"Surely an humble husbandman that serveth God is better than a proud philosopher who, neglecting himself, is occupied in studying the course of the heavens."—Thomas á Kempis.
"Surely an humble husbandman that serveth God is better than a proud philosopher who, neglecting himself, is occupied in studying the course of the heavens."—Thomas á Kempis.
For many weeks, even months, after this, Yusuf's life, to one who knew not the workings of his mind, seemed colorless, and filled with a monotonous round of never-varying occupation. Yet in those few weeks he lived more than in all his life before. Life is not made up of either years or actions—the development of thought and character is the important thing; and in this period of apparent waiting, Yusuf grew and developed in the light of his new understanding.
He read and thought and studied, and yet found time for paying some attention to outer affairs. In Persia he had amassed a considerable fortune, which he had conveyed to Mecca in the form of jewels sewn into his belt and into the seams of his garments, hence he was abundantly able to pay his way, and to expend something in charity; and between his and Amzi's generosity the family of Nathan lacked nothing.
Yusuf obtained possession of parts of the Scriptures, written on parchment, and spent every morning in their perusal, ever finding this period a precious feast full of comforting assurances, and hope-inspiring promises. He never forgot to pray for Amzi, to whom he often read and expounded passages of Scripture, without being able to notice any apparent effect of his teaching.
It troubled him much that Amzi lent such a willing ear to Mohammed, and to the few fanatics among the Hanifs who had now professed their belief in this self-proclaimed prophet of Allah. It seemed marvelous that a man of Amzi's wisdom and learning should be so carried away by such a flimsy doctrine as that which Mohammed now began to proclaim. Amzi appeared to have fallen under the spell which Mohammed seemed to cast over many of those with whom he came in contact; and, though he acknowledged nobelief in the so-called prophet, neither did he profess disbelief in him.
Yusuf's happiest hours were those spent in the little Jewish Christian church, a poor, uncomfortable building, where an earnest handful of Jews, who were nevertheless firm believers in the divinity of Christ, met, often in secret, always in fear of the derisive Arabs, for prayer and study of the Gospel. Among these, the wife of Nathan was never absent.
Yusuf sought untiringly to solve the mystery of the gold cup. Circumstantial evidence was certainly against Nathan. Awad, a rich merchant of Mecca, had placed the cup near a window in his house, and had forgotten to remove it ere retiring for the night. A short time before dawn he had heard a noise and risen to see what it was. He had gone outside just in time to see a figure passing hurriedly across a small field near his house. Even then he had not thought of the cup. But in the morning it was missed, and tracks were followed from the window as far as the ruined house to which Nathan's family had gone in their poverty. The house was searched, and the cup was found hidden in a heap of rubbish in an unused apartment.
Nathan had just returned with little save the clothes he wore; it was well known that his wife and children had been verging on starvation, and the public, ever ready to judge, formed its own conclusion, and turned with Nemesis eye upon the poor Jew.
No clue whatever remained, except a small carnelian, which Yusuf found afterwards upon the floor, and which he took possession of at once. For hours he would wander about, hoping to find some trace of the robber, who, he firmly believed, had fancied himself followed by Awad, and had hurriedly secreted the cup, trusting to return for it later, and to make his escape in the meantime.
All this, however, did not help poor Nathan, who, chained and fettered, languished in a close, poorly-ventilated cell, with little hope of deliverance. Yusuf knew the rancor of the Meccans against the Jews, and somewhat feared the result, yet he did not give up hope.
"We are praying for him," Nathan's wife would say. "Nathan and Yusuf are praying too, and we know that whatever happens must be best, since God has willed it so for us."
Little Manasseh chafed more than anyone at the long suspense. One day he said:
"Mother, my name means blackness, sorrow, or something like that, does it not? Why did you call me Manasseh? Was it to be an omen of my life?"
"Forbid that it should!" the mother exclaimed, passing her hand lovingly through his waving hair. "It must have been because of your curls, black as a raven's wing. Sorrow will not be always. Joy may come soon; but if not, 'at eventide it shall be light.'"
"Does that mean in heaven?" he asked.
"He has prepared for us a mansion in the heavens, an house not made with hands. 'There shall be no night there,' and 'sorrow and sighing shall flee away,'" said the mother with a far-away look in her eyes.
"But it seems so long to wait, mother," said the boy impatiently.
"Yet heaven is not far away, Manasseh," she returned, quickly. "Heaven is wherever God is. And have we not him with us always? 'In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.' Never forget that, Manasseh."
"Well, I wish we were a little happier now," he would say; and then, to divert the boy's attention from his present troubles, his mother would tell him about her happy home in Palestine, where she and her little sister, Lois, had watched their sheep on the green hillsides, and woven chains of flowers to put about the neck of their pet lamb; of how they grew up, and Lois married the Bedouin Musa, and had gone far away.
Thus far, Yusuf knew nothing of this connection of Nathan's family with his Bedouin friends. It was yet to prove another link in the chain which was binding him so closely to this godly family. His many occupations, and the feeling which impelled him atevery spare moment to seek for some clue which would lead to Nathan's liberation, left him little time for conversation with them for the present, except to see that their wants were supplied.
