came after him, and so with thee
thyself and with thy sons. They were consecrated and set apart in his
service, and in that only. But where now is the honour and glory of the
highest? Thy sons have brought shame and disgrace on the worship of the
Lord. Their very name is a byword and a cause of loathing and hatred.
Thou knowest it, and hast rebuked them; but hast done nothing.

'Hearken, then: the dreadful day of reckoning draws near. They that
honour the Lord, the Lord will honour; but they that despise him shall
be forsaken. A time comes, and that soon, when of thine own blood and
lineage there shall be left none honoured in Israel, and of those that
come after thee not one shall survive the flower of his age. The Lord
will abandon thee, and will chose a man faithful and true to be his
priest in thy stead, and even thy memory shall be a shame. As for thy
two sons, disaster and disgrace lie in wait for them; they shall die
together on the same day, and thou shalt know it for a sign that what I
have foretold will surely come about. Ay, and thy children's children
shall be outcasts, and shall come and crouch before the gates of the
temple begging for but a morsel of bread and a pittance of silver to
save them from starvation. Thus saith the Lord.'

And the man of God went out from the presence of Eli, leaving him alone.
The old man sat on in the growing darkness, shaken and forlorn, striving
to pray, but beset with horror and confusion.

He had been warned, he was sore afraid, and yet in his weakness of will
he failed to give heed to it.

His eyes had now begun to grow dim, and his sight to fail him. And to
Samuel was given the charge of trimming and filling with oil the seven
lamps of the six-branched golden candlestick that stood before the veil
in the Sanctuary, where also was the table of Shewbread and the Altar of
Incense. This he did so that they should burn on without danger of their
light failing through the hours of darkness.

Beyond the veil of the Sanctuary, embroidered with its cherubim in
purple and scarlet, was the Ark of the Covenant of the Lord, the holiest
and most precious thing in the keeping of the priests. Above it knelt
its cherubim of gold, one at either end of it, their wings outstretched
and over-arching it; their faces ever gazing one upon the other in the
peace and silence of the holy place.

But few came now to worship in the temple. It was forsaken even of its
priests. Yet Eli still forbore to banish his sons from its service
altogether, and to disgrace them publicly before the people. He loved
them and was weak. He trusted by prayer and sacrifice to save them from
the horror and death that had been foretold, yet kept himself apart
from them, and deceived his own mind with the hope they might yet repent
and turn again.

There came a night when Samuel, having tended the golden lamps of the
candlesticks and filled them with oil, laid himself down to sleep in the
little room set apart for him in the sanctuary. He was young; and sleep
came swiftly and without dream. But in the darkest hour of the night he
awoke; and, still and clear, he heard a voice calling him, 'Samuel,
Samuel!

He answered: 'Here am I,' rose from his bed and ran to Eli and asked him
what he needed. 'Here I am,' he said, 'for I heard thee calling me.'

Eli turned his face towards him in the gloom.

'I called thee not,' he said gently. 'Be not troubled; lie down again
and sleep.'

So Samuel went and lay down again, and composed himself to sleep. And
yet again he heard a voice calling him: 'Samuel, Samuel!'

He arose instantly and returned to Eli, saying: 'See, here I am, for
indeed I heard thee calling me, and no one else is by.'

But Eli, though disquieted a little, answered him yet again: 'Indeed I
called thee not, my son. Some dream is in thy mind. Lie down again and
rest.'

But no sooner had Samuel returned into the quiet and darkness of his
room than for the third time he heard a voice, infinitely near and yet
as if from very far, calling him: 'Samuel, Samuel!'

For the third time he went back to Eli, and besought him to tell him
what was amiss. He feared that being old and nearly blind Eli had need
of him, and it might be had called him in his sleep, or in pain. And
Eli perceived that it could have been no earthly voice that Samuel had
heard, but the voice of the Lord, summoning him in the secrecy of his
mind and heart. And in his weakness and infirmity Eli trembled at the
thought that the voice of God had been heard by the child.

But he said nothing of what was in his mind, and bade Samuel not to be
afraid or distressed if he should hear the voice calling him again. 'For
surely,' he said, 'it is the voice of God thou hast heard. Go back
again, then, and lie down; and if yet again thou hear the voice, then
thou shalt say, "Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth."'

So Samuel, as he was bidden, went back again and lay down. But sleep was
now far from him. His mind was like a pool of water under the stars. And
the Lord came, and out of a silence deep as the sea Samuel heard again
the voice calling him by his name.

And he answered, 'Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth.'

Then the voice said to Samuel: 'Take heed, for I am about to do a thing
in Israel at which the ears of all who hear of it shall tingle, and
their hearts be shaken with dismay. In that day, even as I have spoken,
shall come the destruction of Eli and those of his own blood. Even as I
make a beginning so also will I make an end. He knew well that his sons
were vile and that they have blasphemed against the Lord, yet he did not
restrain them nor shame them in their wickedness. On his sin and on
theirs, then, shall fall my judgment, and on those therefore that shall
come after them; nor shall it be set aside by any sacrifice or
offering.'

Grieved and terrified, Samuel lay awake until the twilight of morning
began to steal in upon him. Then he rose and opened the doors of the
temple. And the beams of the risen sun swept in upon his face and
flooded the bright woven draperies around him with their light. But his
heart was torn with sorrow, and he was afraid. And he went not as usual
into the presence of Eli, for he dreaded the questions he might be
asked, and to bring sorrow upon him.

But presently after Eli himself called Samuel in a voice solemn and
gentle, 'Samuel, my son.'

And Samuel went in to him, and said: 'Here I am, my lord.'

Then Eli turned his head, though even in the full light of the morning
he could not see Samuel where he stood beside him, because his sight was
dim. He stretched out his hand towards the child, and said: 'Tell me
truly, my son, what is it that the Lord said unto thee this night that
is gone? Hide nothing from me however grievous it may be. If thou keep
anything back from me, may the Lord do unto thee even as he has ordained
to do unto me!'

And Samuel told him every word, as the voice had spoken, and hid nothing
from him.

Eli listened in silence, then stricken and trembling, turned his face
away: 'Enough; go in peace,' he said. 'It is the Lord; let him do what
is good in his sight.'




THE CAPTURE OF THE ARK


Time went by, and as Samuel grew up towards manhood his mind grew also
in knowledge and wisdom, and the Lord was with him, revealing to him in
the silence of his own heart what he should do and what he should say.
And he obeyed it without fear or doubting. His was the vision to foresee
what is hidden from those whose minds are obscured by the things of this
world, and to foretell what shall come to be. And it became known
throughout Israel from Dan in the north to Beersheba in the far south,
that the Lord had revealed himself through Samuel in Shiloh. The
faithful flocked again to worship there, putting their trust in him as
in the prophet of God.

But no peace was yet to be in Israel. There came a day when its enemies
the Philistines mustered an army and declared war, and marching
northeast into Benjamin, pitched their camp on the slopes of Aphek above
the passes into the country of Benjamin. And the Israelites gathered in
their thousands, and encamped over against them on the lofty ridge of
Eben-ezer. In the battle that followed the army of Israel was divided,
and the full strength of neither one side nor the other was engaged. And
though the tribesmen fought stubbornly, the day went against them. They
were driven back across the lower ground and withdrew to their camp on
Eben-ezer, leaving behind them, dead or wounded, four thousand men.

The chieftains of the tribes met next day in council to consider the
causes of this defeat. 'Surely,' they said one to another, 'if the men
of Israel had felt in their souls that the Lord Jehovah was with them,
to them would have been given the victory.' But they doubted even while
they said it, and to renew confidence in their troops and to fire them
with zeal and courage, they determined to send to the temple at Shiloh
and to bring thence the Ark of the Covenant into the camp.

'Then shall the men of Israel see with their own eyes that the Ark of
the Lord is with them, and they shall trust in it as in a sure aid and
defence against the enemy, deeming themselves unvanquishable.'

Messengers were at once despatched to Shiloh. But when Eli was told of
their errand, he was greatly troubled. How could the chieftains of the
army know that this was the will of God? How could they so guard the Ark
in the dangers of the long journey through the wild uplands of Ephraim
and in the peril and tumult of war, that its safety should be assured?
If the least harm or desecration befell it, surely the reproach to
Israel could never be absolved and he himself would never cease to
mourn. He entreated his sons Hophni and Phinehas to consider well before
they obeyed the orders that had been sent.

But they paid no heed to him. They were filled with exultation. Would
not the great victory that might follow bring them honour, and cleanse
away the evil repute into which they had fallen? They overruled their
father and themselves lifted the Ark from its resting-place in the Holy
of Holies and came with it, and brought it into the camp at Eben-ezer
into the midst of the army; and a multitude accompanied them on the way
thither.

When the blaring of the rams' horns of the priests was heard in the
camp, the tribesmen flocked to see it, borne in on high, the sun blazing
upon the wings of its golden cherubim. And all Israel shouted with a
great shout, so that the earth rang again. So wild was the noise of
their acclamations, echoing like thunder in the height of the morning,
that the Philistines mustered on the slopes of Aphek heard it. They were
dismayed, and questioned what evil omen this might be. Spies were sent
out, and at nightfall reported that the Ark sacred to Jehovah the God of
the Hebrews had been carried by its priests into their camp in solemn
splendour, and that the whole army exulted because of it, and was elated
with sure hope of victory. News of this spread from mouth to mouth among
the troops of the Philistines.

'Woe, woe unto us,' went up the cry. 'Never has there been the like of
this before. The mighty god of Israel is come down to fight against us,
even Jehovah who smote the Egyptians with plagues, and mocked at the
hosts of Pharaoh. Woe unto us!'

Fearing that his troops might break into open revolt, the commander of
the army of the Philistines gave orders that at daybreak next morning
his troops should be mustered in battle array, and he sent heralds to
make proclamation throughout the camp: 'Be bold, be strong, O ye
warriors of Philistia! Quit yourselves like men, and fight even to the
death. For truly death is a better fate than to languish in slavery
under these vile Hebrews, as they themselves have languished under us.
The day of victory has dawned. Quit yourselves like men, and they shall
be scattered like chaff before the wind.'

The trumpets sounded. The army of the Philistines with their chariots
and spearmen, like grasshoppers for multitude, advanced through the
valley to the attack; and long and furious was the fray. The sun rose
high, and the battle raged and increased in frenzy. But Israel was
smitten. They broke and fled in disorder, every man to his tent; and
there was a very great slaughter, for there fell of Israel that day,
either slain in battle or smitten in flight, thirty thousand footmen.
And the Ark of God that had been in the rearward of the battle was
taken, and the sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, its priests, were slain
before it, and it was bespattered with their blood.

Since dawn that day and while the bitter conflict was still raging, the
advantage being now with the one side and now with the other, Eli had
sat in his high seat at the wayside near the temple. It stood on a
terrace of rock above the vineyards in the valley to the north of
Shiloh. He was now of a great age, being ninety-and-eight, his hair and
beard were white as snow and he was blind and feeble. As he sat there,
apart and solitary, his trembling head sunken on his breast, his mind
was in confusion, and his heart trembled with fear for the safety of the
Ark of the Lord. Samuel alone, who waited upon him and tended him in his
blindness, was of his company.

The hot and cloudless day drew on. The sun began to decline into the
west, its level beams smiting with gold the white walls and low flat
roofs of the little town. Except for the cries of the children at their
play, there was little sound or stir in its streets, for none but the
women and the old men, and those unfit to fight, were left within it.
These went in silence to and fro about their business, for they knew
that their safety, and their very lives, hung on the fortunes of the
day.

Samuel touched gently Eli's hand that lay upon his knee. He gazed
tenderly into the forlorn and aged face. 'The day draws on,' he said, 'I
will go now and see if there has come any rumour into the town of how
the battle has gone. Rest in quiet here, my lord, and I will speedily
return again.'

He hastened away to where he could command a view of the track that led
in from the south towards Shiloh. There he stood and watched. And a
little after sunset, when the first shadows of night had already
enfolded the temple, there came running, wounded and spent, and staff in
hand, a man of the tribe of Benjamin who had escaped from the forefront
of the battle. His clothes were rent. From head to foot he was white
with dust, and he had scattered dust upon his head in token of the woe
and calamity that had fallen on Israel. In his haste he mistook his way
to the temple and followed the street within the walls that led to the
market-place; and as he ran on into the town he proclaimed his dreadful
tidings. And Samuel came again to Eli; but said naught.

'What sound is that I hear as of a man crying out and in grief?' said
Eli to Samuel. But Samuel could not answer him on the instant, his heart
was cold as stone within him, for he had seen the fugitive from afar and
had divined his errand.

'It is a man running,' he said; 'he seems to be all but spent.'

'What manner of man is he?' said Eli. 'And whence has he come?'

But before Samuel could answer him, there broke out within the city a
wild and sudden outcry, shrill wailings and lamentations. When Eli heard
it, he turned, trembling, to Samuel.

'I beseech thee, my son,' he said, 'hasten and bring me news of the
meaning of this tumult.'

And Samuel himself, sick at heart with a dreadful foreboding, went into
the city and brought back the Benjamite himself into the presence of
Eli.

He bowed himself before the High Priest, and Eli lifted up his face as
if to look at him, and said: 'Tell me, my son, who art thou, and what
news is this thou bringest; keep nothing back from me.'

And the Benjamite said: 'I am he that hath escaped this day but only
with his life from out of the battle. I am wounded to death. Woe, woe,
my lord! The armies of Israel have been routed by the Philistines, and
have been smitten with a terrible slaughter. When I left the battle they
were fleeing in terror, every man for himself, and there was no hope
left.'

Eli listened on, stark and motionless, and said nothing.

'To thee, too, my lord, do I bring most grievous tidings,' said the
Benjamite, but his voice was faint. 'Thy two sons, Hophni and Phinehas,
who were with the Ark in the ranks of the battle, are slain. And the Ark
of God has been taken by the Philistines.'

When Eli heard that his two sons were slain, his body shook as if with
palsy, but when he heard also that the Ark of the Lord had been taken,
his senses left him. Darkness swept over his mind; and he fell from off
his seat backward by the side of the gate, and his neck brake, and he
died; for he was an old man, and heavy.

With their captives and their plunder the army of the Philistines
returned in triumph into their own country. But of the spoil that they
had captured from Israel the Ark of God was their supreme boast, and
this the five lords gave for a trophy into the charge of the city of
Ashdod, which with its gardens, its battlemented walls and towers lay,
amid its dunes, but a little inland from the coast of the Great Sea,
though the very site of it is now no more than a heap of shifting sand.

A tumultuous concourse of people filled the streets, shouting with joy
and hooting insults against the Ark, as it was borne in through the
gates of the temple of Dagon, and they surged in after it with such
vehemence that some among them were flung to the ground and crushed and
trampled to death. Since the day that Samson, the mighty champion of
Israel, had been led blinded and helpless into Gaza, there had been no
jubilation to compare with this. And the priests made sacrifice,
chanting their hymns of praise and dancing in frenzy before the
worshippers in the temple. They set up the Ark beneath the gloating
image of the Fish God himself, as though his nostrils might snuff up the
incense of their victory; and there it lay.




THE ARK IS RESTORED


The hours of dark drew on, the multitudes dispersed, the brazen gates of
the empty temple were shut, and the priests withdrew to their own
sleeping quarters in the city. The crescent moon that had hung in the
heavens in the brief twilight of evening sank down beyond the waters of
the sea, and the faint rumour of the tide upon the shore could be heard
in the silence of night.

Early next morning the priests returned to the temple. They opened its
gates and entered in. But when they were come within, they stood
motionless, for behold, their god was fallen upon his face upon the
floor, and lay prone as if in obeisance before the Ark of the Lord. They
were perturbed and questioned one another. But no sound had been heard
in the night, and though they searched the temple, its gallery and
precincts, they found nothing else amiss, and all avowed they had left
their Dagon safe the evening before.

So the priests, having bound themselves by a solemn oath to secrecy,
lifted up the image and restored it to its place upon its pedestal. All
the next day the people of Ashdod came in throngs to visit the temple,
countrymen and strangers also from distant parts, and darkness fell, and
again the gates were close-shut and barred and bolted. That night,
though none dared remain within its walls, a strong watch was set. The
hours went by and the east lightened, and no danger had showed, nor had
any man or shape of man come out from the temple or gone in.

Yet when the priests arose on the morrow morning and opened the gates,
not only was their god fallen flat upon his face again upon the floor,
but the palms of his ivory hands had been snapped off and lay on either
side of him, and his carven head had rolled off his neck to the very
threshold of the temple. Only the scaled and gilded tail of him and his
defaced trunk or stump remained unbroken.

At this evil omen the priests forbore to meddle with him again. His
pedestal was left empty, and none but they had access to the temple.
They strove in vain to keep this matter concealed from the people, and
rumour of it spread abroad. And while the Ark of God was still in the
temple and in the keeping of the priests, a grievous and contagious
plague or pestilence broke out in the city. In a few days it had swept
across the countryside to the villages round about Ashdod on the coast
and in the plain. So great were its ravages that the chief men of Ashdod
and the priests of Dagon met together and resolved that the Ark should
remain in their city no longer.

'For of a truth,' said they, 'this pestilence that has come upon us is
the vengeance of Jehovah, the God of the Hebrews, who in the darkness
even of the first night that his Ark came hither struck down Dagon, our
god, as if with a thunderbolt. Worse still is in store for us while the
Ark remains in Ashdod.'

So they sent messengers; and the lords or tyrants of the five cities met
together in council. They debated and argued, but he who was prince of
Ashdod remained stubborn in his refusal to be responsible for the safety
of the Ark a day longer.

'From the hour it entered our gates, it has brought nothing but trouble
on the city,' he said. 'The temple of Dagon is deserted; the priests
shake with dread; the people die like flies; and I will have none of
it.'

The lords of the other four cities scoffed at his faint-heartedness and
refused to believe him. 'When,' they said, 'this Ark of the Hebrew
Jehovah was captured you clamoured to set it up as a trophy in the
temple at Ashdod, and the people welcomed it as if their valour alone
had given it into their keeping. What folly then is this? Surely if this
God of Israel had power to avenge himself against us, he would have
fought with them and given them the victory. Was that so? Take thy
priests to the carcass-strown steeps of Eben-ezer and let them see for
themselves!'