Then, too, he was troubled about Amzi, and somewhat anxious about the result of Mohammed's proclamations, which were now beginning to be noised abroad. From holding meetings in caves and private houses, the "prophet" had begun to preach on the streets, and from the top of the little eminence Safa, near the foot of Abu Kubays.
Many of the people of Mecca held him up to ridicule, and treated his declarations with derisive contempt. Among his strongest opponents were his own kindred, the Koreish, of the line of Haschem and of the rival line of Abd Schems. The head of the latter tribe, Abu Sofian, Mohammed's uncle, was especially bitter. He was a formidable foe, as he lived in the highlands, his castles being built on precipitous rocks, and manned by a set of wild and savage Arabs.
Yet Mohammed went on, neither daunted by fear nor discouraged by sarcasm. The number of his followers steadily increased; his first converts, Ali, his cousin, and Zeid, his faithful servant, being quickly joined by many others.
Mohammed now boldly proclaimed the message delivered to him in the cave of Hira the Koran. He declared that the law of Moses had given way to the Gospel, and that the Gospel was now to give way to the Koran; that the Savior was a great prophet, but was not divine; and that he, Mohammed, was to be the last and greatest of all the prophets.
Such assertions were usually received with shouts of derision; and yet, when Mohammed eloquently upheld fairness and sincerity in all public and private dealings, and urged the giving of alms, and the living of a pure and humble life, there were those who, like Amzi, felt that there was something worthy of admiration in the new prophet's religion; and his very firmness and sincerity, even when spat upon, and covered with mud thrown upon him as he prayed in the Caaba, won for him friends.
The opposition of his uncles, Abu Lahab and Abu Sofian, was, however, carried on with the greatest rancor; and at last a decree was issued by Abu Sofian forbidding the tribe of the Koreish from having any intercourse whatever with Mohammed. This decree was written on parchment, and hung up in the Caaba, and Mohammed was ultimately forced to flee from the city. He and his disciples went for refuge to the ravine of Abu Taleb, at some distance from Mecca. Here they would have suffered great want, had it not been for the kindness of Amzi, who managed to send them food in secret.
But the prophet's zeal never flagged. When the Ramadhan again came round, and it was safe to venture from his temporary retreat, he came boldly into the city, preached again from the hill Safa, and proclaimed his new revelations, praying for the people, and ending every prayer with the declaration now universal throughout the Moslem world,—
"God! There is no God but he, the ever-living! He sleepeth not, neither doth he slumber! To him belong the heavens and the earth, and all that they contain. Who shall intercede with him unless by his permission? His sway extendeth over the heavens and the earth, and to sustain them both is no burthen to him. He is the High, the Mighty!"
The sublimity of this eulogy of the Most High may be readily traced to the psalms, particularly to that grandest of all songs, the one hundred and fourth psalm, which has been said to be remarkable in that it embraces the whole cosmos. And, in fact, the whole trend of the Koran may be traced to a study of the Bible, particularly to the New Testament, with occasional digressions into the Mishnu, and the Talmud of the Hebrews.
"Feed the hungry! Visit the sick! Bow not to idols! Pray constantly, and direct thy prayers immediately to the Deity!" These were the constant exhortations of the prophet during these first days of his ministry—exhortations which demand the admiration of all who consider the grossness and idolatry of the age in which he lived. Had he never gone further, succeeding ages might have been tempted to pardon his hallucinations. At the time, doctrines which savored of so much magnanimity, and which were immeasurably in advance of the mockery of religion that had so long held sway among the majority of the Arabs, at once commended themselves to many. The effect of the new teaching was enhanced by the burning enthusiasm and powerful oratory of Mohammed, who was not ignorant of the effect of eloquent delivery and glowing language on a people ever passionate and keenly susceptible to the influence of a strong and vivid presentation.
Ridicule and persecution ceased for a time, and at last, when the decree was removed, Mohammed and his followers returned in triumph to Mecca.
Once again he was obliged to fly for his life. Accompanied by Zeid, he went to Tayf, and there spent a month in its perfumed vales, wandering by cooling streams, meditating beneath the waving fronds of the palm-trees, or resting in cool gardens, lulled by the rustling leaves of the nebeck (the lotus-tree), and inhaling the fresh perfume of peach and apple blooms.
But the inhabitants of Tayf grew hostile, and the prophet again set out on foot for Mecca. He sat down to rest in an orchard. There he dreamed that a host of genii waited before him, begging him to teach them El Islam.
In the night[8]he arose and proceeded, with renewed courage, on his journey. On the way he fell in with some pilgrims from Yathrib, or Medina, and to them he unfolded his revelations. They listened spell-bound as he preached from Al Akaba, and besought him that he would come or would send disciples with them to their northern town. Accordingly, Mohammed chose several converts to accompany them upon this first mission, and a time was set for their going.
On the evening preceding this appointed time, Yusuf sat in a hanging balcony of Amzi's house. The pink flush of the setting sun was over the sky; the murmur of the city arose with a subdued hum—"the city's stilly sound"; a parchment containing a part of the Scriptures was on the priest's knee, but he stopped reading and gave himself up to meditation, wondering deeply at the strange course that events were taking, and surmising vaguely the probable result of the revolution that seemed impending.
His thoughts turned to Amzi, who, as yet, closed his ears to the Gospel tidings which were proving such a comfort and joy to the priest.
A step sounded behind him. It was Amzi himself, attired in traveling garb, and with his camel-stick already in his hand.
"What now, friend Yusuf? Dreaming still?" he said. "Will you not say farewell to your friend?"
"What! Are you going on a journey? Pray, where goes Amzi on such short notice?"
"Ah," smiled Amzi, "I almost fear to tell my Persian proselyte, lest the vials of his wrath be poured on mydefencelessand submissive head. To make a long story short, I go with the disciples of Mohammed to Medina."
"As Mohammed's disciple? Amzi, has it come to this!" exclaimed the priest.
"Chain your choler, my friend," laughed the other. "I merely go to observe the outcome of this movement in the town of the North. Besides, the heat of Mecca in this season oppresses me, and I long for the cool breezes of Medina. Yusuf, I shall have rare letters to write you, for I feel that there will be a mighty movement in favor of Mohammed there."
"You begin to believe in him, Amzi!" said Yusuf in tones of deepest concern.
"His doctrines suit me, as containing many noble precepts. His proclamations are moving the town in such a way as was never known heretofore."
"Consider the movement caused by the teaching of Christ when he was on earth!"cried Yusuf. "Dare you compare this petty tempest with that?"
"Yet Christ's very words have been here where all might read them, for long enough. Why have they not drawn the attention of, and, if divine, why have they not shown their power among, our citizens?"
"Because ye have eyes that see not, and ears that hear not!" cried the priest impetuously. "Can you not see that the doctrines of the Scriptures are just those which Mohammed proclaims? He seizes upon them, he gives them as his own, because he knows they are good, yet he commits the sacrilege of posing as a divine agent! Good cannot come out of this except in so far as a few precepts of the Gospel, all plagiarized as they are, exert their influence upon the lives of people."
Amzi looked inconvincible. "I grant the excellence of Gospel teaching," he said, "but your conception of God's love I cannot seem to feel, often as you have explained it to me. Mohammed's revelations appear plausible. Yet, look not so doleful, brother. Amzi has not become a Mohammedan. He is still ready to believe as soon as he can see."
"Yes, yes; like Thomas, you must see and feel ere you will believe. God grant that the seeing and feeling may not come too late!"
Amzi smiled, and passed his arm affectionately about the priest's shoulder. "What a thorn in the flesh to you is Amzi the benevolent," he said, kindly. "Notwithstanding, give me your blessing, priest. Give me credit for being, at least, honest, and bid me good speed before I go."
"Heaven forbid that aught but blessing from Yusuf should ever follow Amzi!" returned the other, warmly. "May heaven keep and direct you, my friend, my brother!"
The friends embraced, according to the custom of the land, and separated; Amzi to join the half-naked pilgrims, who had not yet donned their traveling-robes, Yusuf to lift his heart to Heaven, as he now did in every circumstance. In this silent talk to God he received comfort, and his heart was filled with hope for Amzi.
Even this journey, which seemed so inauspicious, might, he thought, be but the beginning of a happy end. He had learned that there are no trifles in life; that no event is so insignificant that God may not make use of it. He felt that Amzi was not utterly indifferent to the influence of divine power, so he waited in patience.
"The winds, as at their hour of birth,Leaning upon the ridged sea,Breathed low around the rolling earthWith mellow preludes, 'We are free.'"
"The winds, as at their hour of birth,Leaning upon the ridged sea,Breathed low around the rolling earthWith mellow preludes, 'We are free.'"
—Tennyson.
During all this time, there was no news of release for poor Nathan. In his close cell, ventilated by one little window, and, in the fetid odor of its air, he pined away. A low fever had rendered him exceedingly weak; he could not eat the wretched food of the prison; his face grew haggard, and his bones shone through the flesh with almost skeleton-like distinctness. Yet no murmur passed his lips.
From his window, set high in the wall, he could see the sun as it rose over Abu Kubays; he could catch the occasional glint of a bright wing as a dove or a swallow flitted past beneath the white sky; and he said, "God is still good, blessed be his name!"
Yet the grief of being separated from his loved ones, and the uncertainty of their welfare, preyed upon his mind, almost shaking the trust which had upheld him so long. It was a time of trial for poor Nathan, yet his faith came forth from the trial untarnished.
Yusuf sought in vain to gain admission to the poor prisoner: the utmost that he could accomplish was to pay the attendant forcarrying one brief message to him, assuring him that his wife and children were well, and cared for.
The mystery of the gold cup was still unsolved. One day, however, when going down one of the busiest streets, Yusuf saw, at some distance, a little man walking along with a pack on his back. The peculiar hopping motion of his gait proclaimed him at once to be Abraham, the little Jew.
"The very man!" thought Yusuf. "If any one between Syria and Yemen can ferret out a mystery, it is Abraham the peddler. If I can once set him in earnest upon the track, deliverance may be speedy for poor Nathan."
The peddler was walking very rapidly, but Yusuf strode after him, now losing sight of him in the crowd, now catching a glimpse of his little bobbing figure, until, out of breath, he finally reached him and caught his arm.