But the prince of Ashdod paid no heed to their mockery: only repeating
yet again that he himself would not be answerable for the safe keeping
of the Ark a day longer.

Since nought they said could persuade him otherwise, it was agreed by
them at last that the Ark should be taken to Gath. But as it was with
Ashdod, so it was with Gath. For immediately pestilence broke out there
also and spread through the city from street to street, house to house,
like a canker in the skin, bringing with it terror and destruction. The
whole city was filled day and night with the sound of wailing.
Nevertheless, the princes of the Philistines stubbornly refused to be
warned by it, and commanded that the Ark should be taken from Gath to
Ekron.

This was done under cover of night, but report of it ran swiftly and the
people broke out into open revolt. An unruly mob assembled before the
windows of the house of the lord of Ekron, shouting demands that the Ark
should be removed at once from out of the city and accusing him of
having betrayed them into the same disaster as had already overtaken
Ashdod and Gath.

He quelled the riot with a high hand; but as they had foreseen, so it
came about. The Ark had lain but a few days in Ekron when the same fatal
pestilence began to fret its way from one end of it to the other. And so
great was the destruction that the streets were all but empty of
wayfarers, the market-place was deserted except of the dead, and the
doors of the houses of the living were shut and sealed close in dread of
its contagion. The cry of the people went up to heaven, and the
visitation of God was heavier in Ekron than it had been in any other
city where the Ark had rested.

Seven months had now gone by since the defeat of the Israelites and the
capture of the Ark. And the lords of the Philistines were in
consternation at the calamities that had fallen upon their country. They
were at their wits' end to decide what they should do to pacify and
assuage the people, for the helpless terror that had come upon them only
increased the ravages of the pestilence. And tales were whispered that
spectral visitants of the Avenger himself had been seen in the dead of
dark, walking the streets and gazing in at the windows, and that voices
had been heard, gabbling in a strange tongue.

The princes summoned their priests and diviners and asked their counsel.
'See now,' they said, 'what shall be done to free ourselves of this Ark
of Israel? The mere thought of it fills the people with terror. Consider
the matter, and if it be you decide that the Ark should be restored to
the Israelites, in what manner shall it be returned, and what shall go
with it?'

The priests and diviners when they had debated the matter returned to
the lords of the Philistines. They reminded them of the centuries gone
by when their enemies the Hebrews had languished in slavery in Egypt,
and what afflictions and disasters had fallen upon Pharaoh, the lord of
Egypt, when he refused to allow them a few days' grace from their
bondage in which to worship their God and to make sacrifice to him.

'As it was in those days,' said they, 'so may it be in these. The
vengeance of Jehovah the God of Israel that smote Pharaoh has smitten
Philistia. Our counsel then is to send back this Ark to the Hebrews,
together with a peace-offering to their God. If you had been content
with your victory over the Israelites, maybe he would have paid no heed
and would have been pacified. But by seizing on his Ark, the symbol of
his power, you have defiled what is his and his only. He is Jehovah, and
mighty against his enemies.'

The princes of the Philistines listened in silence. They were divided
among themselves, and were sullenly loth to swallow their pride and to
acknowledge openly not only to their enemies but to their people their
own humiliation.

'Tell us now,' said they to the diviners, 'how can you assure us that
the disasters which have befallen us, this plague and wasting sickness,
this folly of horror and stagnation, are the vengeance of Jehovah of the
Hebrews? Has plague never before smitten a country? Is it anywhere
always peace and sunshine, and never storm and tempest? Who can say
whence and why these evils come upon the world? Is man always in some
hidden and inscrutable fashion responsible for the ills that befall him?
Maybe this sickness and all its evils will soon be over, and our cities
free of it.'

But they disputed with more confidence than they felt, and feared what
might follow if, like Pharaoh before them, they held out till all was
lost. Having privily debated the matter yet again, they determined at
length to follow the counsel that had been given them by the priests and
diviners.

They sent for their most skilful craftsmen in goldsmiths' work, and they
caused five images of fine gold to be fashioned, one for each of the
five chief cities of Philistia--Askelon, Ashdod, Gath, Gaza and Ekron.
These images were to be for a peace-offering to placate Jehovah the
mighty God of Israel who had afflicted them with pestilence and death.

They were enclosed in a wooden chest or coffer of the rarest workmanship
also. A new cart was made ready, a cart that had never been in use
before; and two milch cows, the finest of their herds, were set apart,
beasts that had not been broken to the plough or borne yoke, and whose
young calves had been taken away from them and shut up in a byre. Then
the Ark with its rings and its staves was lifted up by the priests of
Ekron and laid within the cart, and a canopy of fine embroidered linen
was placed over it and over the golden cherubim. And the coffer
containing the five golden images was laid beside the Ark.

All this was done as the priests of Beelzebub had counselled. 'By this,'
they said to the princes, 'shall be divined the truth of the matter. If
when the milch cows that draw the cart are allowed to go free they
remain where they are, or following their natural instinct, wheel about
and return to their calves, then it shall be proof that this Jehovah of
the Hebrews hath no care or thought for his Ark or heed of his
worshippers. Then shall it be made clear that the pestilence that has
ravaged the country is nothing but an evil chance that could not be
avoided, and for which some other remedy must be found.

'But if without pause or bidding these dumb beasts when they are set
free take their way from the gates of Ekron towards Bethshemesh, then
shall you know that this pestilence in very truth and deed came of the
vengeance of their Lord God Jehovah, and that only by a miracle have we
ourselves been saved alive from his wrath.'

So all was prepared; and overnight strict watch was set that none should
draw near the Ark, lest it should be touched and defiled. Next morning
at sunrise--and the dawn broke marvellously fair, for it was the season
of harvest--the priests assembled, and the princes in their pomp of
state, and a multitude of the people. But not a cry broke the silence.
The day of victory was forgotten; only care and awe showed on their
faces as they followed after the cart containing the Ark of God under
its embroidered canopy, and the coffer with its golden emblems laid
beside it, as it was drawn by its milk-white cows to the gates of Ekron.

There the priests performed their strange and barbarous rites, and at
the hour appointed the milch cows were allowed to go free whithersoever
they chose to wander. And it was forbidden on pain of death for any man
to hinder or lead or drive or entice them on.

As soon as those who held their bridled heads had withdrawn, without
pause or hesitation they moved slowly on, out of the morning shadow of
the city walls and into the glare of the sun. And forsaking the
high-road that stretched away from the gates of Ekron they turned aside
south-eastward into the wild and trackless plain towards the valley of
Sorek.

Following on behind them, but at a distance, came the priests and the
princes and the multitude of onlookers from Ekron and the country round
about, and they watched what would befall.

And behold, under the bright bare blue of the day, and lowing mournfully
in longing for their calves as they went, the cows continued on their
way. They turned neither to the right hand nor to the left, except to
avoid the rocks and hollows in their path. It was as though some unseen
herdsman, some voice inaudible, were haling them on, for the course they
took would lead them direct to the mouth of the valley of Bethshemesh,
a city of Israel which lay over against Zorah, the birthplace of Samson,
and was the nearest village of the Israelites beyond the Philistine
border.

When they were come to the border and the roofs of Bethshemesh were in
sight, the princes of the five cities with the priests and diviners and
the concourse that had followed close after them, turned back, and went
no farther. They had had their answer.

Now it chanced that this day the men in the valleys of Bethshemesh were
in the fields reaping their wheat. It was near noon, and hot and still.
And as, sickle in hand, they toiled on at their labour, they heard the
lowing of cattle, and looked up; and they saw approaching them from the
direction of Ekron a cart, brand-new and of strange workmanship, and
drawn by two milch cows.

They marvelled at the sight, and hastened out to meet it, for though the
beasts harnessed to it came on without pause, turning neither to one
side nor to the other, nor stayed to graze, they were without reins, and
no man sat above to drive them or walked at their heads to lead them on
their way.

The cart came on until it reached the field of a man named Joshua, and
there the beasts, as if at the biddance of a voice they had heard, came
to a standstill, opposite a great flat-headed stone that was in the
midst of the field.

Then the harvesters drew near to the cart. They lifted up the
embroidered canopy and the sun in heaven smote down upon the
outstretched wings of the cherubim within. It was as if a dazzling lamp
had been kindled in the splendour of noonday. And they saw the Ark of
the Lord and the coffer of wood containing the golden images which the
princes of the Philistines had commanded should be set beside it. They
were like men demented with joy and astonishment at sight of it, and
sent off messengers far and wide to carry the glad tidings. And they
themselves unharnessed the Philistines' sacred cows, hewed in pieces the
timber of the cart, and offered them up as a sacrifice to the Lord. The
smoke of the sacrifice rose up in the windless air of the morning and
was visible even to the Philistines who still watched from afar, on the
towered walls of Ekron.

But the Philistines, though they had surrendered the Ark of the Lord,
continued to oppress the Israelites and to hold them in subjection. And
Samuel, who was now acknowledged throughout Israel as a prophet, and was
made judge over Israel, mourned for Eli, and ministered no more before
the Ark. A shrine was made for it in a house upon a hill that was
appointed for its resting-place; and a Levite named Eleazar was
sanctified to its charge. But Samuel returned to dwell in Ramah, in the
house where he was born.




SAUL

SAUL AND SAMUEL


Samuel was judge over Israel as long as he lived. Every year he went in
circuit through the country of Benjamin. First to Bethel, where Jacob on
his solitary journey from Beersheba at the oncoming of night had lain
down in a desolate place, stones for his pillow, and had seen in his
sleep a ladder standing upon the earth, the height of it touching
heaven, and there, descending and ascending, the multitude of the angels
of God between earth and heaven. From Bethel Samuel went on to Gilgal,
where was the circle of memorial stones taken up out of the bed of the
river and set up by Joshua. And from Gilgal Samuel went to Mizpeh, where
the tabernacle now was and the Ark of the Covenant of the Lord.

In each one of these cities he held his court or assize, and heard the
grievances which the people brought before him, and administered
justice. He was a judge wise in counsel, grave, austere and upright.
Thus he spent his life, having little rest in it. And when he had
finished this circuit, he returned to Ramah, the hillside village where
he had shared his childhood with his mother, and where he now lived
alone. There he had built an altar and a sanctuary.

He was now old and beginning to be infirm, and the burden of long travel
and of his office had grown too heavy to bear unaided. And he made his
two sons, Joel and Ahiah, judges in Israel. But as soon as they had been
set up in power and authority over the people, they showed themselves as
base as had the sons of Eli; except only that Hophni and Phinehas, being
priests consecrated to the Lord, had brought shame on his worship. But
they gave false judgment, took bribes, and favoured the rich against the
poor.

This evil could not continue long. The government of Israel had become
like a fruit rotten at the core. The southern tribes were still under
the domination of the Philistines, and paid tribute to their princes.
And powerful nations ruled over by hostile kings menaced Israel on every
side. The people were divided among themselves, and the land was
seething with unrest and discontent.

In these straits the elders met together and came to Samuel in Ramah to
lay their complaint before him and to make a petition.

They saluted him gravely. He took his seat among them and asked the
reason of their coming.

They said: 'We, the elders of Israel, have met together and have
consulted one with another and are of one mind in what we have come to
ask of thee. We know thy wisdom, thy integrity and uprightness. Thou art
the prophet of the Lord and thy name is revered throughout Israel. But
behold, thou art now an old man, and no longer able to control and
direct the people as in days gone by, and thy sons whom thou hast set in
judgment over us walk not in thy ways. They are covetous and corrupt.
They are feared and hated of the people.

'How then can we ourselves do justice in lesser matters if it can be
bought for money in great? Moreover, though Israel be at peace, it is a
peace that cannot long endure. Enemies beset us on every side, and there
is none to guide and govern us. Our desire is that a leader shall be set
over us, strong and upright, a man of power. Why should not Israel be
like the nations around them, knit together in one, and ever ready for
war? That is our plea. Make us a king to reign over us!'

Samuel heard them in silence. Many of them had been children when he
himself had come to manhood. What knew they of Israel's need? But some
among them were almost of as great an age as himself, and his heart sank
within him as he looked into their faces and listened to the shameful
charges they had brought against his sons. He remembered Eli and his
anguish of mind when he himself as a child had pronounced the doom of
God against his sons, and the day of disaster when the Ark of the
Covenant had been taken.

And though the thing displeased him--this demand for a king--he promised
to consider it, to ask counsel of God, and to meet the elders again. He
was wounded at their ingratitude after he had served them faithfully his
whole life long. The thought that he himself was in part responsible for
their discontent pierced him to the heart. He sat bowed down with
sadness, alone.

His mind returned to the past, and dwelt on the mercies that had been
shown Israel, and the wonders that had been revealed since they had been
set free from their woes and slavery in Egypt. Had not the Lord God been
their king, their guide, and their counsellor? How often had the
people--and even their elders--forsaken him, to humble themselves in
shameless worship of the false gods of the heathen--Baal and Astarte.
Yet when in affliction they had repented them and turned to him again,
he had been merciful, and had raised up deliverers to set them free.

Now, envious of the powerful and hostile nations around them, his
enemies and theirs, they had abandoned their faith in him and were
pleading for an earthly king to reign over them, heedless of the evils
that might come of it. At this thought shame came over him. He had in
truth been thinking only of himself. It was the Lord God they had
rejected. What was any grievance of his own compared with that?

In remorse he laid his cares and sorrows before the Lord, and remained
in silent communion until it was revealed to him what answer he should
make to the elders and how he should act.

When they came before him again, he told them all that had been put into
his mind to say to them.

'You have demanded that a king shall be set over you, to reign in
Israel. Hearken then, while I make clear to you what will be his way and
manner of ruling.

'He will command, and you must obey. You will put all authority into his
hands; and his least word shall be your law. Even when the tribes are
at peace, he will choose of the choicest young men of Israel, and will
surround himself with an army, with chariots and with horsemen, and
fleet-footed runners to run before his chariot whithersoever he goes. He
will take your own sons from you and compel them to serve him. He will
appoint him officers from among them, and make him captains over
thousands and captains over hundreds, to lead his troops into battle and
die at his behest. The people will be forced to plough and to reap for
him; to forge him weapons of war, to make him chariots with their
metal-work and their leather-work, their harness and equipment. And he
will reign in pomp and splendour.

'And how shall he reward those that serve him unless you yourselves pay
him revenue and fill his treasuries with gold? He will seize the richest
and goodliest of your fields, of your vineyards and your groves of
olives, and bestow them on his officers and servants. Heavy taxes will
he lay on you, even to the tenth part of your seed and of your harvest,
of your flocks and your herds, of your men-servants and your
maid-servants. Of every hundred of your sheep and oxen, ten shall be
his. Ay, and he will choose out all that please him from among your
daughters, the loveliest and the comeliest and the most skilful, to be
his embroiderers and perfumers, his cooks and his bakers. And who shall
say him nay? This is the way and manner of a king.

'Pay heed to me, therefore, I entreat you, while there is yet time. A
king once made cannot easily be unmade; and the day will come when you
shall bewail and lament because of this king whom--covetous of the
pride and glory of Egypt, Ammon, Moab, Edom--you yourselves have set in
mastery over you. Then shall you cry to the Lord to be freed from his
tyrannies. And you will cry in vain. For how shall the Lord listen to
you then, if you pay no heed to him now?'

But the eloquence with which Samuel had told of the power and splendour
of a kingdom only inflamed the imagination of those who heard him; and
his warnings fell on deaf ears. They refused to be guided by this wise
old counsellor who had given his whole life to their service.

They cried again: 'Nay! Nay! a king: a king! We will have a king to
reign over us. Then shall we be like the great nations around us. And he
will do justice without fear; and will favour no man. And he shall lead
us forth to war, command us in battle, and bring glory to Israel.'

When Samuel knew that nothing he could say would move them from their
purpose, he dismissed the elders; and they returned every man to his own
house to await the day when he should summon them and all the chief men
of the tribes of Israel to assemble at Mizpeh, there to make known to
them what man among them was to be king.

    *    *    *    *    *

Now in the village of Gibeah in Benjamin there lived at this time a man
named Kish. He was the head of his family, well-to-do, and of standing
in his clan; and he had an only son whose name was Saul, now in the
flower of his life. In looks and stature there was none to compare with
him. His eyes were of a strange clearness and brightness, and he towered
head and shoulders above any man in Israel.

From his childhood he had spent a quiet and retired life with his
father, and now had charge of his flocks and herds. He was known to few
beyond his own family, and was not only of a natural modesty but
inclined to conceal himself from the notice of his fellows. He was at
times, and without cause, as it seemed, moody and downcast and dark in
mind. But soon his gloom would depart from him, and his whole being
would awake and shine. He could be as swift and resolute in action as a
sword flashing in the sun. And when aroused, he was capable of
stubbornly insisting at all costs on following his own will. He was born
to be a great captain and leader, and was to win glory in Israel, though
at last pride, jealousy and faithlessness gained the mastery over his
better nature, brought him to ruin and darkened his fame.

Now it chanced one day that some of his father's asses, which had not
yet been broken in to saddle and bridle, strayed away from their
pasturage and were lost.

When Kish heard of it, he bade Saul take one of his servants, and set
off speedily in search of them.

For two whole days they looked for them, wandering in every direction
through the waste and wooded solitudes of the mountains. Thus they
covered upwards of forty miles. On the third day they turned south and
sought them in a country of hills and cultivated valleys called Zuph.
They pressed on, following the windings of a stream, until they came in
sight of a walled village or city that lay on the slopes of its hillside
among rich vineyards and olive-groves.

They were footsore and weary, and they sat together on the rocks in the
shade of a tree, and in the coolness of running water, to rest and to
eat. They shared between them their last half-loaf of bread, a cluster
of raisins and some figs, and Saul told his servant that he had decided
to look for the asses no further.

'It is all in vain, and I am weary of it,' he said. 'Let us turn home
again; for peradventure my father has by now given up all thought of the
asses and is troubled only for our safety.'

But the lad was loth to return to his master without the asses, and he
told Saul that in the city yonder he would find a seer who if they asked
his counsel would give them his help.