The Jew started in surprise. "Defend us, friend!" he exclaimed. "You come on a man like the poison-wind, as quickly if not as deadly. So you are still in Mecca! What are you doing now?"
He was as inquisitive as ever, but Yusuf did not resent the trait in him now.
"I am on important business just at present, my friend," he said, in his kindliest tone, "on business in which I am sure Abraham the Jew can help me, better than any other man in Mecca."
"Ha!" exclaimed the peddler, "and what may that be?"
"Can you keep a still tongue when it is necessary, Jew?"
The peddler placed his fingers on his lips, rolled up his eyes, and nodded assent.
"Then come with me to the house of Amzi the benevolent,—my Meccan home,—and I shall explain."
When seated comfortably on divans in the coolest part of the house, Yusuf told the story of the gold cup, and intimated that Abraham's wandering life and the numberless throngs of people with whom his trade threw him in contact, gave him facilities, impossible to others, of doing a little detective work in a quiet way.
The Jew listened, silent and motionless, with his eyes fixed on a lotus-bud carved on the cornice. Only once did he turn and fix his little round eyes sharply on the priest's face.
"There is just one more thing—" continued Yusuf, then he stopped. He was about to tell of the little carnelian stone, when his eye fell upon one of the numerous rings upon the Jew's fat fingers. There, in the center of it, was a small cavity from which, apparently, a jewel of some sort had fallen from its setting.
Yusuf almost sprang to his feet in the excitement of the discovery.
"Well?" asked the Jew, noting the pause.
"I will tell you later," said Yusuf. "For the present—have some dates, will you not?"
A servant entered with a tray on which were fruits and small cakes.
The peddler besought Yusuf, for friendship's sake, to eat with him; but the Persian made a gesture of disgust.
"I have already eaten," he said. "Overeating in Mecca in the hot season is not wise. Abraham, do you always wear so many rings on your fingers?"
"Oh, no," returned the Jew, "sometimes I wear them; sometimes I carry them for months in my belt. This"—pointing to a huge band of ancient workmanship—"is the most curious one of the lot. I got it for carrying a bundle of manuscript from a man at Oman to your friend Amzi, here. It seems that Amzi had once lived with him at Oman, but the man—I forget his name—went inland to Teheran, or some other place in Persia, and Amzi, after traveling about for two or three years, settled in Mecca. This one"—and he pointed out the ring on which Yusuf's eyes were fixed—"is the most expensive of the lot, but a stone fell out of it once when I was carrying it in my belt."
"Did you not look in your belt for it?"
"No use; it had worked out between the stitches. I had no idea where I lost it."
"Have you had that ring long?"
"Long! Why, that ring has not been off my person for fifteen years."
"I suppose you would not sell it?"
The peddler shrugged his shoulders, and looked up with a shrewd glance.
"That depends on how much money it would bring."
"I have little idea of the value of such rings," said the Persian, "but I have a friend who, I am convinced, would appreciate that one. I should like to present it to him. Will you take this for it?"
He drew forth a coin worth three times the value of the ring. The peddler immediately closed the bargain and handed the ring over, then devoted his attention again to the table.
The priest went to the window. He drew the little stone from his bosom and slipped it into the cavity. It fitted exactly. He then walked back to the table, and held it before the astonished Jew.
"How now, Jew?" he said with a smile. "Saw you such a gem before?"
"My very own carnelian!" exclaimed the peddler. "Where did you find it?"
"You are sure it is yours?"
"Sure! On my oath, it is mine. There is not another such stone in Arabia, with that streak across the top."
The priest laid his hand on the Jew's shoulder and bent close to him. "That stone," he said, "was found in the house of Nathan the Jew, beside the stolen cup. How came it there?"
The little Jew turned pale. His guilt showed in his face. He knew that he was undone.
With a quick, serpent-like movement, he attempted to escape, but the priest's grasp was firm as a vise.
"No, peddler!" he said, "you may go, but it must be with me. To the magistrate you must go, and that right speedily. The innocent must no longer suffer in your rightful place. Come, Aza,"—to an attendant who had been in the room—"your tongue may be needed to supplement mine."
The Jew's little eyes rolled around restlessly. He was a thorough coward, and his teeth chattered with fear as he was half-dragged into the blinding glare of the street, and down the long, crooked way, with a crowd of beggars and saucy boys following in the wake of the trio. Once or twice again he made a quick and sudden movement to elude the grasp of his captors, but the priest's grip was firm and his muscle like steel. Justice was in Yusuf's heart, and his anxiety to procure Nathan's release was so great that he strode on, almost forgetting the poor little Jew, who was obliged to keep up a constant hobbling run to save himself from being dragged to the ground.
In the hall of justice the usual amount of questioning went on, but the evidence afforded by the ring was so conclusive that the order for Nathan's release and the peddler's imprisonment was soon given.
Yusuf accompanied the guards to Nathan's cell. The poor prisoner was sitting on the bare clay with his head buried on his knee. An unusual clamor sounded outside of the door. The heavy bolt was withdrawn, and the next moment Yusuf rushed in, crying, "Free, Nathan, free!"
Nathan fell on the other's bosom. The sudden joy was too much for him, and he could only lie, like a little child, sobbing on the breast of the stalwart priest.
The warden rattled the bolts impatiently. "Come, there's room outside!" he said. "I have not time to stand here all day!"
"Pardon us," said the priest, gently. "We go; yet, warden, ere we depart, may I ask you to deal leniently with that poor wretch?" and he pointed to the Jew, who was now crouched shivering in his chains.
"We but do as we are ordered," returned the warden unfeelingly. "The officers will be here presently with the scourge; we can not prevent that."
The peddler winced, and Nathan raised a face full of pity. "Warden," he said, "if you have a drop of mercy in your heart, if you hope for mercy for yourself, treat him as a man. Let him not die for want of a pittance of water."
He turned the sleeve of his loose garment back to expose the emaciated arm with the bones showing through the loose skin. "There," he said, "let that touch your heart, if heart you have, and spare him. Poor Abraham!"—turning to the peddler—"did I not see you here, the joy of my release would be unspeakable."
But Abraham only turned to bestow a look of hate and malice upon the priest.
Then Yusuf and Nathan passed out into the pure, fresh air, now growing cool with the approach of evening. Never did air seem so pure and sweet; never did swallows twitter so gladly; never did the peak of Abu Kubays shine so gloriously in the sun; never did the voices of people sound so joyous or their faces beam so brightly.
"Come," said Nathan, "to my wife and children, that we may all return thanks together. Verily 'Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.' 'Blessed be God, which hath not turned away my prayer, nor his mercy from me.' 'I had fainted unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.' 'My flesh faileth, but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion forever.'"
So, uttering exclamations from the pages of Scripture, did the devout Jew pass onward to his home, which was once more filled with "joy and gladness, thanksgiving and the voice of melody." Before leaving, Yusuf presented him with the ring containing the little stone, as a memento of his deliverance.
And Abraham? He received the full weight of the scourge; and may we be pardoned in anticipating, and say that for two days he lay nursing his wrath and his wounds; but, on the third day after his imprisonment, his agility suddenly returned. He managed in some inexplicable way known only to himself to work free of his fetters, and when the keeper came with food in the evening, blinded by the dim light of the cell, he did not perceive the little peddler crouched in a heap in the middle of the floor.
Scarcely was the door opened when the Jew bounced like a ball past the keeper's feet, almost upsetting him; then, darting like an arrow between the astonished guards without, he was off. A hue and cry was raised, but the little peddler had disappeared as completely as if the earth had opened up and swallowed him.
"With half-shut eyes ever to seemFalling asleep in a half dream!To dream and dream like yonder amber lightWhich will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height."
"With half-shut eyes ever to seemFalling asleep in a half dream!To dream and dream like yonder amber lightWhich will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height."
—Tennyson.
Without entering into detail it may be briefly stated that the success of Mohammed's disciples in Medina was simply marvelous. Converts joined them every day, while those who were not prepared to believe in the Meccan's divine mission were at least anxious to see and hear the prophet.
Amzi did no work in behalf of the new religion. He was simply an onlooker, though not an unsympathetic one; and, it must be confessed, he spent most of his time in that voluptuous do-nothingness in which the wealthy Oriental dreams away so much of his time,—sitting or reclining on perfumed cushions, a fan in his hand and a long pipe at his mouth, too languid, too listless, even to talk; listening to the soft murmur of Nature's music, the night-wind sighing through the trees beneath a star-gemmed sky, the song of a solitary bulbul warbling plaintively among the myrtle and oleander blooms, the plash of a fountain rippling near with "a sound as of a hidden brook in the leafy month of June"; this, the exquisite languor of the East, "for which the speech of England has no name," the "Kaif" of the Arab, the drowsy falseness of the Lotos-eaters' ideal:
"Deathis the end of life; ah, whyShould life all labor be?Let us alone."
"Deathis the end of life; ah, whyShould life all labor be?Let us alone."
And so the months went by, until at last a band of emissaries, to the number of seventy, was appointed to take a journey to Mecca for the purpose of meeting with Mohammed and discussing with him the advisability of his taking up his residence at Medina.
A herald brought news of this embassy to the prophet. He went forth to meet them, and Yusuf, hearing by chance of the appointed conference, set out posthaste after Mohammed's party, eager to get even a pressure of the hand from Amzi, his heart's brother, who he felt sure would accompany the emissaries. In order to overtake them more quickly, he proceeded with a trusty guide by a shorter route across the hills.
The night was exceptionally dark, and even the guide became confused. The way led on and on between the interminable hills, until the two in complete uncertainty reined their steeds on the verge of a cliff that seemed to overhang a deep and narrow basin, bounded by flinty rock which even in the darkness loomed doubly black, and which rang beneath the horses' feet with that peculiar, metallic sound that proclaimed it black basalt, the "hell-stone" of the Arabs.
It was indeed an eerie spot. A thick fringe of thorny shrubs grew along the edge of the cliff; at intervals yawned deep fissures, across which the wise little Arabian ponies stepped gingerly; and above, outlined in intense black against the dark sky, were numerous peaks and pinnacles and castellated summits, such as the Arabs love to people with all manner of genii and evil spirits of the waste and silent wilderness. It was a spot likely to be infested with robbers, and Yusuf and his guide waited in some trepidation while considering what to do.