'He is a holy man,' he said, 'and of great renown among the people, for
all that he foretells concerning the future surely comes to pass. So it
may be with us. Let us go into the city and seek him out; and it may be
he will tell us where the asses are to be found.'

'But how,' said Saul, 'can I ask this great man to help us unless I can
offer him some fitting present in return? There is not a crust left in
our wallets, and I have nothing whatever that I could ask him to accept.
What hast thou?'

His servant looked, and answered that he had one small piece of money
left--a quarter of a shekel of silver. 'It is little enough,' he said,
'to give this man of God. But if thou offer it and explain that it is
all we have, it may be of his grace he will accept it and will tell us
our way.'

'Well said,' Saul answered, rising instantly to his feet. 'We will go at
once into the city and ask where we shall find him.'

So they set off towards the city together, its walled-in clustering
white houses shining clear against the blue, only narrow silver fleeces
of cloud dappling the sky above its roofs. And as they were slowly
mounting the hillside towards its gates, they met a company of damsels
who, laughing and talking together, and with their pitchers on their
heads, had come down to the well-spring to draw water. Saul asked them
if the seer of whom he had heard were still in the city and, if so,
where he might be found.

One and all they came to a standstill, and their dark eyes gazed
wonderingly at him, for never before had they seen a man to compare with
him in looks or stature.

'The seer is here indeed,' they made answer. 'Hasten on and you will
surely find him, for he came hither this very morning. There is to be a
sacrifice this day in the sanctuary. The feast will soon be ready and he
himself will be there. Delay not a moment then, and you will overtake
him before he goes up to the high place where the guests who have been
bidden are even now awaiting him to bless the sacrifice. You could not
have come at a better time.'

Saul thanked them and, turning away, hastened on with his servant. And
when these two were come a little beyond the gates of the city and into
the main street of it, they saw an old man, dressed in a long white
tunic and a mantle of fine wool, who had but just shut-to the door
behind him, and come out of his house. And though Saul was unaware of
it, this old man was the great prophet Samuel himself.

Anxious thoughts concerning the mission which had been deputed to him by
the elders had been continually in Samuel's mind since they had
presented their petition. And, on the morning of the day next before
that on which Saul had come into the city, it had been revealed to him
that on the morrow at this same hour a stranger of the tribe of Benjamin
would be sent to him, and that this was the man chosen of the Lord to be
prince over Israel.

When then he raised his eyes and perceived Saul and his servant
hastening towards him, he stood still and looked. And a voice in the
silence of his mind cried, 'Behold, this is the king!'

He was filled with joy, and waited there in the street until Saul should
come up with him.

Saul bowed low in greeting before Samuel. He asked if he could direct
him to the house of the seer who he had heard that day was in the city.
Samuel looked up into his face, marvelling within himself at sight of
him. His own sons whom he loved were severed from him beyond recall.
They had brought him into reproach. Not only admiration but a tender
longing and affection welled up in him as he answered this stranger.

'I am myself,' he said, 'the seer whom thou seekest. I knew of thy
coming hither and have much to say to thee. This day thou and thy
servant shall be my guests and shall come with me to the feast at the
sanctuary that is even now made ready. To-morrow I will speak with thee
alone, and will tell thee all that is in thy heart to enquire of me. As
for the drove of asses which thou hast been seeking these three days
gone, think no more of them, for they have been found.'

He paused, then laid his trembling hand on Saul's arm. 'There is but one
word I would say to thee now,' he added. 'Look into thine heart and tell
me! To whom shall come that which is desired above all things in Israel?
Is it not to thee, and through thee to all thy father's house?'

Saul was filled with wonder and abashed. He gazed on into the
countenance of Samuel--a face aged but serene, though marked with the
cares and griefs of a long life. It was now lit up with a strange peace
and happiness. Seer indeed he must be, Saul thought within himself, for
he had not only read a stranger's thoughts and foreseen his errand, but
could speak of the future as if it were an open book. But what was the
meaning of this dark adjuration? He bowed himself again before Samuel.
'Am not I a Benjamite,' he said, 'the least and smallest of the tribes
of Israel; and are not my kindred the least among the clans of Benjamin?
Why askest thou this of me, then? Thy words are past my understanding. I
entreat thee to make them clear to me.'

But at this time Samuel made no answer to Saul's question. He smiled at
him and signed to him to go on before him. So they went on their way
together, mounting the steep narrow rough-paved street that led to the
sanctuary which crowned the hilltop and overlooked the walls of the city
and the green terraces in the valley. It lay amid the mountains, and
southward stood Jerusalem.

And Samuel brought Saul and his servant into the great room or parlour
which had been prepared, and where his guests, about thirty in all of
the chief men of the city who had been invited to the feast, were
awaiting him. He bade these two young strangers seat themselves, the one
on his right hand, the other on his left.

Now as was the custom at such a feast, a special portion of the meat
that had been offered up in sacrifice had been set apart for the prophet
himself. And Samuel sent word to the cook that this should now be served
and should be set before Saul. The cook did as he was bid. He brought in
the dish--and welcome was its savour to them both, as they had eaten
little since dawn--and he laid it down before Saul. Then said Samuel:
'Come now, it was for thee the feast has been kept waiting, and now thou
art here. Reach forth thy hand then; eat and drink, and may God give
thee his blessing.'

So Saul ate with Samuel that day, sitting in the chief place beside him,
the guest of honour.

When the feast was over and they were come down again together to
Samuel's house, he led Saul up on to its flat roof, which like the rest
of the houses within the gates of the city was surrounded by a low stone
wall or battlement. Here there was cool and quiet after the heat of the
day. They watched the lovely countryside around them veiling itself in
the shade and peace of evening, and where none could disturb them they
talked together long and late. And under a canopy of leafy branches that
had been set up for him on the roof and where a bed had been spread for
him, Saul lay down that night to rest.

But though he was wearied out, he could not sleep. He watched the stars,
as wildly refulgent in the blue of night, they wheeled from east to
west. His mind was restless with his thoughts, now hot with ardour as he
pondered over what Samuel had foretold, and now dark with doubt. But
weariness at last overcame his senses, and he slept.




SAUL IS MADE KING


At daybreak next morning Samuel arose and called Saul where he still lay
slumbering on the roof of the house, and awoke him.

'Up now,' he said, 'and I will send thee on thy way; and I myself will
go with thee for I have a thing of great moment to say to thee.'

So, presently after, they left Samuel's house, and went out into the
empty street, the three of them together, the prophet and Saul and
Saul's servant. And when they were come down from out of the city gates
into the valley and were concealed from the eyes of any who like
themselves had risen early and might now be looking down from the
housetops above, Samuel bade Saul tell the lad who was with him to pass
on in front of them.

'But do thou,' he said, 'stay here with me, that I may reveal to thee
the will of God.'

The air was fresh in the cool of the morning and sweet with the growth
of summer.

They waited until Saul's servant had vanished out of sight. Then Samuel
took a horn or vial of holy oil and poured it upon Saul's head, and
anointed him with the oil.

'I do this,' he said, 'as a sign and token that the Lord of hosts hath
chosen and anointed thee to be king over his people Israel. Thou shalt
reign over them and shalt command and lead them in war; and if in all
things thou follow his will as it is declared to thee, thou shalt save
them in times of peril out of the hands of their enemies. Know then by
this that the Eternal hath himself anointed thee prince of his
inheritance.'

Samuel looked earnestly at Saul as he stood with bowed head before him.
He had never seen a face so fair with promise. He laid his hands upon
Saul's shoulders, drew his head down and kissed him; for stranger though
Saul had been until yesterday, the old man's heart had gone out to him
in loving affection.

The beams of the newly risen sun gleamed on the locks of Saul's hair
burnished by the holy oil. He was moved to the soul by what Samuel had
said to him, and he turned falteringly not knowing how to answer him,
marvelling and afraid. And Samuel seeing this, and having in their talk
and converse together the evening before watched the expressions of his
face as they revealed the moods of his impulsive nature, strove to
reassure him. For token and proof that he had spoken truly, he foretold
what would happen to Saul on his way home to his father at Gibeah.

'When,' he said, 'we are departed one from another this day, and thou
hast begun thy journey home, thou shalt meet two men near the rock-hewn
sepulchre of Rachel. They will greet thee and will tell thee that the
asses you have been seeking these three days past have been found, and
that thy father has no longer any thought of them but only of thee, and
is troubled for thee, fearing that some evil chance has overtaken thee,
and knowing not what to do.

'When these men have gone their way and thou shalt have left them and
come to the sacred oak that is at Tabor, thou shalt meet with three
other men on their way to the sanctuary at Bethel, there to sacrifice to
the Lord. One of them will be carrying his offering of three young kids,
another three loaves of white bread, and the third a skin of wine. They
will salute thee, and will give thee two of their loaves of bread, one
for thyself and one for thy servant, which thou shalt accept at their
hands.

'And at length, when thou shalt come to the hill of God at Geba where
the officer in command of the garrison of the Philistines is stationed,
and thou art nearing home, thou shalt meet a band of prophets coming
down from the sanctuary above, chanting their prophecies to the music of
psaltery and tabret and pipe and harp. And the spirit of the Lord shall
enter into thee and fill thee with exaltation, and thou thyself shalt
utter prophecies. Thou shalt be a changed man.

'When then these signs and tokens which I foretell have come to pass,
doubt no more, but follow all that thine own soul divineth, for the Lord
God will be thy strength and help. Be bold in the service of the Lord.'

Then Samuel blessed Saul and bade him farewell until they should meet
again; and Saul and his servant went on their way. As Samuel had
foretold, so it was. Near the rock-hewn tomb of Rachel--where in the
bare and stony way of Ephrath, after the birth of her son, the beautiful
mother of Joseph and Benjamin had laid herself down to die--there they
met two men who told Saul that his father's asses had long since been
found and restored to him.

'Hasten on,' they said, 'for thy father is in distress for thee and
fears only for thy safety.'

When they came to the solitary sacred oak on the plain of Tabor, they
met also three wayfarers who with their offerings of wine and bread and
kids were on their way to the sacrifice at the sanctuary at Bethel. They
greeted one another, and when they parted, the man who carried the
loaves of bread, seeing that Saul and his servant had no food left, gave
them two of his loaves, which they broke and ate as they journeyed on
together.

Few words were exchanged between them, for Saul's mind was overcharged
with thought. In a single day his inward life and being seemed to have
changed their course, like the dark waters of a river issuing from the
gloom and solitude of a forest into the splendour of noon.

And last, when they came to the foot of the hill of God which is at Geba
and were nearing home, their ears caught strains of music from the
height.

And lo, a company of prophets were descending from the sanctuary,
accompanied by musicians playing upon a psaltery or lyre, a tambourine,
a pipe or flute, and a harp. Their music rang wild and sweet upon the
air, and as the prophets came on, they leapt and danced, chanting in
shrill high voices, and proclaiming their prophecies.

They drew near, and Saul stood where he was, motionless and intent, his
eyes fixed hawklike, his face transfigured as he listened to their wild
chantings. It was as though his soul within him had escaped like a bird
from out of its cage.

And the spirit of the Lord fountained up in his mind. He became rapt,
and filled with a strange ardour and exaltation, and scarcely aware of
what he did, he mingled with the company of the priests, and himself
joined in their chantings, and uttered prophecies.

Now, amid the throng of the curious who stood near and watched and
listened as the procession of the prophets passed by, there were a
few--friends of his own father--who recognized him. They knew how quiet
and simple a life he was wont to lead, and were astonished to see him in
such a company. They eagerly questioned one another.

'Surely,' they said, 'this is the young man who lives on the outskirts
of Gibeah! What change is this? What can have happened to him? Is Saul
also among the prophets?'

Another standing near overheard the question, and curious to learn more,
asked: 'Who, then, is this young man's father?'

They answered: 'His name is Kish. We know him well. He would be as much
amazed as we are ourselves to see this sight.'

In times soon to come, when Saul's name had become renowned throughout
Israel, the people remembered this day, and the question became a
proverb or byword among them: 'Is Saul also among the prophets?'

When to the great comfort of his father Saul had been restored to him
safe and well, and he had refreshed himself after his journey, his uncle
drew him aside and questioned him. Strange rumours had reached his ears.

'Tell me,' he said, 'which way did you go, and what kept you so long?'

Saul told him that after he and his servant had spent two whole days
among the mountains in search of the strayed asses, they had turned
south, but had still been unable to find them.

'I myself,' he said, 'had given up hope of ever seeing them again, and
had decided to turn back. But the lad with me said that in a city near
at hand, whose walls indeed we could actually see from where we sat, we
should find a man of God, a seer, who might consent to help us, and
would of his wisdom reveal whither they had strayed. We had little
enough with us for an offering; but so we did.'

He turned his strange clear eyes away, his face haunted by some inward
light or influence his uncle had never seen there before and could not
divine.

'And what was the name of this seer?' he said.

Saul sighed. 'It was the prophet, Samuel,' he answered.

'Prophet indeed!' said his uncle, and watched him closely as he
enquired: 'Tell me, what did the prophet say to thee?'

'He received me graciously,' said Saul, 'telling me to have no further
care for the asses since they had been found. He knew all.'

And though his uncle still continued to question him, Saul told him
nothing more, and not one word of the secret and marvellous thing that
had been between himself and Samuel but one day gone, when in the first
beams of sunrise the great prophet had anointed his head with oil and
hailed him prince of Israel.

Soon after this--and it was drawing near the season of the first
harvest, when almost continual fair weather brings to ripeness the
barley-fields of Canaan--Samuel summoned the men of Israel to an
assembly at Mizpeh in Benjamin. Day by day, hour by hour, they came
flocking in from near and far--the chief men of every clan and family,
with their servants--long slow caravans and throngs of those who had
joined together in company, having met at the by-ways and continuing on
together, with their beasts of burden and their baggage.

On the wide slopes of Mizpeh the camp was pitched. There they hobbled
their beasts; and their baggage was heaped together in a mound upon its
outskirts.

At the hour appointed by Samuel they assembled in their host, sitting
cross-legged upon the ground in the wide open space before the doors of
the temple, within which, in the Holy of Holies, lay the Ark of the
Covenant. They had set themselves in order according to their tribes and
clans, a great multitude, men old and young, rich and poor, and all of
the lineage of the sons of Jacob and Joseph.

Samuel himself sat in his high seat at the entering-in of the temple;
and round about him stood the priests of the Lord. He had summoned the
tribesmen of Israel to come together that all might bear witness to the
election of the Lord's anointed, the king who should henceforth reign
over them.

As was the custom in Israel in affairs of great moment, the divine will
was to be openly revealed by the casting of lots.

Among the priests stood the High Priest. He wore a robe of fine linen,
embroidered about its hem with pomegranates in needlework--blue and
purple and scarlet. Bells of pure gold were sewn between the silken
pomegranates round about the hem, and tinkled as he moved. Upon his head
was set a crown or mitre, and above his brows on the forefront of the
mitre was a plate of pure gold, engraved, as with the characters of a
signet, with the words: 'Holiness to the Lord.'

From his shoulders hung an ephod or apron of fine twined linen, also
embroidered in gold and blue and purple and scarlet. And upon his breast
with its braided chains of gold was the breastplate of judgment.

Set in fine gold in four rows upon the front of this breastplate were
stones of great price, and each one of these was engraved with the name
of one of the twelve tribes of Israel. In the first row there gleamed a
sardius, a topaz and a carbuncle; in the second row an emerald, a
sapphire and a diamond; in the third a flame-coloured ligure, an agate
and an amethyst; and in the fourth row a beryl, an onyx and a jasper.
They burned in the splendour of the sun that from the ample skies poured
down its radiance upon the garish host assembled there.

Within the fold of the breastplate lay a flat sacred crystal, the one
side of which was called Urim, the other Thummim. On the side which was
called Urim was graved the Ineffable Name, the name of the Lord God, the
Eternal. But the side called Thummim was smooth and plain.

When the divine oracle was to be consulted and lots were to be drawn,
and it had been made known what question needed divine answer, the High
Priest thrust his hand within the breastplate and withdrew the stone.
And according to which of the two sides of the stone came uppermost,
either Urim or Thummim, such was the answer that had been revealed:
either Yes or No, as ordained by the Lord.

When all was in readiness, and silence had fallen upon the host
stretched out before him, Samuel bade the chief man of every tribe draw
near. From their places in the throng the twelve came forward, and stood
before Samuel and the High Priest. And the whole multitude watched under
the blue tent of the day. Then the High Priest, having prayed, thrust
his hand into the breastplate of judgment and drew the lot for each
tribe, from Reuben onwards. And as for one after another the stone when
he drew it out showed the side that was called Thummim, the chief of
that tribe returned to his own place in the throng. For the lot was
against him.

Last came Benjamin, the least of the tribes of Israel. And when the High
Priest drew out the stone yet once again, it was Urim that was revealed.
And it was proclaimed to the assembly that out of all Israel the Lord
God had chosen Benjamin. Wild voices broke out at the hearing of it,
cries of amazement, incredulity, dismay and exultation.

Then Samuel bade the chiefs of the clans of the tribe of Benjamin draw
near, and the lot fell on the clan of the Matri. Then followed the heads
of the households of this clan, with Kish himself among them, and the
lot fell at last upon Saul.

'Saul! Saul!'

The shout pealed out from a thousand throats; the tribesmen leapt to
their feet to acclaim their king.

But behold, when they sought for Saul that he might show himself before
the people, he could nowhere be found. A furious clamour shook the air,
some calling his name, others questioning who and what he was, and why
he was absent; others enraged at the affront which they deemed to have
been laid by a mere Benjamite upon the chieftains of Israel. And as
still he stayed to show himself, and none could bring word of him, the
assembly was in a tumult.

Samuel sat unmoved. His faith in Saul was as yet unshaken. He had
divined his wayward nature, at one moment ardent and assured; and then,
cast down, self-distrustful and faint-hearted. Had he not already
anointed Saul king, knowing that he would be the Lord's chosen? What
wonder Saul had been seized with misgiving at the ordeal before him and
had fled away in dread of standing alone in the intent and searching
gaze of all Israel. He loved him the more in that he had not vaunted
himself, or shown himself overbold before them. He waited in patience.

When it became certain that Saul was not present among the host before
him, the High Priest consulted the oracle again, praying that it might
be revealed whether or not Saul were near at hand and if peradventure he
had hidden himself. It was declared that he was in hiding. They sent
then in haste to search for him everywhere throughout the vast
encampment, and he was found at last hiding among the baggage.

But when he stood in the presence of the High Priest, had gazed once
into Samuel's face, then turned about to confront the mighty throng, in
countenance and bearing he looked a king indeed. For in stature he
towered head and shoulders above any man present there, of all the
tribes of Israel.

Then Samuel rose, and bade all be silent. He cried in a loud voice to
the multitude: 'Behold, and see now! He whom the Lord God of Israel hath
chosen to be your king stands before you. Of a truth there is not one
among you to be compared with him.'

And there went up an acclamation of joy and triumph: 'God save the King!
Long live the King!'

Then Samuel took a scroll of parchment, and for proof and witness that
the elders of Israel themselves had demanded this change in the
government of Israel, he wrote in it a record of all that had been done
that day, and this record was laid up in the holy place in the
Tabernacle.

Until long after nightfall the tent of Kish where Saul was with his
father was thronged continually with a concourse of strangers. Many of
them had journeyed from remote parts of the country and they wished to
see and speak with their king face to face. They brought him presents to
do him honour and for proof of their allegiance.

And when Saul returned to Gibeah, there went with him a band of men,
whose hearts God had touched, to bear him company, and to be his
bodyguard as was befitting a king. They were men valiant and fearless,
and from that day on were devoted to him and to his service. But there
were many others at Gibeah who in envy and discontent revolted openly
against him.

They murmured one to another: 'How shall such a man as this save Israel
in the hour of need! Until this day we have never even so much as heard
this Benjamite's name. What hath he done that he should be foisted up
over us? A mighty man of valour in truth!--who when he was proclaimed
King of Israel was found hiding among the stuff!'

They envied and despised him, refused to do him honour, and brought him
no gifts. But Saul at that time made as though he had not heard them.

He returned home to his wife and his son Jonathan. And when the feasting
and rejoicings of his kinsmen and of those who dwelt in and around
Gibeah were at an end, he continued to lead the simple life he had led
of old. He went about his daily work in his father's fields and
vineyards, as other kings of small nations had done before him. He
awaited the day when Israel should be in need of him, and he could prove
himself a king not only in word but in deed.




KING NAHASH


That day was soon to come, for no long time after the assembly at
Mizpeh, Nahash, king of the Ammonites, summoned his tribesmen to war,
and led his host against the great walled and fortified city of Jabesh.
He coveted the rich and fruitful region of Gilead and lusted to drive
the Israelites once and for all across the Jordan. But this stronghold
of Jabesh which--seven miles east of the river--stood on a lofty
tableland and on the ancient road from the Red Sea to Damascus, lay in
his way. He could do nothing until it was reduced and captured. The
defenceless people that dwelt in the villages round about it fled before
him and sought refuge within its gates. And Nahash went up and laid
close siege against the city. His tents clustered thick about its walls,
and though the men of Jabesh repelled the furious assaults his tribesmen
made against it, he beset it so closely that not so much as a sack of
corn could be smuggled through its gates.

Weeks went by, and there came no relief. Day by day the store of food in
the city dwindled. The horrors of famine came upon the people and a
dreadful sickness broke out among them, so that even among the watchmen
on the walls some were found at morning stark and dead at their posts.
The city was reduced at length to such desperate straits that all hope
was abandoned of holding out many days longer.

Undefeated, but broken with grief and despair at the miseries around
them, the chief men of Jabesh sent out envoys to King Nahash announcing
that they would surrender the city and would agree to any terms he might
impose, provided only that he made a covenant with them to spare the
lives of all within it, to withdraw his tribesmen from their territory,
and molest them no more.

King Nahash himself received the envoys who had been sent out to him.
They abased themselves before him, and as he listened to their hollow
voices and watched their faces, wan and haggard with famine, he laughed
aloud. The name of this king meant _serpent_, and the guile of the
serpent was in his countenance as with flat and crafty eyes he glanced
at the officers that stood about him, and bade the envoys get them back
into the city.

'Tell them that sent you hither,' he said, 'this shall be my covenant.
Fling open your gates and surrender yourselves forthwith! And for token
of my mercy, I will gouge out the right eye of every man among you who
has resisted me. One of every man's eyes, I say, from out of his head!
Yea; and from this day forward you shall look crookedly and askance one
at another, and shall be a shame and reproach to all who see you and the
scorn of your enemies. For verily,' he said, 'there is in all Israel
none now to heed or help you!'

Enraged at this foul boast the chiefs of Jabesh determined to fight on,
but, to gain time, pleaded for a seven days' truce. 'And if,' they said,
'when the seven days have gone by, no ransom shall have come, then will
we surrender ourselves into the hands of the king, and he shall do with
us as seems best to him.'

Assured that he had the city and all within it at his mercy and could
beat off any attack that might be made upon him, Nahash agreed to a
seven days' truce. He invited the envoys that had been sent out to him
to eat and drink and make merry, and laughed the louder when they
refused, and, turning back, stalked off like spectres and were admitted
into the city.

Under cover of night there crept out of Jabesh a few picked men. They
were to make their way through the camp of the Ammonites, cross the
Jordan, scatter themselves among the tribes of Israel, and do their
utmost to raise a force strong enough to come to their aid, and to raise
the siege.

On the morrow the miserable pittance of food allowed to every man, woman
and child yet alive in the city was halved. And death within its walls
took far heavier toll of them than had the spearmen of Ammon.

The messengers came to Gibeah, and when they told the people of the
straits to which the inhabitants of Jabesh had been reduced by famine
and sickness, and the insults that Nahash the king had heaped upon them,
grief and horror came on all who heard. The streets resounded with the
women's lamentations.

It was the hour of sunset, and Saul was returning home from the fields
with a yoke of his father's oxen. He had been ploughing after the
ingathering of the barley harvest. When he saw the commotion in the
streets and heard the wailings and lamentings of the women, he
questioned one who stood by.

'What aileth the people that they weep?' he said.

Those near at hand gathered about him, and the two messengers from
Jabesh were brought into his presence. They told again of the disaster
that had overtaken their city and the vile revenge that Nahash would
wreak upon its defenders unless immediate help were sent. And as Saul
looked into their ravaged faces and heard the dreadful story of their
wrongs and of the insolence of King Nahash, his mind went up in a flame
of fury and the spirit of the Lord came upon him.

Snatching the iron two-edged sword from out of the leathern sheath of
one of the messengers, he turned himself about and with his own hand
struck down the oxen that he was leading in from the fields to his
father's house, and hewed their carcases in pieces before their eyes.

Then he lifted up his bloody hands above his head, and he cried with a
loud voice to those who stood by: 'Which of you is on the Lord's side?
Which on the Lord's side? Jehovah calls to war!'

They answered him with one voice, 'Ay!' And he chose from among them the
hardiest and fleetest of foot, and sent them out through all the coasts
of Israel. And to each was given a fragment of the slaughtered oxen.
Whithersoever they went, he commanded them to summon the people to arms,
and bid them flock with all haste to the standard he would set up at
Bezek.

'Vow unto them,' he said, 'by the life of their king that whosoever
cometh not out after Saul, so shall it be done unto his oxen as I myself
have done unto these.'

The messengers sped on by plain and valley and mountain, from village to
village, city to city, and whithersoever they went, they called the
people to war. And when the men of Israel heard the threat that Saul had
uttered against those who should refuse to follow him, the fear of God
came upon them. With one consent they flocked together to Bezek--a
mighty host.

Now Bezek lay to the west of the Jordan and some five and twenty miles
from Jabesh towards the east. But the tribesmen of Israel were scattered
far and wide, and travel was slow; and five full days went by while they
were mustering at Bezek. The morrow would be the last of the seven days
of respite which the men of Jabesh had covenanted for with King Nahash.
Saul sent for the messengers and told them to win their way back into
the city as covertly as they had come out, and to assure those who had
sent them that on the morrow deliverance would come.

'Say this unto them from King Saul,' he said. 'Be strong and fear not!
Verily before to-morrow's sun mounts hot above your heads your woes
shall be avenged.'

Soon after nightfall the messengers made their way by stealth through
the Ammonite camp. They knocked secretly on the gate, gave the
countersign agreed upon before they set out, and the watchmen let them
in. Never came messengers more welcome. The silence of death was over
the city. Its defenders after waiting so many days in vain had concluded
that the messengers who had been sent out were captured or had perished.
They had resigned themselves to their fate. Tears rained down their
faces; exceeding great was their joy.

And even though dark had now fallen, an envoy was at once sent out by
torchlight to King Nahash bringing him word that on the morrow at
noonday all within the city would surrender themselves to his mercy, if
he were then prepared to receive them. It pleased him well; the hour of
his vengeance drew near.

Lulled into a false security, the camp of the Ammonites soon lay hushed
in sleep. The night was starry but dark; their watchfires burned low;
and even the sentinels drowsed at their posts.

But the army of Israel encamped at Bezek was awake and stirring and
already in battle array. Saul had divided his troops into three
companies. At midnight they forded the Jordan. And when they had reached
the further bank one of them turned to make a circuit towards the north,
and one towards the south, while Saul himself, in command of the third
division, marched east.

Thus the camp of the Ammonites would be surrounded that night on every
side, and secret orders had been given that all three companies were to
advance to the assault together at daybreak.

The night drew on. There came the first gleam of dawn flushing the
east. And about the hour that ends the morning watch the trumpets of
Israel sounded. Shouting their battle-cry, the three companies converged
together, and swept down upon the camp of the Ammonites while they were
still heavy with sleep.

They had gone to rest thirsting for the bloodshed and booty of the
morrow. They awoke to disaster and defeat. They fought fiercely, but
were thrown into confusion, and, all order abandoned, broke and fled.
And the tribesmen of Israel pursued them eastward until the sun had
risen high into the heavens in the heat of the day.

So complete was the rout of King Nahash and his host that there remained
not two of them left together, and he himself barely escaped with his
life. Thus did Saul keep to the letter the vow that he had made to the
men of Jabesh.

When the pursuit was over, he withdrew his troops across the Jordan and
mustered them at Gilgal. There on the naked and terraced mountain-top of
rock had been reared up the circle of memorial stones by Joshua above
three centuries before. His troops were drunken with victory. Like their
great captains, Barak and Gideon and Jephthah, before him, Saul had
proved himself a resolute and valiant leader. And those of them who had
sworn fealty to him when he had been chosen king at Mizpeh and who from
that day had never swerved in their allegiance to him, remembered the
malcontents who had scorned and rejected him, crying: 'Who is this Saul
the Benjamite that he should reign over us! Away with him!'

They came before the king and demanded that these rebels and traitors
should be instantly put to death.

'Why should they share this day in thy triumph? They are unworthy to
live. Let them die!'

But Saul refused to listen to them.

'Nay,' he said, 'this is not the hour for vengeance, and there shall not
a man be put to death this day. Not mine the victory; it is the Lord God
Jehovah who has wrought salvation in Israel.'

And Samuel himself came to Gilgal, and there, without any dissenting
voice, Saul was once more solemnly proclaimed king, and sacrifices were
offered up and libations poured out to the Lord, and Saul and all the
men of Israel gave thanks to Jehovah, and great were their rejoicings.

Then Samuel spoke for the last time before the people. He reminded them
how their elders had laid before him their petition that a king should
be chosen to reign over Israel.

'And now behold,' he said, 'your king himself is here to lead you.
Glorious indeed is he! He has proved himself worthy of his crown. As for
me, I am an old man and grey-headed. Yet, as you know well, I too have
been a shepherd of Israel, even from the days of my childhood until now.
Have I at any time wantonly done anything amiss? See, now, I stand
before you and challenge you to declare if you have anything against me.
Speak out without fear before the Lord God and before the king, his
anointed one! Have I accepted bribes? Whose ox have I taken? Whose ass
have I taken? Whom have I defrauded? Whom have I treated harshly? Is
there a man among you who can solemnly avow that any gift of his has
ever blinded my eyes to justice? If there be such a one, let him now
rise up and testify against me, and if he accuse me of having accepted a
bribe or of having sold justice for money, then will I restore it.'

At sight of Samuel pleading his cause before them--an old man, bowed
down with age and infirmity, who had devoted himself to their service
his whole life long and now had been set aside, the people were seized
with remorse. They answered him with one voice that they had no charge
whatever to bring against him.

Then said Samuel: 'The Lord God, then, is this day witness, and your
king, his anointed, is witness between us. You have found nothing
against me?'

And they answered: 'Be God our witness.'

Then said Samuel: 'If in the years that are gone I have kept faith with
you as you yourselves have testified, hearken to me now, for it may be
that I shall not come before you again.'

And he recalled to them the mercies which had been shown to Israel since
they had first become a nation. Nevertheless, again and again they had
proved faithless and had forsaken the Lord and humbled and defiled
themselves in worship of the false gods of the nations around them. They
had sunk into sloth and apathy. Enemies had risen against them,
triumphed over them in battle, and oppressed them.

Yet when they had repented and returned again to the Lord, had he not
taken pity on their sorrows, heard their prayers, and raised up for
them leaders valiant of heart, subtle of mind, and skilled in war?

Had they forgotten Moses who had been sent to save Israel in days of
old? Far-sighted, wise and fearless, had he not defied the might and
tyranny of Egypt, shattered the pride of Pharaoh, and redeemed Israel
from thraldom? How many valiant captains had God raised up for them in
the time of need? Joshua, who after their long wanderings in the
wilderness had led Israel into Canaan and divided it among them. Ehud,
who had destroyed King Eglon of the Moabites. Barak, who had so utterly
defeated the hosts of King Jabin, with his nine hundred chariots of
iron, that Sisera the commander of his armies had been compelled to flee
on foot and, wearied-out, meet in sleep his shameful end at the hand of
a woman, armed only with a tent mallet and a nail. Gideon, too, who with
but three hundred men had discomfited the hosts of Midian and of Amalek.

'Yea,' he said, 'and even Samuel himself who stands before you now--hath
he not fought for Israel? Nevertheless, when but a little while gone you
were seized with terror of Nahash, King of Ammon, did you, remembering
these things, put your trust in God? Nay, you murmured among yourselves,
and in thanklessness and folly forgot that Jehovah was your Saviour, and
demanded that a king should reign over you. And you refused to listen to
my warnings. "A king! A king shall reign over us!" This was your cry.

'Behold, then, here is the king whom you have chosen, the king of your
desire, the Lord's anointed! Serve him faithfully. But be not puffed up
with pride. If you fear and honour the Lord he will never forsake you,
nor will he reject your king. But if you refuse him and rebel against
him, then shall his hand be lifted in wrath against you, even as he
punished your fathers before you. He will abandon you. How shall he be
the shield and defender of those who deny and defy him? How shall the
light of his countenance shine upon those who choose the dark? Stand
now, and see, for the Lord God in his heavens shall even this day reveal
a wonder before your eyes.

'Are not the wheat-fields of Canaan ripe for harvest? Comes ever in
Israel storm or rain at this season? Lo, I myself will call upon
Jehovah, and the thunder of his voice shall rend the firmament, and
there shall be rain and lightnings. And you shall tremble with fear of
such a marvel, and your hearts shall melt within you, knowing your
wickedness and the wrong you have done in demanding a king.'

At these words a great silence fell upon the host. On one side of the
bare open plain where they were encamped far mountains lifted rugged
slopes faintly coloured in the haze of heat. On the other, beyond
fantastic hillocks and through thickets of acacia, tamarisk, willow and
the white-flowering juniper, flowed the swift and turbid waters of the
Jordan in its wide sunken channel, the lair of wolf and leopard, and the
resort of the lapwing, the crested hoopoe, and the loud-sounding
bittern.

In the presence of the host Samuel prayed to the Lord. And behold, in
the skies that had been for weeks past fair and serene and overwelling
with sunlight above the windless earth stretched out beneath them,
leaden and louring clouds began to gather, heaping themselves on high.
The gloom of storm drew over the hoary circle of stones; its shadow
darkened the plain. It was as though night had come back upon the day.
The upturned faces of the host wanned as they watched, and a dreadful
foreboding filled every mind. And there suddenly swept down from heaven
a tempest of wind that sucked dense whirling veils of dust into the air.
The multitude was terrified at its fury. They cowered beneath the deluge
of the rain. The thunder broke upon their hearts like the wrath of God
pealing through the firmament. The gloom was riven with lightnings, and
the wilderness around them, mountains to river, stood spectral white in
their glare.

They looked with dread upon Samuel, and were smitten with the fear of
God. A long low wailing rose from among them and was heard in the hush
of wind and thunder. And the people besought Samuel to intercede for
them. 'Pray for thy servants to the Lord thy God,' they implored him,
'lest we die. We have in truth added to all our sins a great evil in
desiring a king to reign over us.'

Calm returned between earth and heaven as swiftly as the storm itself
had broken. The sun in glory shone out dazzling clear, its beams
glittering like quicksilver on the pools and runnels. After the tumult
came the singing of birds, and the stones of Gilgal smoked in the blaze
of heat.

Then Samuel bade the people put away their fears, since they had
confessed and repented of their wickedness.

'Serve the Lord from this day forward, with all your hearts,' he
entreated them. 'And for his own name's sake he will never forsake you.
Hath he not himself chosen Israel to make of you in times to come a very
great nation? Turn not aside then from following after him, in desire
for earthly vanities. What are these but things of nought which can only
net you in and entangle you ever the more closely in the bonds of your
own folly?'

His voice trembled, and he bowed his head. 'As for me,' he continued,
'God forbid that I should ever sin against him in ceasing to pray for
you, and to intercede for you, even to my last breath! Nor will I ever
refrain from showing you the way of goodness and truth. But if you
refuse him and do wickedly, then disaster shall come upon you, defeat
and captivity, and you shall perish, yourselves and your king.'




JONATHAN


For some years after the defeat of King Nahash and the Ammonites, there
was peace in Israel. Nevertheless it was a peace that could not be of
long continuance. The tribes in the south of Canaan were still under the
overlordship of the Philistines, and were compelled to pay tribute and
to trade with them. In order to levy this tribute, to control and keep
watch on the country and to quell any show of rebellion, the lords of
the five cities had stationed officers in different parts of the
country.