"Hold!" cried a voice from the air above."Hold!" cried a voice from the air above.—Seepage 34.
Presently a dull trampling sounded in the distance. It came nearer and nearer, and the two lone wanderers on the cliff scarcely dared to breathe.
The tread of camels was soon discernible, the"Ikh! Ikh!"(the sound used to make camels kneel) of the camel-drivers rising from the dark pass below to the ears of the men above. Apparently the party was about to make a halt in the dark basin; and should it prove to be a band of hill-robbers, Yusuf and his companion were in a precarious position, for the slightest sound made by them or their ponies would probably prove the signal for an onslaught; but by patting and quieting the animals, they managed to keep their restlessness in check and so waited, scarcely knowing what to do next.
Ere ten minutes had elapsed, however, the tread of camels was again heard, and another party came in from the opposite direction, halting at the other end of the ravine. A call was sounded and at once answered by the body immediately below. The new-comers advanced, and mutual recognitions seemed to take place, although Yusuf could distinguish neither the voices nor the words.
The parties were, in reality, those of Mohammed and the emissaries of Medina, who at once opened negotiations. After the salutations were over, they extended to Mohammed a formal invitation to Medina.
"We will receive you as a confederate, obey you as a leader, and defend you to the last extremity, even as we defend our wives and children," said the spokesman.
"For your gracious invitation accept my most hearty thanks," said Mohammed. "My work is not yet ended in Mecca, yet ere long I hope to pay at least a visit to you, O believers of Medina."
"But," said the leader, "if you are recalled to your own district you will not forsake us?"
"All things," replied Mohammed, "are now common between us. Your blood is my blood. Your ruin is my ruin. We are bound to each other by the ties of honor and interest. I am your friend and the enemy of your foes."
He then chose twelve of the men to be the especial heralds of his faith, and all, placing their hands in his, swore fealty to him in life and in death.
"If we are killed in your service, what shall be our reward?" asked one of the number.
"Paradise!" cried the prophet. "Vales of eternal rest and felicity, odors of sweet spices on the air, blessed spirits to—"
"Hold!" cried a voice from the air above. "Who are you, Mohammed, who can dare to promise that which belongs to the Creator alone? Impostor, take heed!"
It was only Yusuf, who, in his anxiety to discover if the gloomy vale were indeed the nest of some daring mountain chief, had noiselessly descended to an overhanging ledge, and had heard the last confident assertion of the prophet.
But the utmost consternation fell upon the Arabs below. Some, believing the voice to be that of a demon of the rock, were seized with sudden panic; others shouted excitedly, "Spies! spies!" and the assembly broke up in confusion, all scurrying off, leaving Yusuf and his guide again alone on the rock.
"Amzi! Amzi!" shouted the priest, with a forlorn hope that his friend might have lingered behind the fleeing party; but the only response was the beat of hoofs flying in every direction, and the dull thud of the camels' padded feet. There was nothing better to be done than wait until morning, so Yusuf and the guide lay down on the hard rock for the rest of the night.
For some time after this affairs seemed to be at a standstill. Mohammed still continued to preach, now from the hill Safa, now from the knoll El Akaba at the north of the town.
His wife, Cadijah, had died some time before, and he had since married a widow, Sawda, and become betrothed to a child, Ayesha, the daughter of his friend and disciple, Abu Beker.
But events in Mecca were fast hasteningto a crisis. Abu Sofian, still the most mortal enemy to Mohammed and his religion, had succeeded Abu Taleb in the government of Mecca, and no sooner had he become head of the state than he determined to crush Mohammed, and exterminate his religion at any cost. A plot for the assassination of the prophet was formed. Several of the tribe of the Koreish and their allies were appointed to kill Mohammed, in order to avert the blood-revenge of Mohammed's immediate kin, the Haschemites, who, it was thought, would not dare to avenge themselves upon such numerous and such scattered foes.
The attack was planned with the utmost secrecy in the cellar of a house, and at a time but the space of three hours before daybreak, when all Mecca lay chained in slumber.
Yet not all. Abraham, the Jew, was, as usual, on the alert. Since his escape he had been prowling about the hills, penniless, and hence unable to leave the district. He had now come down to steal food, for necessity, in his eyes, rendered any such proceeding pardonable; and, perceiving a mysterious light issuing from a chink in the wall, his natural curiosity asserted itself. He lay down flat on the ground, put his ear to the chink, and succeeded in hearing every word of the plot.
Here, then, was a chance to gain favor and protection from at least a few in Mecca. He would disclose the plot to Mohammed and his vizier, and beseech their protection as the price of his services as a savior of the prophet's life. Accordingly, a couple of hours before the time appointed for the assassination, and as soon as the cover of darkness rendered his own appearance in the city safe, he hastened to the prophet.
No time was to be lost. Mohammed, accompanied by Abu Beker and the Jew, at once fled; while Ali, to deceive the spies, and keep them as long as possible in check, wrapped himself in the prophet's green cloak, moved round with it on for some time, and at last lay down on Mohammed's bed.