Saul, then, in much was a king only in name. Until by force of arms he
could fling off the domination of the Philistines, Israel could never be
a free people. This was his secret aim and desire, and with this end in
view he gathered about him a standing army. He chose from among the
tribesmen who had fought at Jabesh three thousand of the best men in
Israel for strength and hardihood and valour: archers, slingers and
spearmen. The rest he dismissed and sent them home with orders that they
were to hold themselves ever ready to take up arms for Israel and to
fight under him whenever, as in times past, the need came to summon them
to war.

He then divided his standing army into three equal companies, each one
of them a thousand strong. Of chariots and horsemen he had none. One of
these companies he stationed above Michmash, a village on the
steep-cliffed heights above a ravine, where ran the great highway
between Gilead and the coast. To hold this Michmash was to hold the key
of the defence of all central Canaan. Here Saul himself set up his
standard.

His second division was stationed on the ridge near Bethel. The third,
under the command of his son Jonathan, was on the heights of Geba, which
lay on the other side of the valley looking towards Michmash. With these
forces he held the pass beneath.

Now at this time Saul's son, Jonathan, was in the flower of his youth.
Like his father who loved him and delighted in his company, he was of an
impetuous and wayward spirit and impatient of control, but true and
faithful. He had not the mighty stature of the king, but was as bold and
hardy as a she-lion with her whelps, and was of a rare ease and grace of
body. He exulted in all martial exercises, and was renowned as an archer
and for his skill with the sling. He pined to prove himself a soldier
and a leader of men.

At Geba, where he was stationed with his thousand, there was a small
garrison of the Philistines. The officer in command of it was
vainglorious and insolent. He had openly flouted the king and opposed by
every means in his power the establishment of his army. In all his
dealings with Jonathan he used him with contempt. The young prince was
by nature courteous and sensitive, and he burned with anger at this
Philistine's insults.

There came a day when there were high words between them. At an affront
against Israel fouler than any that had passed this man's lips before,
Jonathan rose up in a fury and smote him where he sat. Then he fled out
of the house. And of the Philistine garrison not one escaped with his
life.

But report of his wild action speedily reached the princes of the five
cities. They determined to stamp out the flame of revolt before it could
spread further. They gathered together an army--chariots, and horsemen,
and footmen--as the sand on the sea-shore for number. By way of the pass
of Beth-horon, it marched against Israel.

Terror seized upon all who heard of it; the roads flocked with
fugitives. So sharp was the fear and dread of the Philistines, the
ancient and implacable enemy of Israel, that many even of Saul's picked
troops deserted the king and fled into hiding. When he mustered those
that remained with him, he found that they were only six hundred men in
all.

Powerless to oppose the advance of the Philistines with a force so weak
and unstable, he withdrew across the valley to Geba where Jonathan was
stationed. And the Philistines seized Michmash, encamped there, and
fortified it. From thence they sent out raiders in three divisions, with
orders to ravage the country, to slay and spare not. One of these
divisions took the road to Ophrah, which lay five miles northeast of
Bethel; the second turned west towards the valley lying between the
upper and lower villages of Beth-horon; the third went east, following
the border track above the gorge of Zeboim, one of the deep and rugged
watercourses of that region, and infested with hyenas.

Thus they despoiled the land of Benjamin on every side, pillaging and
burning as they went. So dire were the straits to which the people were
reduced that they abandoned their villages, and with their wives and
children fled for safety into the mountains. There, venturing out only
after nightfall, they hid themselves, wheresoever they could find a
refuge--in the caves and thickets, among the rocks of the lofty gorges,
and even in the dried-up water-pits. Many crossed the Jordan and fled
into the country of Gad and Gilead.

When the three companies of raiders had finished their work, they
retired with their plunder to Michmash where the main garrison of the
Philistines was stationed. They had left a deserted waste behind them.
And traitors went with them, tribesmen of Israel who for terror or in
hope of gain had forsaken the cause of the king and joined the ranks of
his enemies.

Meanwhile Saul, with the few tried and trusty men left to him, remained
in his camp on the outskirts of Geba. His tent, with his standard set up
before it, was pitched near a pomegranate tree which grew--with its
narrow leaves and bright red and crimson-cupped blossoms--not far
distant from a threshing-floor on the bare open hilltop. Here, after
harvest, the grain was trodden out by oxen to be winnowed by the wind.
From this point of vantage watch could be kept on the neighbouring
heights of Michmash across the valley.

And with the king at this time was a priest whose name was Ahiah. He was
of the lineage of Eli, but not of direct descent, and he wore the ephod
of the Lord.

Jonathan also was with his father. His wild deed of violence against the
garrison at Geba had been the cause of the vengeance of the Philistines.
He grieved bitterly at what had come of it. He had watched afar off the
drifting flamelit smoke-clouds in the darkness above the peaceful
villages which the raiders had left burning in their wake, and had
listened to the tales of horror told by those who had escaped their
vengeance and who had sought refuge in the camp.

The faces of his men, who loved and trusted him, were dark with despair.
And though his father refrained from reproaching him, Jonathan knew how
sharp the stroke of this disaster had been. For hours the king would sit
without speech, his eyes downcast, his countenance heavy with gloom.

Jonathan yearned to bring him comfort, to find grace again in his sight,
and above all to strike a reviving blow that would redeem what was past.
But how could this be while the army of Israel remained inactive and sat
idle in their tents; while not a trumpet sounded, and the people,
homeless and terrified, shared the wilds with the beasts.

There came a day when a spy whom he had sent out from Geba brought him
back word that the lords of the five cities had withdrawn part of the
army they had sent against Israel. And though the forces of the
Philistines that remained still far outnumbered those under the king,
yet were they not so strong but that some valiant exploit, such as had
given the victory to Gideon against the Midianites, might bring them
low.

As he lay that night, brooding and sleepless, he devised a plan which,
whether it succeeded or not, would almost assuredly cost him his life.
The thought of it burned like a firebrand within him. The next morning
early he drew aside his young squire or armour-bearer, and they went out
together away from the camp where no man could see them, and where they
could talk in secret.

And Jonathan told his armour-bearer all that was in his mind. Now
between Geba and Michmash lay deep and wide ravines, with valleys
debouching into them on either side. And on the one side was a lofty
crag or peak of rock named Bozez or 'the Shining'--because when the sun
smote down upon it, it gleamed like burnished metal; and on the other a
crag named Seneh, 'the Thorny'. Bozez was to the north over against the
garrison of the Philistines, and Seneh was to the south in face of Geba.
The whole region was rugged, wild and precipitous. But Jonathan knew it
as he knew the palm of his hand.

This then was his stratagem: that they two, himself and his
armour-bearer, should sally out in disguise when night was down, and
having descended into the ravine beneath, should make their way to the
foot of the cliff beyond whose summit was the camp of the Philistines,
scale it, and attack the outpost that guarded the crag, and as if from
the eyrie of an eagle kept watch upon the valleys.

'Even,' said Jonathan, 'if we make this venture alone, thou and I
together, against these accursed Philistines, even though it be but a
step between us and death, peradventure the Lord will work a wonder,
and with his help we shall be the means of rousing all Israel. I am
sick to the heart as the days go by in waste and despair. But with God
nothing is impossible. And who is to declare how he shall save his
people, whether by many or by few, yea, or even by you and me alone?'

And his armour-bearer, who was also young and valiant, vowed that he
would follow him to the death. 'Do all that is in thine heart,' he said,
'and I am with thee; my life with thy life. But we must come upon them
by stealth. And how shall we scale the crag or even get within bowshot
of this outpost and not be seen?'

'Well said,' said Jonathan. 'But to that too I have seen a way out. For
see, now: when we have come to the foot of the crag, we will show
ourselves, and the watchman looking down and shadowing us out in the
darkness will take us for belated night-farers, fugitives from the
raiders, who under cover of the dark are stealing home. If, when he
challenge us, he cry "Hold! Stand where you are until we come down to
you!" then will we wait for them there in our places. But if, boaster
that he be, he dare us to come up, then will we go up, and woe be to
him!

'This then shall be the sign to us; if he say "Come!" we will go, and I
vow even thou and I alone while still we breathe will show them a
wonder! The Lord will have delivered them into our hands. These vile
Philistines boast there is not a mouse left stirring in Israel, but
Jehovah will fight for us, and that shall be our sign.'

When all that Jonathan had devised was made clear between them, they
returned into the camp. They spoke of it to no man, nor did Jonathan say
one word concerning his stratagem to his father the king. He knew its
dangers, and what small hope there was that he should escape with his
life. And he feared that his father might forbid the venture, and
prevent him from pursuing it.

On a night of no moon, and when all the camp was still; armed, cloaked
and muffled, Jonathan with his armour-bearer stole silently forth from
out of his tent. Soon lost to sight in the pitchy dark, they descended
into the valley. And no man challenged them. Prowling nocturnal beasts
their only company, the dismal yell of roving jackals their sole music,
they pressed on through the ravine, strown with sunburned rocks. Its
air, though it was night, was parched and hot as an oven. They made
their way betwixt the two precipitous crags of Seneh on the one side,
dense with thorn and bramble, and Bozez naked and faintly glimmering on
the other, their summits looming black against the star-sewn sky.

Not a breath of wind stirred the leaves, the dense ravine was sultry and
stagnant, as though bodeful of some strange disaster. But thus these two
came out at length at the foot of the lowermost slope of the crag on
which was stationed the outpost of the Philistines.

Huge rounded boulders and scrub bushes lay scattered around them; and
when they had rested themselves, whispering together, their pulses
drumming them on, they stole out from their concealment and showed
themselves in the open.

The clatter of their footfall reached the ears of the watchman above.
He peered down at them through the gloom, and discerned their motionless
shapes against the pallor of the rocks. Whereupon he called back
mockingly to his fellows: 'Hey, now, come and see a marvel! Behold, some
of these vile Hebrews have come creeping out of the holes wherein they
have hidden themselves.'

A brief silence followed. And as Jonathan and his armour-bearer, muffled
in their cloaks, stood gazing upward, the watchman was joined by other
soldiers of the guard who peered down at them likewise. And they bawled
in derision: 'Hey, there, come up, you two! And we will show you a thing
you shall never forget!'

Jonathan made no answer, but turned aside with his armour-bearer and
vanished out of sight of those that looked down from above. When they
had tarried awhile, and all was still once more, he whispered to the
young man: 'Lo, now; heardst thou that, "Come!"? It was the sign! Follow
me close, for verily the Lord God of Israel hath delivered them into our
hands.'

They threw off their cloaks, and girding their weapons out of arm's way,
began to scale the rocky precipice that frowned down upon them in the
darkness, towering sheer above their heads. Hand and foot from rock to
rock and ledge to ledge, pausing only to take breath, Jonathan climbed
on, and his armour-bearer climbed after him, until they came out upon
the summit of the crag. Then with a shout that rang wild through the
night and echoed on from steep to steep they ran in upon the
Philistines.

And the Philistines fell before them. Many of the watch were asleep, and
none was ready. So sudden and vehement had been the assault that they
made no pause to discover the numbers of their assailants, but in terror
turned and fled. And Jonathan pursued after them, slaying as he went;
and his armour-bearer slew after him; until in that first
slaughter--within a space in breadth but half a furrow of an acre of
land--about twenty men lay dead.

Then sang Jonathan's bow-string, and they chased those that remained
alive along the ridge as they fled towards the village and the camp.
Their cries rent the dark, and roused the garrison, who, confused with
sleep, supposed that the whole strength of Israel was advancing to the
attack. Fear bred fear in the stagnant gloom, and amid this tumult, of a
sudden the solid rock itself beneath them began to tremble, and the
earth quaked, and there was a very great trembling.

A furious wind followed the earthquake. Shouts of 'Jehovah!' rose to
heaven, and terror fell upon the host throughout the camp, and over the
open country, and on the pitiless plunderers who had returned in triumph
from their raidings. All was confusion. And the night drew to an end.

And the watchmen of King Saul on the heights of Geba looked out across
the valley in the first faint dusk of dawn, and behold, the whole army
of the Philistines was in commotion, surging hither and thither as they
fought one against another, beating one another down. And their tumult
struck faint upon the ear. They gave the alarm. The trumpet sounded.
And when the men of Israel were mustered in their ranks, every man
under his own captain, and the roll was called, it was found that
Jonathan and his armour-bearer were not there.

Then Saul sent hastily for Ahiah the priest, and bade him: 'Bring hither
the Ephod!' He was at a loss, yearning to join battle with his enemies,
yet in doubt whether or not this was the will of the Lord Jehovah.

But even while he was still speaking with the priest, the rout and
clamour in the enemy's camp on the heights of Michmash went on and
increased more and more. And when Saul heard it, his spirit aroused
fiercely within him; he doubted no more. He bade the priest draw back
his hand, refrain from consulting the oracle, and follow him before
Israel, bearing the ephod of the Lord.

Then King Saul set his army in battle array--spearmen and bowmen. And he
himself, filled with a frenzy, and tarrying not to question whether he
did right or wrong, vowed a vow before them all and laid an oath on them
every one. 'Cursed be the man,' he cried, 'that tasteth food this day
until the evening. Cursed be he! For now is the hour of my vengeance
against the enemies of the Lord.'

And they answered him with one voice: 'Yea!'

They raised the war cry, and descending into the ravine now veiled
milk-white with the mists of morning, advanced to the attack. And lo,
when they came to the camp of the Philistines, and the light of day grew
clear, and the sun shone, the whole host of them was in wild conflict,
horsemen and chariot, none knowing friend from foe. Every man's sword
was against his fellow, and there was a very great confusion. In the
midst of it Israel swept down upon them; and they broke and fled.

Moreover, when the Hebrews that had treacherously joined the ranks of
the raiders saw that the victory was with the king, they turned against
the Philistines and fought with the Israelites under Saul and Jonathan.
Report also that the Philistines were in flight spread far and wide, and
the troops who had deserted the king, and the people who were in hiding
among the forests and caves and mountains of Ephraim, flocked to Saul's
standard, and followed hard after him in the battle.

So the Lord saved Israel, and the battle passed over and westward
through the valley, and beyond the pass of Beth-horon. Ten thousand men
of Israel fought with Saul that day, and the pursuit was scattered over
all the mountainous country of Ephraim.

But as the day drew on and the sun rose high in the heavens and the heat
increased, the men of Israel began to be sorely distressed for want of
food. When the trumpet sounded at dawn, few had broken their fast, and
none since then had tasted a morsel, as Saul had decreed.

And those who were with Jonathan in the pursuit came soon after noon to
a rocky waste where grew a few sparse trees, casting a dappled shade.
And in the hollows of the rocks, above which the air shimmered crystal
in the heat, there was an abundance of honeycomb, now deserted by the
bees that had made it. The honey itself was oozing out from the crevices
in the rocks, and revealed this hidden store. All who had heard the
king's vow sped on, and tasted it not, for they feared the curse that he
had spoken.

But Jonathan, who knew nothing of it, and was even worse spent than any
with him since he had neither stayed to rest nor eaten since nightfall,
thrust into the honeycomb the battle-club that was in his hand and
dipped it into the honey. He put his hand to his mouth and ate of the
honey. Light came back into his eyes, and he was refreshed.

When one of those who came running after through the wood chanced to see
it, he said to Jonathan: 'Knowest thou not that thy father the king
straitly charged the people with an oath saying: "Cursed be the man that
tasteth food this day"?'

Jonathan was sorely troubled, and ate no more of the honey. But he
answered the man, and said: 'Of a surety my father when he made such a
vow knew not what trouble he would bring upon the troops of Israel. For
see, now, though I have tasted but little of the honey, it has renewed
my strength and refreshed me. How much better it would have been if all
the people had done likewise and eaten freely of the spoil they have
taken. Would there not by now have been a much greater slaughter among
the Philistines?'

But he continued the pursuit and hastened on. And Israel routed the
Philistines until, following the river, they came down through the
valley of Ajalon and into the plain, above the city of Gath. There they
turned back, for they were utterly exhausted. And they rushed upon the
booty they had captured, and took of the sheep and oxen and slew them
there where they found them, without offering any portion of their prey
as a sacrifice to the Lord. They were famished and in distress.

When report of this was brought to Saul, he was angered that they had
dealt treacherously with him, and he feared the wrath of God. He bade
those who were with him roll a great stone that stood near into the
open, and this he made an altar. Then he sent out heralds: 'Disperse
yourselves among the people,' he commanded, 'and bid every man you meet
bring hither to me his ox or sheep, whatsoever he hath taken from the
Philistines, and let them be slain here before the altar of the Lord
that they may eat, and sin no more by refraining from sacrifice.'

The people obeyed, and every man of them, from that hour on and far into
the night, brought his spoil to the altar, and all that was needed for
food was slain there, and the blood sprinkled upon the stone. This was
the first altar King Saul set up to the Lord.

The sun was now set, and dark was come. Seeing then that strength had
returned into his troops, and that they were rested and renewed, Saul
summoned his captains to meet him in council, and Ahiah, the priest of
the Lord, was with him.

'The night comes,' he said, 'and the Philistines peradventure may think
that our pursuit is at an end and that they are safe. Let us then up and
follow after them, before morning give them time and light to rally,
smite them until daybreak and leave not a man of them alive.'

His captains agreed. They were eager to follow him and filled with
exultation. 'Do whatever seems good to thee,' they said.

But Ahiah the priest intervened between them. 'Let not my lord,' he
said, 'be in too great haste to decide in this matter, but first let us
draw near to Jehovah, and pray for his guidance. Unless it be his will
that Israel go down after the Philistines, thou shalt not prevail
against them.'

Saul consented, chafing at the delay. The priest withdrew and made
entreaty to the Lord, but returned again to the king, troubled in mind,
for though he had prayed long and earnestly, no assurance had entered
into his soul of any answer to his prayer. And he counselled Saul to
discover with whom lay the guilt of having transgressed that day.

Saul turned away from the priest in fury. His one desire was to seize
the opportunity night gave him to press on after the Philistines and
overwhelm them in such a disaster that for years to come they would
never venture to raid the borders of Israel again.

But he remembered his vow and the curse he had uttered. God was against
him. His kingdom was at stake. He had not the strength to stand alone.
Why was not Samuel by his side, he asked himself again and again. And as
he thus debated within himself, his wrath increased against the unknown
transgressor who had estranged God from him and kept him back from the
full glory of his vengeance.

He bade his captains stay with him, and sent out messengers to summon
the chief men of Israel into his presence. They came in haste. Many of
them had been wounded in the battle, and had but hastily bound up their
wounds, and all were dishevelled and bloodstained, and covered with dust
after the long pursuit. Last to come was Jonathan, who in certain hope
that his father would continue the pursuit, had seized a moment in the
lull that had followed the first onset to snatch a little sleep. Saul
greeted him with a troubled smile, and Jonathan sat down at his side.

Then Saul stood up before the assembly and spoke: 'God who watcheth over
Israel,' he said, 'hath been very gracious to us this day, yet in the
midst of our triumph it seems that by some man or men among us a wanton
offence hath been committed against him, though how I cannot tell. What
say you all? Shall we not by some sure means detect and discover this
transgressor? Shall he not suffer for the outrage that he hath done
against Israel? And how else shall this be made known--unless any of you
can yourselves bear witness against him--except by consulting the oracle
of God? Ay,' he said to them, laying his hand on Jonathan's shoulder,
'and even though the guilt lie with my own son Jonathan, he shall surely
die.'

And there was not one among them that answered him.

Then Saul sent a messenger to bring in Ahiah the priest, bidding him
prepare to consult the oracle of God. The priest came in to them, clad
in his linen ephod with the breastplate of judgment upon it. Its gems
faintly glistened in the light of the torches. Then said Saul: 'Let the
oracle first declare whether the blame be with Israel or with Israel's
king. And thou thyself, Jonathan,' he added, 'shall be of thy father's
company.'

So he bade the priest cast lots between all Israel on the one side and
himself and Jonathan on the other.

'Is it your will,' he said, turning again to the people, 'that I should
ask the Lord God Jehovah with whom lies the blame--on this side or on
that?'

There was no voice to question it. 'Do what seems good to thee,' they
said.

Then Saul called upon Jehovah before them all. 'Lord God Jehovah,' he
cried, 'I adjure thee to declare if the evil that has been done this day
be with Israel or with me myself and my son Jonathan.'

And Ahiah the priest thrust in his hand beneath the breastplate--_Urim_
for Israel, and _Thummim_ for Saul and Jonathan. And behold, when he
withdrew his hand, the face of the stone which was uppermost was
engraved with the Ineffable Name. The lot was against Saul and Jonathan.

None stirred or spoke. Saul's face darkened. He gazed at the priest,
unable in his confusion to take in the full meaning of what he had said.
But when it swept in upon him, and his glance roved on from one face to
another of those gathered together around him, his mind was in bitter
conflict. Zeal for the cause of Israel and the dread of breaking his vow
had led him on to make his challenge; and now an awful doubt assailed
him. But it was too late to draw back.

'Cast lots again,' he bade the priest harshly. 'And this time be it
between me and my son Jonathan, and may God give the judgment. For as
the Lord liveth, whichever one of us is shown to be guilty he shall die
the death.'

At this, cries of dissent arose on every side. Many started to their
feet, entreating him to hold his hand. But the will of the king
prevailed over them, and once more Ahiah drew the sacred stone from out
of the breastplate, and cast the lot between Saul and his son Jonathan.
And the lot was against Jonathan.

Then Saul turned himself about and gazed in fear and sorrow into
Jonathan's face. 'Tell me, my son,' he said, 'what hast thou done?'

And Jonathan told him everything that he had done that day, confessing
openly before them all--how he himself as he ran in the forefront of the
pursuit of the Philistines had come to a rocky hollow where a few sparse
trees gave their shade and where wild bees had hidden their secret store
of honeycomb, and how he had tasted of the honey, being sore spent.

'And even,' he said, 'as the sweetness was in my mouth, one running
after me told me of the curse which thou thyself hadst uttered against
any man that tasted food this day. I vow that until then no word of it
had reached my ear. And I ate no more of the honey, yet was so refreshed
by it that I stayed not from chasing after the Philistines until night
came down. But now, seeing that I have sinned against the Lord, though I
did it unwittingly, there is nought to say. Lo, I must die.'

Saul heard him out in silence; his face grey as in death. Then he rose.
'Be God himself witness this day between me and thee, Jonathan,' he
said. 'And if I transgress against him, may he do unto me--and more
also--as I do unto thee. Thou hast thyself confessed thy sin, and thou
must die.'

At this there broke out a loud and tumultuous outcry among all those
assembled there.

'God forbid! God forbid!' they shouted. 'Shall Jonathan die who hath
wrought this great salvation in Israel! Two against a host! As the Lord
liveth, there shall not one hair of his head fall to the ground! The
Lord of Hosts was with him.'

Those that stood near ranged themselves about Jonathan as a bodyguard,
to defend him against his father. And the king was powerless to resist
them. Without another word said, he turned away from them and withdrew
himself, and went into his tent alone.

The tumult died away and silence fell upon the camp of Israel. That
night they advanced no further, and the remnant of the army of the
Philistines that had escaped the slaughter returned unmolested into
their own country.




KING AGAG


There was war with the princes of the Philistines as long as Saul lived,
and in his last dark days, when his kingdom was divided, he himself,
wounded and in flight with his sons, and pursued by their archers and
charioteers, died a miserable death. And his body was hung on the wall
of Beth-shan.

But for many years he remained undisputed king over Israel, and proved
his valour and leadership. He led the armies of Israel against their
enemies on every side, against Moab, whose king Barak in years long gone
by endeavoured in vain to bribe Balaam with his divinations to curse
Israel. These were the people, worshippers of Chemosh, whose king Eglon
had been slain by Ehud, judge of Israel, with his own hand, two hundred
and fifty years before.

Saul warred also against the wandering tribes of the Ammonites, whom he
had defeated at Jabesh; and against Edom, whose territory was far south
towards the desert of Sinai, and in the north he defeated the King of
Zoba.

And his sons, Jonathan and Ishbaal, fought with him. The names of his
daughters were Merab and Michal. And Michal, the younger of them, was
very fair and beautiful and of a quick, resolute spirit. The name of the
captain who was commander-in-chief of the army under Saul himself, was
Abner. He was a cousin of the king's, the son of his father's brother.

During the first few years of his reign Samuel remained the king's chief
counsellor. In matters of moment Saul sought and followed his advice,
and did him honour. So far also as his great age admitted, Samuel
continued to administer justice, and he was feared and reverenced
throughout Israel as the prophet chosen of God to reveal his will to the
people. But as Saul waxed in power and his conquests won him renown,
even the thought of any authority to which he himself must bow began to
vex and burden him. His confidence in his own wisdom increased; he
became wayward and despotic, and the desire to amass riches had entered
into his soul.

Now of the ancient enemies of Israel there was none they hated more
bitterly than the Amalekites. Even when, four hundred years gone, the
Israelites were but a host of wandering and fugitive tribesmen in the
Arabian desert, Amalek had been their unrelenting and treacherous foe.
They had harassed Israel without mercy, cutting off and massacring any
feeble stragglers they found lost and helpless in the wilderness.

At Rephidim in the wilderness, after a long and stubborn conflict,
Joshua had defeated them in battle, and Moses had watched and prayed on
a hilltop the whole day long, the vantage now going to the one side, now
to the other--the staff of God in his hand. But the Amalekites, one of
the oldest races of man on earth, were of a fierce and untamable spirit,
and they had recovered their strength. In the days of the Judges they
had allied themselves with King Eglon of Moab; and, afterwards, with the
Midianites they had raided the southern borders of Canaan, destroying
the people's crops, their flocks and their herds, and had spared no
living thing.

Moses himself had made written record for a memorial that there would be
no enduring peace in Israel until the power of Amalek had been finally
broken, and they had been blotted out.

When Saul had established himself in his kingdom, and Israel was at
peace, there came a day when Samuel set out to visit him at his house in
Gibeah. Long time had passed since they had met. The king had neglected
and ignored him. But to all outward appearance he greeted the prophet
graciously and with the reverence due to his age and office. He
dismissed his attendants and led him into an inner chamber where they
could converse alone.

And Samuel announced to Saul that he had come before him with a message
from the Lord. 'I would first recall to thy mind,' he said, 'the day
when I was sent to anoint thee to be king over his people. Thou wast
then, even in thine own sight, of little account in Israel. Is it truth
that I have spoken? Dost thou still acknowledge his authority as it is
made manifest through me, his prophet; for apart from him, I ask nothing
of thee, nor claim any right to intervene between thyself and thy
people?'

Saul bowed his head in assent.

'Hearken, then,' said Samuel, 'unto the words of the Lord who has sent
me hither to thee this day. Thou hast grown strong and mighty; thy word
is law in Israel. And now it is the Lord's will that the grievous
wrongs which Amalek did against his people after they had been redeemed
from Egypt and were as yet a nation of wanderers without a country, weak
and ill-armed, shall be avenged, and that justice shall be meted out to
them. Arise, then. Gather together thine armies; proclaim a holy war.
Summon all Israel to thy standard; and march against Amalek. As for
their king, Agag, spare him not, nor any of his people, man, woman or
child, nor anything that is his or theirs. They are accursed. Take no
spoil or plunder, nothing; neither ox nor sheep nor camel nor ass.
Utterly destroy them. Even as the Amalekites vowed to do unto Israel, so
do thou unto them.'

Saul heard him in silence; his eyes bent upon the ground. The thing said
pleased him greatly, though he misliked the manner of it. He had long
looked with envy on King Agag and lusted to go out against him, and
defeat and despoil him. And now Jehovah himself had declared his will.
Proclamation of a holy war against such an enemy as this would rouse all
Israel, and victory was assured. He lifted his head. His keen dark
strange eyes rested a moment on Samuel's face, then faltered and turned
away. He vowed solemnly that in all things as Samuel had bidden him, he
would obey.

As he had foreseen, when heralds were sent from city to city summoning
the people to fight against Amalek, they were enflamed with zeal and
ardour. They flocked to his standard and joined the army that was
already fully prepared for war, and was mustered at Telaim. And Saul
numbered the host that was with him: two hundred thousand men of Israel,
spearmen, slingers and bowmen, and ten thousand men of Judah.

Word came to the king that the Kenites, another wandering tribe of the
desert who in times long past had been in alliance with Israel, had now
joined themselves with the forces under King Agag. Saul therefore sent
an envoy to the leaders of the Kenites, assuring them that neither he
himself nor his people had any quarrel with them, but remembered well
how of old time they had shown kindness to Israel when they had fled out
of Egypt and had crossed the Red Sea into the wilderness. He bade the
envoy make known to the Kenites how mighty a host he had gathered
together, and adjure them to sever themselves from the Amalekites, while
there was yet time; lest in the heat and fury of battle they should
suffer the fate that awaited King Agag.

The chieftains of the Kenites, having debated the matter in secret, sent
back a friendly answer to the king, raised their camp, and withdrew into
the desert.

Then Saul marched south against the city of Amalek where King Agag was
encamped. He divided his army to hem him in, and he himself with a
strong force advanced under cover of night and lay in wait in the
valley. When battle was joined, fierce and bloody was the conflict. But
though the Amalekites fought on bravely and recklessly until the sun was
declining in the west and all hope was lost, the armies of Saul
prevailed against them, and of the bodyguard of King Agag not a man was
left alive, though he himself was taken.

The troops of Israel pursued the remnant of his tribesmen from Havilah
even to the fortified city of Shur on the eastern borders of Egypt. And
the city of Amalek was taken and the whole camp with all its spoil, and
every living creature found therein of the race of Amalek was put to the
sword. Except only Agag. He was brought by Abner to the king, who in the
flush and pride of victory spared his life to grace his triumph.

And though Saul gave strict orders that of the booty captured from the
enemy all that was of little use and value was to be destroyed, he
spared the best of the cattle and the fattest of the sheep and lambs.
Moreover, the costliest of the Amalekites' tents and raiment, their
vessels of silver and gold, the jewels, furniture and weapons of the
king, and the ornaments and apparel of his women--these were taken and
brought into the camp to Saul.

All else was burned with fire; and throughout that night the skies above
the desert were red with the flames of their destruction.

When the troops of Israel had returned from the pursuit, Saul, with his
rich booty in cattle and kind and with King Agag in his train, returned
into Canaan and marched to Carmel. There he set up a pillar of stone as
a trophy and memorial of his great victory, and thence he went to
Gilgal.

That night the word of the Lord came to Samuel in a vision as he lay
sleeping upon his bed. In the silence of dream the divine call troubled
him: 'It repenteth me that I have set up Saul to be king over my people
Israel. He hath rejected me, and hath not obeyed my commandment.'

Samuel awoke, and that night slept no more. He was grieved to the soul
for Saul, and angered against the Lord, and throughout the long dark
hours until daybreak he prayed without ceasing, interceding for one whom
he loved so dearly. Early next morning he set out on his journey to the
king. He had been told by men of Ramah, disbanded from the army after
the defeat of the Amalekites, who were returning home, that Saul had
tarried awhile at Carmel, had there set up a trophy and was now with his
troops at Gilgal.

Samuel continued on his way, heavy at heart, but with all speed. He came
to Gilgal and, mounted on his ass, made his way through the thronging
camp to the king's tent. He dismissed the one servant that was with him,
passed by the guard, and alone and unannounced entered into the tent and
stood before Saul.

The floor of the tent was heaped up with the most precious of the booty
that had been captured from Amalek. Saul himself with the officers who
were in attendance upon him sat in splendour. A great feast had been
prepared that day, and he himself was about to appear before the army
drawn up in readiness to receive him at the sacred circle of stones
where he had been proclaimed king.

At Samuel's entry he rose hastily. His mind misgave him at sight of the
old man's face, cold and austere, from which every token of tenderness
and affection was gone. But having dismissed those who were with him,
he greeted him as if all were well between them.

'Blessed be thou of the Lord,' he said. 'Thou hast come at a fair and
prosperous moment, for I have done all that thou wouldst have me do,
according to the will of Jehovah.'

He seated himself again and invited Samuel to sit beside him. But even
as he spoke, he turned away his head, unable to meet the grief and anger
in Samuel's eyes.

The prophet stood unmoved before him. 'If thou hast done all that I bade
thee do,' he said, 'what means this bleating of sheep in my ears, and
this lowing of oxen in the camp of Israel?'

'These sheep, these oxen?' said Saul. 'They are the spoil taken by the
armies of Israel from the Amalekites. They spared only the choicest of
their flocks and herds wherewith to make sacrifice to the Lord thy God.
All that remained of the booty I have utterly destroyed.'

But his voice rang false even in his own ears. He raised his hand as if
to continue speaking, but Samuel broke in upon him.

'Stay,' he said, 'and I will tell thee what the Lord himself said to me
this night that is gone.'

With set face Saul sat confronting him. 'Say on,' he said.

Then said Samuel: 'When thou wast a man of nought, who chose thee to be
chieftain of all Israel, head and sovereign of the tribes? Was it not
the Lord himself who anointed thee? And did he not of late send thee on
thy way in the glory of his service to lead Israel against the accursed
and idolatrous Amalekites, that again and again have afflicted his
people? "Go," he said, "spare not, but destroy them utterly and
everything that is theirs." But what in truth hast thou done? Why hast
thou refused to obey the voice of the Lord? Why, like a ravenous bird
from out of the mountains, didst thou swoop down upon the spoil and do
that which is evil in his sight? By all the love I bear thee, I entreat
thee to confess that thou hast sinned and to plead to him for mercy.'

A dark frown had gathered on Saul's brow. His voice shook as with eyes
averted he answered Samuel.

'Thou dost me wrong,' he said. 'As the Lord commanded, I have obeyed.
Did I not send couriers throughout the length and breadth of Israel,
proclaiming a holy war? Was I of so little account and so cold in my
zeal for Jehovah that none answered or lifted hand from the plough? Thou
thyself knowest this to be false; for when the people heard my call,
they left all to follow me. Two hundred thousand men of Israel and ten
thousand men of Judah--for the glory of Israel they flocked to my
standard. Did I pause or falter or parley with these accursed
Amalekites? Not so; I marched with my armies against them and having won
away with fair words the tribes of the Kenites from their alliance, I
swept down upon them and utterly defeated them. The smouldering ruins of
Amalek bear witness against thee. Only Agag, their king, did I save
alive, and this but for proof that he who was the dread and terror of
all Israel is now a mere cringing captive slave and at my mercy. How
then canst thou rebuke me if the men of Israel in their lust for
plunder spared a few of the enemy's sheep and oxen, and these only the
best and choicest, and destroyed--as I bade them--all else. They are but
men. Wouldst thou deny them even that? How otherwise could they make
fitting sacrifice to the Lord thy God, even here in his sacred place at
Gilgal?'

Then said Samuel: 'Thinkest thou the Lord God delights in sacrifices and
offerings as much as he delights in them that humbly obey him? Obedience
is better than sacrifice, and to heed faithfully what he bids thee do is
better than any gift on earth thou canst bring him of mere gold or
jewels or any worldly treasure. Knowest thou not that rebellion against
him is wicked as witchcraft, and a stubborn heart as blasphemous as the
worship of idols? Hearken, now, for it is the Lord himself who speaks to
thee. Because thou hast rejected him, he also hath rejected thee. As
from nothing he raised thee up, so shall he abase thee. The day of thy
downfall draws near, and thou shalt be king in his sight no longer.'

Saul rose vehemently, his armour clashing as he moved. He strode to the
door of his tent. Except for the sentries on watch there, no one was
near. He turned, his face transfixed with dread at the old man's solemn
maledictions, flung himself on his knees before him, and besought his
forgiveness.

'Take back thy words. Have pity on me,' he cried. 'I see now that I have
sinned. I have in truth transgressed and done other than thou didst
strictly bid me do. But it was not of my own will. I feared the people,
and they prevailed against me. When, drunken with victory, the armies
of Israel had driven in the plunder they had taken from the Amalekites,
their flocks, their herds, how could I give orders that all should be
destroyed. They would have risen in revolt against me; and in weakness I
consented to do what they asked of me. I entreat thee now, by all the
love and forbearance thou once didst show me, forgive this evil that I
have done, and restore me to thy kindness as of old. Come with me even
now, that we may pray together and give thanks to the Lord God for his
victory in the presence of all Israel.'