When the assassins entered, intending to rush upon the sleeping form and destroy it, Ali threw the cloak off and sat up. In the meantime the fugitives had reached the cave of Thor, three miles distant, from whence, after three days, they escaped to Medina.
This was the famous flight of the prophet, the Hegira, or Hejra, in the year 622 A.D. and about the fifty-third year of Mohammed's age.
"Oh, it is excellentTo have a giant's strength: but it is tyrannousTo use it like a giant."
"Oh, it is excellentTo have a giant's strength: but it is tyrannousTo use it like a giant."
—Shakespeare.
Once more after the lapse of years let us look at Amzi as he sat one morning in his house at Medina.
The cool and pleasant atmosphere of the town in contrast with the burning, breathless heat of Mecca had charmed him. He had immediately purchased a house and furnished it with the luxurious splendor which suited his rather voluptuous taste.
The apartment in which he sat was in the middle story, the one sacred to the men in a house of Medina. Rich Persian carpets were on the floor, rugs of Inde were scattered about and piled with cushions filled with softest down. Low divans invited repose, and heavy curtains of yellow silk shut out the too bright glare of day. The ceiling, after the Persian fashion, was inlaid with mirrors, fitted in in different patterns, and divided by carved sticks of palm, stained red; and the sweet odor of richest perfumes of Arabia-Felix spread through the room as if emanating from the silken hangings of the wall.
The window was open, and the breeze from the east, bearing, as it were, tales of the Nejd, the land of brave men and beautiful women, swayed the curtains softly. Outside, in the sloping garden, waved the graceful branches of the tamarisk, glittering with dew in the early morning sun; and near the window a jujube tree stretched its dark, shining leaves and yellow fruit temptingly near. Acacias with sweet-scented yellow blossoms, oleanders glowing with rosy bloom, and a thicket of silver-leaved castors separated the little plot from the gardens below, where grew gourds and cucumbers, lime and fig trees, grape-vines, water-melons and pomegranates; and beyond that lay a bright patch of Bursim, or Egyptian clover, like a yellow-green island on a darker sea.
Amzi, comfortably habited in a jubbeh of pink silk, worn over a caftan of fine white silk flowered with green and confined by a fringed, yellow sash at the waist, reclined in a position of luxurious ease at the window. Between his plump fingers he held the amber stem of a handsomely carved pipe. He looked scarcely older than when on that memorable journey in which he first met Yusuf. His eye was still as bright, his hair scarcely more gray, and his cheek as ruddy as then; yet there was a somewhat discontented look on his face.
His eye wandered over the rich garden before him, and he thought of barren, ashen Mecca. Then he looked restlessly back over the landscape below. Surely it was fair enough to calm a restless spirit.
Immediately before, and to the eastward, the sun had risen out of a mass of lilac and rose-colored cloud. The tufted trees on the distant hills stood black and distinct against the splendor of the sky. To the right the date-groves of Kuba, famed throughout Arabia, struggled through a sea of mist that piled and surged in waves of amber and purple, leaving the tree tops like islands on a vapory sea. To the left the seared and scoriæ-covered crest of Mount Ohod rose, dark and scowling, like a grim sentinel on the borders of an Elysian valley. In the rear lay the plain of El Munakhah, and the rush of the torrent El Sayh was borne on the breeze, bearing the willing mind beyond to the cool groves of Kuba, whence this raging flood dispersed itself in gentle rills, or was carried in silent channels to turn the water-wheels, or to fall, with musical plash, into wooden troughs that lay deep in the shade.
The ripple of water,—ah, what it means to Arabian ears! Little wonder that the inhabitant of the desert land never omits it from his idea of paradise, save in his conception of the highest heaven,—a conception not lacking in sublimity—that of a silent looking upon the face of God.
In the immediate foreground lay El Medina itself, with its narrow streets, its busy bazars, its fair-skinned people, and its low, yellow, flat-roofed houses, each with its well and court-yard, nestling cozily among the feathery-fronded date-trees.
From the Eastern Road, a caravan from the Nejd was descending slowly into the town, and so clear was the atmosphere that Amzi could distinguish the huge, white dromedaries, and catch an occasional glint of a green shugduf, or the gorgeous litter of a grandee, trapped in scarlet and gold.
It was indeed a fair scene, and Amzi enjoyed it to the full with the keen enjoyment of one who possesses an esthetic temperament, an intense love of the beautiful. Yet he began to feel lonely in this town of his adoption. It was long since he had seen Yusuf, and he commenced to think seriously of returning for a time to Mecca.
Besides, he was tired of waiting for Mohammed's long-deferred visit, and he was anxious again to see the man whose strange fascination over him he scarcely dared to acknowledge even to himself. The emptiness and idleness of his own life was beginning to pall upon him, and he compared unfavorably his sluggish existence with the busy, quietly energetic way in which Yusuf was spending his days.
One source of unfailing pleasure to him had been the companionship of Dumah, who had followed him to Medina, but was wandering about as usual, returning to Amzi when tired or hungry, as a birdling returns to its mother's wing.