But Samuel drew back from Saul as he knelt before him. 'Nay,' he said,
'I will not go with thee. Nor will I show thee honour before the people.
In thy pride and avarice thou hast wantonly rejected the Lord, and from
this day forth he hath rejected thee also.'

He turned about to leave the king. In a frenzy of despair Saul seized
the skirt of his outer mantle, and it was rent in his grasp. And
Samuel's wrath flamed against him.

'Lo, now,' he cried, 'in fear of what men shall think of thee, thine own
hand hath witnessed against thee! For this day hath the Lord rent the
sceptre of Israel from thy grasp and shall give it to another who is
better than thou. Thinkest thou that the Eternal, the glory of Israel,
can be false to himself and turn aside from doing that on which he hath
set his will? Thinkest thou the Lord is as man whom he created out of
dust, whose heart changes with every wind that blows and who is never of
the same mind from one day to another. He hath spoken; and this is the
end between us.'

But in his horror and misery Saul still strove to persuade Samuel to
show him at least the outward marks of honour and respect in the
presence of his captains and the elders and people of Israel.

'I beseech thee,' he said, 'abandon me not now lest Israel be divided
and rebel against me, and worse evils follow. For this sake only let it
but seem there is nothing amiss. Come now, we will go together and give
praise to the Lord thy God!'

At sight of Saul weeping and abased before him, one whom in spite of all
his folly and falsities he still loved, Samuel consented to do as Saul
asked of him, and they went out together from the shade of the tent into
the heat and splendour of noonday.

Saul sent for Abner, and the trumpets sounded. The army of Israel had
ranged itself under its captains, according to its regiments and
companies, and stood awaiting the king in the wide open space before the
great circle of hoary stones. And Samuel bade Abner send a guard and
bring King Agag before him.

In sight of the whole host, the captive king was led trembling into his
presence. In his silken robes, the emblems of kingship stripped from
brow and neck and shoulder, he walked delicately, scarcely able to draw
one foot after the other, so sharp was the agony of his soul.

One swift glance into the prophet's face revealed that all hope was
gone. He saw the doom that was close upon him. Terror seized him. He
turned to Saul, pleading for mercy.

'Of a truth,' he said, 'thou canst not have held me captive these many
days to vaunt thyself over me, the mock and scorn of my enemies, only to
destroy me now? Surely the bitterness of death is past?'

Saul looked coldly on him, turned away and made no answer.

Then Samuel himself drew the sword of the king from out of its sheath,
and faced Agag. He gazed at him steadfastly and Agag quailed before him.

'Thy sword,' said Samuel, 'hath slain and spared not. Thou hast made
many women of Israel childless. So now shall thy mother be childless
among women.'

And in the sight of the whole host of Israel he smote off King Agag's
head and hewed his body in pieces.




DAVID

DAVID IS ANOINTED KING OVER ISRAEL


Samuel returned from Gilgal to his house at Ramah, and came no more to
Saul. Nor from that day onward, except once, did he ever again in this
life speak with the king face to face. Saul hardened his heart against
his one true counsellor. In his pride he heeded him not and refrained
from asking his guidance. He was a law to himself, inflexible against
his enemies, and he fought valiantly for Israel. Yet in spite of his
ascendancy and the glory he had won, he found no peace of mind and
heart.

He doubted the loyalty even of those most faithful to him, and hours of
violence and fury were followed by days of voiceless dejection. The
divine grace, that had once been his, no longer guided and comforted
him. Thankless and ungenerous, every remembrance of Samuel, and of his
loving-kindness when his own need was greatest, only goaded him on to an
obstinate enmity. But though he refused to do him honour, he secretly
feared him, and his fear engendered hatred.

Nevertheless Samuel remained faithful to the king. His own authority was
gone, except as the prophet of God. But neither absence from the king
nor the indignities of neglect made any change in his love for Saul. He
ceased not to grieve for him, remembering the wondrous promise he had
seen in his face when as a humble stranger seeking for the strayed asses
of his father, Saul had drawn near to speak with him that morning now
long gone, and the voice within his own heart had cried: 'Lo, the king
of Israel!'

He strove to put out of mind the king's stubborn ingratitude. He knew
well that fear alone of what might follow prevented Saul from showing
his enmity and seeking to destroy him. In his desolation he continued to
intercede for him. But the word of the Lord came at length to Samuel in
his solitude at Ramah: 'How long wilt thou mourn for Saul, seeing that I
have rejected him from reigning over Israel? Put away thy grief. Fill
thine horn with oil, and go; for I will send thee to Bethlehem. There
among the sons of Jesse I have found me a king.'

And Samuel knew that it was the voice of God that bade him do this thing
to his own great sorrow. He prayed earnestly, seeking in vain for
reasons against at once obeying it.

'How can I go?' he asked himself again and again. 'If the king should
hear that such a thought has even come into my mind, he will surely kill
me.'

But the voice within answered him again: 'Doubt not; the Lord will be
with thee. Thou shalt take a heifer with thee and when thou comest to
Bethlehem thou shalt say that thou hast come to sacrifice to the Lord.
And thou shalt call Jesse to the sacrifice with his sons. Tarry then
until the voice of God within thee shall assure thee what thou must do.
Then shalt thou arise and anoint him whom the Lord hath chosen.'

With a heavy heart the old grief-stricken man made his few preparations
and at early morning set out with his servant.

The day was fresh and sweet, and as he approached it, the village of
Bethlehem, built on high amid its valleys on the spur of a hill, and
surrounded by vineyards, and groves of olive and almond trees, lay still
and tranquil as though in a dream. Samuel continued on his way through
the fields of wheat and barley, and mounted the steep path that would
bring him into the village.

The approach of these two solitary wayfarers had been seen from afar by
some of the elders of Bethlehem. They stood in watch, and when they saw
that one of them, the old man with hooded head and long silver
beard--the ass on which he was riding led gently on by the servant who
was with him--was the dreaded prophet Samuel himself, they hastened out
to greet him. They bowed themselves before him, filled with misgiving as
to why this messenger of God was come to visit them.

'Cometh my lord peaceably?' they asked him. 'Bringest thou good tidings
or tidings of evil?'

And Samuel made answer: 'Peaceably. Be not afraid. I am come to make
sacrifice unto the Lord.'

He bade them purify themselves and prepare for the sacrifice and for the
feast that would follow after it, and enquired where he would find one
named Jesse who lived in the city.

He was taken to his house, and as soon as he was within, he drew Jesse
apart and talked with him alone. He asked him concerning his sons, and
bade him bring them in that he might sanctify them, and himself prepare
them for the sacrifice. To this he bade them come one and all, and to
the feast. Jesse hastened to obey him, striving in vain to find a reason
why he himself of all the chief men of the city had been singled out for
this honour. He made the prophet welcome. He waited upon him and showed
him the courtesy and reverence befitting his high office. Meanwhile he
had sent out servants to call in his sons from their work or wherever
they might be.

When they were ready, each one of them in turn was brought into the
presence of Samuel, whose whole mind was intent on the supreme object
that had brought him to Bethlehem that day.

Eliab, who was the eldest of Jesse's sons, was the first to pass before
him. He was a man of great stature and of a bold and resolute face. And
when Samuel looked on him he said within himself: 'Surely the Lord's
anointed stands here with me in his presence!' For in all things that
are clear and impressive at first view Eliab was such a man as Samuel
himself delighted in. The thought pierced him, for it recalled to memory
the day when he had first seen Saul.

But the divine voice within him cried its warning: 'Be not misled, look
not with favour on this man for the sake of his countenance or the
height of his stature. He is not the Lord's chosen. The Lord seeth not
as man seeth. The eyes of man look only on the outward appearance, but
the Lord looketh on the heart.'

Then Jesse summoned Abinadab, the next of his sons in order of age,
into the presence of the prophet. But neither was Abinadab the chosen of
the Lord. Nor Shammah, Jesse's third son. So each one of Jesse's seven
sons who were with him in the house were brought before Samuel, and his
eyes dwelt on each face in turn with the same grave scrutiny. But still
he knew in his heart that none of them was the man whom he was seeking.

So all at last had come and gone their way. Perplexed yet tranquil,
Samuel pondered within himself awhile, then turned to Jesse: 'Are these
young men whom I have seen,' he asked him, 'all thy sons? For of a truth
none of them is he whom I am seeking and whom the Lord has chosen to
honour.'

And Jesse answered: 'There remains only the youngest of them. He is
little more than a child, and very dear to me, and he is now in the
fields keeping the sheep.'

Then Samuel bade Jesse send at once to fetch him. 'We will not sit down
to the feast,' he said, 'until he come hither.'

A servant was dispatched in haste. He ran down from out of the city into
the pastures that lay in the green valleys to look for the boy and to
bring him in. He found him sitting with his sheep, his shepherd's pipe
in his hand, and he returned with him to his father.

So David came in from the fields, and stood before Samuel. He was in the
first brightness of his youth, being not yet even of the age of Joseph
when he set out from the Vale of Hebron in his coat of many colours in
search of his brothers. He was blue-eyed and ruddy, with wind and sun,
of a beautiful countenance withal and goodly to look to. He bowed
himself before the prophet, solemnly, like a boy, and marvelling for
what reason he had been called in from his sheep.

The old man gazed steadily into his clear wide eyes; and the voice
within him which he had learned to heed and to obey since his own
childhood, cried within him, 'Arise, anoint him, for this is he!'

Then in the presence of Jesse his father and of his seven sons Samuel
arose and took the horn of holy oil that he had brought with him from
Ramah, and poured it upon David's head and anointed him.

And Samuel blessed him and talked with him alone. And the spirit of the
Lord entered into the heart of David and was with him from that day
forward. And Jesse and all his sons accompanied Samuel to the sacrifice
that morning and to the feast.

On the morrow David went back to the fields to his sheep, and Samuel
himself, his mind burdened with sadness and yet at peace in that his
mission had been fulfilled, returned to Ramah.

No word of this reached the ears of the king. But there came a day when
Saul fell again grievously sick of the malady that had afflicted his
mind in the last few years of his life. Pestered with evil thoughts that
he had no power to master or divert, he spent his days in anguish and
lost to all sense of those around him. And in memory he dwelt
continually on the hour when alone in his tent, rich with plunder of the
Amalekites, he had fallen on his knees in supplication before Samuel,
and the prophet had foretold that his kingdom would not continue and
that he had been rejected of the Lord. No true peace had been his since
then. In his pride he had striven in vain against the thought that the
well-spring of the divine which had once refreshed his spirit was now
parched up for ever. The dreadful doubt assailed him that he was
abandoned of God.

All things that in health pleased and satisfied him had become bitter as
ashes in his mouth. He was haunted by terrors of the unknown and by
vacant forebodings. He lay in his tent, parched with fever, hating the
light, rejecting all human company, and pining for death to ease him of
his misery. He found no rest by day or quiet sleep by night.

As soon as his heavy eyelids closed in slumber, evil and hideous dreams
thronged into his mind, and he would awake in a frenzy of fear seeking
in vain for help and refuge. Even in the full brightness of morning he
would be seized by sudden terror, and with fixed and starting eyes, like
a watchman on his tower in the dark of winter, would cry out in a wild
hollow voice as though he were pursued by an enemy or a dreadful
apparition were come to share his solitude.

His attendants and physicians sought by every means in their power to
relieve his malady and to restore him to health; but in vain. Their
skill was of no avail to aid him. And when all other remedies had proved
vain, they bethought themselves of music, since music has a strange
power to soothe a troubled mind and to charm away afflicting thoughts.

When next there came a respite in his sickness, and with mind a little
quietened, he was able to grasp the import of what was said to him, his
physicians spoke of this. It was no bodily ailment, they told him, from
which he pined, spent though he was and sick to death; it must be that
some spirit not of this earth but of the divine was troubling him. And
they assured him that if only its evil influence could be banished out
of his mind, he would be well.

'Let now my lord,' said one of them, 'command his servants that they
seek out a musician who has skill in the playing of the harp. And it
shall be when this dread horror of soul come upon thee again, and thou
hear the strains of his music, it will soothe and comfort thee, and will
banish this evil spirit and thou shalt sleep and be refreshed.'

Saul heard them in patience, his head sunken between his shoulders, his
eyes hollow and lightless, and he bade them provide him with such a man
without delay and bring him to his bedside. His physicians left him.
They made inquiry of the king's servants, and one of them told that
there was a lad, the son of Jesse the Bethlehemite, who was skilled in
music and in the playing of the harp.

'I myself know him well,' he said, 'for I am of Bethlehem. I have sate
beside him in the wild, listening enravished while he played and sang;
and the birds mute to hear him! Even though he has no more knowledge of
the world than what comes of keeping his father's sheep, he is of a rare
courage and prudence, and of a fair and beautiful countenance. He is one
that can be trusted to keep silence, and the Lord is with him.'

When Saul heard this he took comfort. A longing and desire for music,
like water to one athirst, had sprung up within him, as it were a gourd
in the night. He bade his physicians delay not a moment but send at once
to Bethlehem and bring this young shepherd in.

When these messengers came to the house of Jesse and told him their
errand, he was troubled. It pleased him that David should have been well
spoken of to the king, but three of his sons had already been taken to
serve in Saul's army, and he feared that he might now be deprived of his
youngest son also.

None the less he made ready a present for the king, the best he could
afford. He saddled an ass, and laded it with ten loaves of wheaten
bread, a skin of wine from his own vineyard and the choicest of his
kids. With a change of raiment besides, and all that he would need
during his absence, David set out next day. He kissed his father, and
bade him farewell, and hastened away.

He was young, the day was sweet and early, the way new to him; and he
soon thought no more of the fears and misgivings that had troubled his
dreams the night before. He watched the morning colours in the sky as
though they were a forecast of the future, and his ass, though dumb, was
far better than no company at all.

It was dark when he reached his journey's end, and when the king's
physicians had spoken with him privily and warned him of the condition
of the king, he was brought into Saul's presence. And he took with him
his nine-stringed harp.

The royal tent was lit only by the single flame of a lamp which with a
cruse of water stood at the bed's head. In the wafting of the air it
cast distorted shadows into the gloom beyond. The king lay stretched out
upon a low and heavy bedstead, a purple coverlet over him, a pillow of
goat's hair for his bolster, and his arms relaxed at his sides. His
wasted brows were drawn with anguish, and his face wan. At sound of
David's entrance he turned his head, and his dark, brilliant,
fever-haunted eyes rested upon the clear young face and found peace
there. His heart went out to him; he smiled, and sighed.

David knelt before him, and with a gesture Saul bade him rise and play.
So night after night David shared Saul's solitude, broken only by the
occasional entry of one of his servants or physicians, until in the cold
small hours of morning he himself grew faint for want of sleep, his
plucking fingers loosened upon his harp-strings, and his head nodded
where he sat.

Then of a sudden Saul, muttering restlessly in his slumber, would awake,
start up from his bed, and stare in empty terror into the gloom, as if
in challenge of some appalling phantom before his very eyes. He would
thrust out his hand, seize upon the spear which stood with his armour at
his bedside, and sit trembling and aghast, or be filled with a blind and
speechless fury.

And David would speak and reassure him, 'Alas, my lord, be not dismayed;
it is I, David.'

He would touch the king's hand to prove that he was near and real, and
then would return to his playing. And Saul would be satisfied. He would
fix his eyes on him and watch him like a child, and drink in with his
music the vision of his face. Even in his darkest moments David had no
fear of the king. At that time there was only love between them.

The music he conjured from his harp-strings gave speech to thoughts and
feelings no words of his could tell. For alone with his sheep he had
been wont, though unwittingly, to let the peaceful scenes stretched out
before him well into his mind, to be in memory transmuted into music.
And for song he had taught himself melodies and laments so ancient that
even the children of the Hebrews had been lulled to sleep with them when
their fathers were in thrall to Pharaoh, and Goshen was their land of
bondage. So Saul's nightmare terrors and evil imaginations would ebb out
of his mind and pass away. He would sink back exhausted upon his bed,
and fall into a heavy sleep, his haggard face so cold and changeless
that it might be that of the dead, or hewn out of stone.

The days went by; his malady gradually left him, and only rest and quiet
were now needed to restore his wasted strength and make him whole.

And David returned home again to his father in Bethlehem, and to his
customary life in the fields with his sheep. All that had passed during
the dark hours of his sickness was blotted out of the memory of the
king.




DAVID AND GOLIATH


When again the Philistines gathered an army together for war, they
marched into the territory of Judah, and pitched their camp above the
Valley of Elah; and on the steeps of a mountain ridge west of Bethlehem.
And the host of Israel lay on the northern height of the valley, so that
the two armies were face to face, and in sight one of another; the
Philistines occupying the mountain on the one side, and Saul and his
army occupying the mountain on the other side, with the wide valley and
ravine between them. Through this ravine a pebbly brook coursed down
among its rocks from the mountains above.

Now in the ranks of the Philistines at this time was a giant of
prodigious strength and girth and stature, whose name was Goliath. He
was of the city of Gath, and his four sons who were as yet in their
childhood there, grew up to be giants like him; and one of them had six
fingers on either hand, and on either foot six toes. From the crown of
his head to the sole of his foot Goliath stood six cubits and a span.
And he was the champion of the army of the Philistines.

While the day of battle was still in the balance, and neither army
moved, morning and evening this Goliath would issue out from among the
tents of the camp of the Philistines, stride down into the valley and
there, in full view of both armies, would roar out his challenge,
defying all Israel. Unlike his fellows in the ranks who were dressed in
kilts with a pleated head-cap strapped under the chin, and who, apart
from spear and broadsword, carried only a two-handled shield or wore a
cuirass of leather, he was clad from head to foot in armour of brass. A
helmet of bronze was upon his head; a bronze coat of mail loose and
supple covered his body, the scales of it overlapping one above another
like the scales of a fish; and it weighed five thousand shekels of
brass. Greaves also of bronze covered his shins, and a javelin of bronze
hung between his shoulders. The haft of the spear he carried was like
the beam of a weaver's loom, and the pointed head of iron upon it
weighed six hundred shekels. And there went out before him a
crook-backed Philistine who in stature was a dwarf by comparison, and he
carried the giant's shield.

Now when this champion had bawled his challenge, and no man made answer,
he would begin to taunt and mock at the Israelites.

'Why, forsooth,' he would shout against them, 'have you come out in your
rabble against the Philistines, and why have you set yourselves in
battle array, seeing that the quarrel between us may be decided here and
now. Here stand I, a warrior of the princes of Philistia; and there sit
you, servants of Saul. If there be any man among you with the courage of
a sheep, drive him down to meet me, face to face. For I swear by Dagon
that if he prevail against me and kill me, then shall the Philistines
become the slaves of Israel, to hew them wood and draw them water. But
if, as I surely shall, I prevail against him, and fell him to the dust
with this spear in my hand, then shall Israel be the slaves of the
Philistines. Hai, now! Yet again this day I defy the armies of Israel.
If man among you there is none to meet me, call on Jehovah to smite me
with his thunderbolt! Peradventure he will answer!'

He clashed with his spear upon his breastplate, shouting derision. And
the troops of Israel who heard him were dismayed. There were many men
among them of tried valour and skill in battle, but not one ready to go
out against this giant in single combat, with even a hope of triumphing
over him. And defeat would bring disaster.

So morning and evening, Goliath would come striding down out of the camp
of the Philistines, yell aloud his challenge, and pour out his taunts
and insults. And the Philistines laughed to hear him.

Now of the eight sons of Jesse, who was himself too old for the
hardships of war, the three eldest, Eliab, Abinadab and Shammah, were
serving in the ranks of the army under Saul. But David, the youngest,
was with his father in Bethlehem, keeping his sheep.

When one evening he returned home, his father bade him set out on the
morrow for the camp of the army of Israel to see how his brothers fared.

'And take with thee,' he said, 'a bushel of this parched corn, and these
ten loaves and these ten cheeses; and run to the camp and bring me news,
for it is many days since we had word of them.'

The parched or roasted corn and the flat round loaves were for David's
brothers, and the curd cheeses were for a present to the captain in
command of their thousand. For Saul and they themselves and all the men
of Israel were above the valley of Elah, confronting the Philistines.

Next morning, then, as soon as the first flush of dawn appeared in the
sky, David rose up and having left his sheep in charge of a herdsman,
set out for the camp, a journey of twelve miles. He went rejoicing on
his way. After the brief time he had spent in the service of the king,
he had fretted at remaining at home with his father, keeping his sheep.
He pined to be with his brothers, fighting for Israel.

When he came to the hills on which Saul's army was intrenched, the whole
camp was astir. For army against army, Israel and the Philistines were
ready and in array. He heard that battle might be joined that very
morning. On fire with eagerness to see what was afoot, David gave all
that he had brought with him into the hands of the keeper who had charge
of the baggage, and ran off with all speed to seek out his brothers.
Their quarters were in the forefront of the camp. There he found them
and saluted them. 'Peace be with you!' he said. And he gave them his
father's message, and talked with them there.

And as he talked with them, his eyes ranged eagerly over the camp of the
Philistines on the heights above and beyond the valley. Their
bright-dyed tents in the crystal clear air shone in their colours in the
sun. He could even count their chariots with their horses and
charioteers. And the mountain-side was thick with men moving--like an
ant-hill in midsummer, when its warriors prepare to sally out to attack
a neighbouring tribe.

Curious and intent, he watched every movement, and at the same time
questioned his brothers of what he saw, the numbers, the regiments, the
commanders, the chances of the battle.

The day was yet early, and even as he watched, there showed a stir on
the outskirts of the enemy's camp, and there issued out of it from among
the host of the Philistines, smalled in the distance and alone but for
his armour-bearer, the giant, Goliath.

With slow and ponderous tread he advanced down the slope into the valley
until he was a little beyond midway between the two camps, and a rabble
of his comrades followed after him, though afar off.

He came to a standstill, and brandishing his bronze-tipped spear on
high, he cried out as he had cried before, and roared out his challenge
against Israel. The hoarse echoes of his voice rang among the hills; the
sun beat down upon the burnished fish-scales of his armour, and gleamed
upon his helm. David could well-nigh see the glittering of his eyes in
his great face.

At sight of him he had fallen silent. He stood stock-still like an image
carved out of wood, his gaze fixed on Goliath, his heart wildly beating,
while his ears drank in the vile and boastful words he uttered. At sound
of his mighty voice the Israelitish troops who had been filling their
water-pots at the streamside and those who were on the fringes of the
camp, fled back before him, for they were sore afraid. When David saw
it, a frown gathered on his brow. He turned to those who stood near.

'Who is this accursed Philistine?' he asked them. 'And how comes it that
he dare insult and defy the armies of the living God? What man has been
chosen to go out to meet him, and what shall be done to him when he hath
laid him low, and washed away this shame and reproach against Israel?'

The soldiers who stood by told David that no man had yet been chosen or
had essayed to go out to meet the giant, but that any who accepted his
challenge and met him face to face and killed him would not only be
enriched with great riches, but that the king himself would give him his
own daughter in marriage, and from that day onward his father's whole
house, whosoever he might be, would be made free men in Israel. And
David hearkened, pondering what they said.

But when his eldest brother, Eliab, heard him talking, he turned on him
fiercely, hot with anger. He remembered the day when the great prophet
Samuel had come to Bethlehem and he himself had been set aside, and this
stripling, the youngest of them all, had been blessed by the prophet and
anointed with the holy oil. And he had been filled with envy when he
heard that David had been summoned to the court by the king.

'Who bade thee come idling here,' he said, 'leaving thy poor little
flock of sheep with some herd-boy in the wilds? Oh, but I know thee of
old, thy pride and presumption and the naughtiness of thy heart. Thou
art puffed up with self-will, and it is not to bring a message from our
father that thou hast come into the camp, but to see the fighting.'

But David answered him, 'What is it I have done amiss? I did but ask a
question, and thou canst not deny it is one that needs an answer.'

He turned away from his brother, and continued to question those who
stood near, and one and all gave him the answer that had been given him
already.

'But look now,' he adjured them earnestly, 'this boaster, monster though
he be, is but a man. Weighed down with brass he moves as clumsily as an
ox, and his face at least is naked. Why is he allowed to live, defying
Jehovah?'

Seeing at length, though he was still little more than a boy, that
David's scorn of the champion of the Philistines and his shame for
Israel sprang from the courage of his very soul, these men reported the
matter to their captain, who himself questioned David, and brought him
to the tent of the king.

David stood beside Saul's standard while the captain went within. Then
the captain led him into the tent where Saul sat, with Abner and his
chief officers in attendance upon him; and David stood before the king.
He bowed himself before Saul, and being questioned, said simply what was
in his mind. He told the king why he had come into the camp, and how he
had chanced to hear the champion of the Philistines shout his challenge
against Israel, and that he had spoken only as his own soul had
declared.

'Why,' he said, 'should any heart in Israel be faint with fear because
of this man, this enemy of the Lord? Thy servant would himself go out
and fight with the Philistine.'

The king looked on him and marvelled, questioning within himself where
he had seen his face before. But there came back no clear remembrance of
the shepherd-boy who had sat beside him as he lay sick, and had solaced
the dread and horror in his mind with the music of his harp.

'Of a truth,' he said, 'there is no doubt of thy valour. But what hope
hast thou of prevailing against him? Thou art but a youth and hast had
no experience in arms, while this Goliath hath been a man of war from
the day when he was first able to carry a spear. He would disdain thee,
my son, and snap thee in twain betwixt his fingers.'

But David pleaded with the king. He said how in days gone by, when he
had sat keeping his father's sheep alone in the wild, at one time a bear
and at another a young lion had sprung out from its ambush in the rocks
and thickets near by, and had seized and carried off a lamb from his
flock.

'So I went out after him,' he said, 'and chased him, and snatched his
prey from out of his mouth. And when, raging with fury, he sprang upon
me, his paws upon my shoulders, I caught him, like this, by the beard
upon his chin, and with my club smote and slew him at a blow. So indeed,
my lord, thy servant killed both the lion and the bear, and so will I do
unto this accursed Philistine, for I vow, my lord, I have no fear of
him, seeing that he hath defied the armies of the living God, and is
himself no better than a ravening beast. The Lord God who delivered me
from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will deliver me from
this Philistine also!'

Watching David close as he stood before him, and marking how his face
was lit up and transfigured with the faith and courage of the spirit
within him, Saul consented at length to let him go. He glanced at Abner;
there was a strange influence in this young man that swept all doubts
aside and prevailed over his own ripe judgment.

'Go,' he said, 'and may the Lord be with thee.'

Then he bade his servants bring him his coat of mail and his helmet of
bronze. 'Thou shalt not venture out unarmed,' he said.

There in the king's tent David put on Saul's coat of mail, and his
helmet on his head, and girded Saul's sword about the armour as he
stood. And the king with his own hand aided him. But Saul was a man of a
mighty stature; and thus armed, David essayed in vain to take a pace or
two, hoping that he might become accustomed to the burden, for he had
never worn the like before. But he could not. He turned with a sigh to
the king, and entreated that the armour should be put off him.

He said to the king: 'It was in truth a grace and kindness that my lord
should give me his armour, but I cannot wear it, for I am not used to
it. Be it the king's will that I go to meet Goliath as I am.'

So he went out of Saul's tent with nothing in his hand but his
shepherd's staff or club and his sling. When he had gone, Saul turned to
Abner, the commander-in-chief of his armies, who had watched all that
had passed. He asked him, 'Abner, whose son is this youth?'

And Abner said: 'As thy soul liveth, O king, I cannot tell.'

And Saul bade him make inquiry and discover from whence he came. Then
the king and Abner with their officers followed after David to see what
would come of his ordeal.

And David, having left the king, made his way back between the
clustering tents until he had come out beyond the fringes of the camp.
As he continued on his way down into the valley he came to the brook of
water that flowed between the rocks in the ravine, warbling amid its
stones, and gleaming in its blue in the sunbeams. It was as though he
moved in a dream, but a dream marvellously clear, and with all his
senses alert. He stooped and chose from out of the brook's cold waters
five of the smoothest pebbles on its bed, and in so doing saw the image
of his own face reflected there, and it was as though he had never seen
its like before. He put the pebbles into the scrip or shepherd's bag he
carried, then rose and went on his way.

At the shout that had gone up from the men of Israel at sight of him,
the giant who had turned back towards the Philistine camp wheeled and
looked about, and knitting his shag eyebrows in the glare of the sun,
fixed his stare on David as he rose from the brook-side and, leaping
from boulder to boulder, came on down into the valley. Whereat the
champion called back a word over his shoulder to his shield-bearer, and
advanced to meet him.

And David, his sling in his hand, the sling with which he was wont to
drive off the smaller beasts that pestered his flocks, drew near. The
men of Israel fell silent, and the armies, clustered black on either
height, watched. In the hush of the valley the chirr of the grasshoppers
in the heat of the morning, and the song of the brook-water brawling in
its rocky channel, were the only sounds to be heard.

Astounded and rejoiced that after these many fruitless days there had at
last come forth a man of Israel valiant enough to take up his challenge,
Goliath snatched his shield from the Philistine who carried it, and
stood in wait.

But when he could see his foe clearly and what manner of champion this
was, little more than a lad, fair and tanned with the sun, in shepherd's
clothes and unarmed, his voice pealed out in mocking laughter, and he
cursed him by his gods.

'Am I a carrion dog,' he cried, 'that thou comest out against me with
nought but a staff in thy hand? By the gods of my fathers, do but come a
little closer, and I will strip the flesh from off thy body and give it
to the fowls of the air, and thy bones to the wild beasts to mumble.'

Even as he spoke there showed black specks in the height of the sky
above the mountain-tops, and vulture and kite came circling overhead
against the blue above the valley.

Warily David watched the Philistine, and he stepped alertly pace with
his pace and well beyond javelin cast, and circled about him so that at
last he should bring the giant face to face with him against the dazzle
and blaze of the sun. And as he did so, he made answer to Goliath,
calling clearly across in the stillness between them.

'Thou hast come out against me, armed with sword and spear and javelin,'
he cried. 'A brazen shield is on thine arm, and thou art hung head to
foot with armour of brass. But if this be all thy strength, beware of
it! For I am come out against thee in the name of the Lord of Hosts, the
God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast insulted and defied, and
this day the Lord will deliver thee into my hand. And I will smite thee
and take thy head from off thy shoulders, and not only thy carcass but
the carcasses of the host of the Philistines shall be given this day to
the fowls of the air and the beasts of the wild. That all the earth may
know there is a God in Israel, and that his salvation is not in sword
and spear, nor his battle to the strong, but that he giveth victory
according as he decree.'

In rage and fury at these words, Goliath raised himself, towering in his
might, his blood roaring in his ears, and with lifted spear strode in to
smite his enemy down, and his armour clanged as he trod.

And David drew back lightly from before him. He watched every transient
look upon the great flushed bony countenance beneath the crested helmet,
now full in the glare of noonday. And softly as he sped on, he drew from
out of his scrip one after another of the pebbles he had chosen from the
brook and poised it in his sling. His first stone rang out sharp upon
the champion's breastplate; and the next numbed the hand that held his
spear; for David could sling a stone at a hair-breadth, and not miss.

Then of a sudden he turned swiftly, and with the speed of an angel sent
from God, ran in towards the giant, whirling his sling above his head as
he did so, his gaze fixed gravely on the target of his face. And as he
looked, Goliath's heart fainted within him and he was cold as a stone.
He stood bemused. And David lifted his thumb, set free the stone, and
slang it straight at its mark. It whistled through the air, and smote
the Philistine in the middle of his forehead, clean between his eyes.
The stone sank down into his forehead, and, without a groan, the giant
fell stunned upon his face upon the ground. The noise of his fall was
like the clashing of innumerable cymbals, and the dust above his body
rose over him in a cloud.

Before he could stir from the swoon in which he lay, David ran in, and
stood over him. And with his two hands he drew the giant's bronze
two-bladed sword from out of its sheath, wheeled it with all his might
above his shoulders and at a blow smote off Goliath's head.

Then he snatched up the helmless matted head and held it high aloft
before all Israel. And there went up a cry.

When the Philistines, who had been watching the combat from the heights
above, saw that their champion had been defeated and lay prone, dead,
and headless upon the ground, they fled in terror back towards their
camp. A wild clamour arose as the news of the champion's downfall sped
on from mouth to mouth; cries of astonishment and fear.

Then sounded the trumpets in the camp of Israel. The Lord had wrought a
great salvation, and the men of Israel and the men of Judah, shouting
their war cry, swept down into the valley and up the slopes beyond, and
stormed the heights of Shochoh. Rank on rank they pressed forward,
beating down all resistance, and the Philistine army broke and fled.
Westward and north-westward the Israelites pursued them through the
valleys and ravines until they came out on to the plain and even to the
walls of Ekron and of Gath. Throughout the whole way to Shaaraim the
ground was strown with their dead and wounded, to the very gates of the
two cities.

Thence they turned back. And when they had come from chasing after the
Philistines, they plundered their tents, a rich booty. Laden with their
spoil, they returned to their own camp. And the armour of Goliath was
stripped from off his body, and with his spear, his javelin and his
sword, was afterwards laid up as a trophy in Jerusalem.

When David himself returned from the pursuit of the Philistines he was
brought to Abner, and Abner himself took him into the presence of Saul.
And Jonathan was with his father the king. David came in and stood
before them, the head of the Philistine in his hand. Saul looked from
the one face, wan and swarthy and dark and shut by death, to the other,
bright with life and aware, and he marvelled.

He asked David whose son he was, and many another question. David told
him that he was the son of Jesse of Bethlehem. And there returned into
Saul's mind, as though it were a dream that had faded out after waking,
the memory of the hours when he had lain terrified and distraught in the
gloom of his tent, and his only solace had been the music of David's
harp-strings.

He said nothing of it, but talked long and earnestly with him, and
questioned him. And David answered the king simply and openly, while
Jonathan who had been absent from his father during his sickness, stood
near at hand, his eyes fixed on David's face, as he mutely drank in
every word he uttered. His heart welled over with wonder at his
simplicity and fearlessness, and his soul went out to David. He loved
him--as do all men who love--at first sight. And he continued to love
him, friend with friend, until the last hour of his life.

So great was the love of Jonathan for David that he made a covenant of
brotherhood with him, a covenant that in Israel knitted two friends
together in mind and spirit closer even than if they had been sons of
the same mother.

'Whatsoever thy soul desireth, that will I indeed do for thee,' he said.
And in token of it he stripped himself of the cloak which he wore, a
cloak befitting the son of a king, and he gave it to David, and his
armour also, even to his sword and his bow. And he girdled him with his
girdle.

From that day forward Saul took David into his service and made him his
armour-bearer, and David returned no more to the house of his father.

When the king, with his captains and his army, laden with the spoil they
had taken from the Philistines, returned in triumph from their camp
above the valley of Elah and marched to Gibeah, a vast concourse of
people gathered together to watch them pass.

And the women and maidens of Israel, clad in their brightest colours,
scarlet and blue and purple, came out singing and dancing from all the
towns and villages on their way to meet and greet King Saul, and to give
him welcome.

To the clash of timbrel and of cymbal and the music of divers
instruments they came dancing in two companies, scattering garlands
before the king, singing his praises; and as the one company chanted
their song of victory, so the other answered them again, shrill and wild
and sweet; and the refrain of their song was:

_'Saul hath slain his thousands, but David hath slain his tens of
thousands.'_

And Saul's heart sank within him. The words displeased him, and he
thought, 'To David they have given ten times the praise that they have
given to me. What more is wanting to his glory than the kingdom itself?'

From that day forward he was filled with envy of David and looked at him
askance. Nevertheless, to the joy and satisfaction of the people and of
his own officers, Saul made him the captain of a thousand.

And David was renowned and beloved throughout Israel, for he bore
himself wisely in all his ways, and the Lord was with him.




[End of _Stories from the Bible_ by Walter de la Mare]