And Amzi had almost a mother's love for the boy, for poor Dumah seemed a childstill; he had grown but little, his face was paler than of old, his eyes were as large and blue, and his bright hair fell in the same soft curls above his regular and clear-cut features. Like Yusuf, Amzi felt that the orphan's very helplessness was an appeal to his heart, and he did not lock its doors.
Dumah now came in wearily. He lay down at Amzi's feet and put his head on his knee. The Meccan stroked his soft hair gently.
"Where has my Dumah been?" he asked tenderly.
"Watching the people going out foolishly. Dumah would not go with them."
"Going where, lad?"
"Out to the gardens where the lotus blows, and the date-palms wave, and the citron and orange grow."
"And why go they, then, foolishly?" smiled Amzi.
"Because they go to meet him, and they are carrying white robes, and they will bring him in as a prince,—the wicked one, who would place himself above our blessed Master!"
Amzi started up quickly, and threw his pipe down.
"Is Mohammed here?" he cried.
"He is here. But you will not go too, Amzi? Alas that I told you! The angels I see in my dreams do not smile, they look away and vanish when I think of Mohammed. Yusuf does not love him! Let not Amzi!" pleaded the orphan.
But the Meccan was gone. Hastening on towards the outskirts of the city, he met a great crowd of people, pressing about Mohammed and Abu Beker, each of whom was dressed in a white garment, and riding triumphantly upon a white camel, the prophet being mounted on his own beast El Kaswa.
The little peddler, assigning himself a lower place, rode behind on a pack-mule.
Mohammed had come, and was, from the very beginning, a monarch, surrounded by an army of blind devotees, believers in his holy mission, and slavishly obedient to his will.
Amzi took the prophet to his house, and there entertained him as a respected Meccan friend, until Mohammed's home was erected. It was at Amzi's house, too, that the nuptials of Mohammed and the beautiful Ayesha, also those of Ali and the prophet's daughter Fatimah, took place.
One of Mohammed's first acts was to have a mosque built, and, from it, morning and night the call to prayers was given:
"God is great! There is no God but God! Mohammed is the prophet of God! Come to prayers. Come to prayers! God is great!"
And from this mosque Mohammed exhorted with wondrous eloquence, the music of his voice falling like a spell on the multitudes, as they listened to teachings new and more living than the old, dead, superstitious idolatry to which they were in bondage; yet, had they known it, teachings whose choicest gems were but crumbs borrowed from the words of One who had preached in all meekness and love on the shores of Galilee and the hills of Palestine more than six hundred years before.
They listened in wonder to condemnation of their belief in polytheism.
"In the name of the most merciful God," Mohammed would say, "say God is one God, the Eternal God; he begetteth not, neither is he begotten, and there is not anyone like unto him!" Thus did he aim at the foundation of Christianity, seeking to overthrow belief in the "only begotten Son of God" as a divine factor of the Trinity. Jesus he recognized as a prophet, not as God's own Son; and, while he borrowed incessantly from the Scriptures, he refused to accept them, declaring that they had become perverted, and that the original Koran was a volume of Paradise, from which Gabriel rendered him transcripts, and was, therefore, the true word of God which had been laid from time everlasting on what he called the "preserved table," close to the throne of God in the highest heaven.
And yet, during the greater part of his career, the utterances of this strange, incomprehensible man were characterized by a seemingly real glow of philanthropy and an earnest solicitude for the salvation of his countrymen from the depths of moral andspiritual degradation into which they had fallen. A missionary spirit seemed to be in him, in strange contrast and incompatibility with the sacrilegious words that often fell from his lips.
In all the records of history there is nothing more wonderful than the marvelous success which attended Mohammed at Medina. Staid and sober merchantmen, men with gray heads, fiery youths, proselytes from the tribes of the desert, even women, flocked to him every day; and he soon realized that he had a vast army of converts ready to live or die for him, ready to fight for him until the last.
Amzi, alone, of all his followers, seemed to stand aloof, half-believing, yet unwilling to proclaim his belief openly; simply waiting, as he had waited all his life, to see the truth, yet too indolent to set out bravely in the quest. He preferred to look on from aside; to weigh and calculate motives, actions and results; to judge men by their fruits, though the doing so called for long waiting.
Yet Amzi grew more and more dissatisfied. He felt, though he knew not its cause, the want of a rich spiritual life, that empty hollowness which pleasures of the world and the mere consciousness of a moral life cannot satisfy.
More than once he was tempted to declare himself a follower of the prophet, but he put it off until a riper season.
Poor Dumah noted Amzi's frequent visits to the mosque with a vague dread. He had an instinctive dislike of Mohammed, whose assumptions of superiority to Jesus he understood in a hazy way, and resented with all his might.
One day he entered with a tablet of soft stone to which a cord was attached. Putting the cord about Amzi's neck, he said:
"Amzi, promise your Dumah that you will wear this always, will you not? Because Dumah might die, and could not say the words any more. Promise me!"
"I promise you," smiled Amzi, and Dumah left the room contented.
Amzi turned the tablet over, and read the familiar words traced upon the soft stone,—the words recognized as the corner-stone of Christianity:
"God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."
Amzi smiled, and put the tablet in his bosom.