I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.He will not suffer thy foot to be moved; he that keepeth thee will not slumber.Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.The Lord is thy keeper; the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil; he shall preserve thy soul.The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved; he that keepeth thee will not slumber.
Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord is thy keeper; the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.
The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil; he shall preserve thy soul.
The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.
"Dost thou not know the fate of soldiers?They're but Ambition's tools, to cut a wayTo her unlawful ends."
"Dost thou not know the fate of soldiers?They're but Ambition's tools, to cut a wayTo her unlawful ends."
—Southern.
While these events had been taking place in the North, Henda had given Abu Sofian little peace, urging him every day to pay the dues of blood-revenge for her relatives, and taunting him with cowardice in his long delay.
At length, in the third year of the Hegira he gathered a considerable army, and with three thousand men of the Koreish tribe, among whom were two hundred horsemen, left Mecca, accompanied by Henda and fifteen of the matrons of Mecca bearing timbrels and singing war-like chants.
The whole army advanced with the intention of besieging Medina, but Mohammed's men entreated him to let them encounter Abu Sofian outside of the city, and he yielded to their entreaties. With only one thousand men,[10]fifty of whom were chosen archers, the prophet took up his stand on a declivity of Mount Ohod, about six miles north of the city. There, on its black and barren slope, he divided his army into four parts, three of which bore sacred banners, while the great standard was placed before Mohammed himself.
In order to imbue his men with courage, he came out in full view of the whole army, and, in a loud voice that penetrated even the farthest ranks, gave promise of victory. Then, for the sake of those who should be killed in battle, he expatiated upon the delights of that Paradise which surely awaited all who should be slain in the cause, representing it such a paradise as would be peculiarly adapted to the tastes and stimulating to the imagination of the Arabs—a race accustomed to arid wastes, burning sands, and glaring skies; a paradise of green fields and flowery gardens cooled by innumerable rivers and sparkling fountains, which glittered from between shaded bowers inter-woven with perfumed flowers. He gave them promise of streams literally flowing with milk and clearest honey; of trees bending with fruit which should be handed down by houris of wondrous beauty; he told them of treasures of gold, silver, and jewels. "They shall dwell in gardens of delight, reposing on couches adorned with gold and precious stones.... Upon them shall be garments of fine green silk and brocades, and they shall be adorned with bracelets of silver, and they shall drink of a most pure liquor—a cup of wine mixed with the water of Zenjebil, a fountain in Paradise named Salsabil."
Such was the sensual character of the paradise promised to his followers by Mohammed. The soldiers were listening eagerly to the words when the army of Abu Sofian was seen, advancing in the form of a crescent, with Abu Sofian and his idols in the center, and Henda and her women in the rear, sounding their timbrels, and singing loud war-chants.
The horsemen of the left wing of the Koreish now advanced to attack the Moslems in the flank, but the archers fired upon them from the top of some steep rocks, and they retired in confusion.
Hamza, a Moslem leader, then shouted the Moslem cry, "Death! Death!" and rusheddown the hill upon the center. The crash and roar of battle began. High in air gleamed spear and lance; horses shrieked and reared, and tossed their long manes; dark, contorted visages and shining teeth shone out from clouds of dust; sashes floated on the air, and sabres flashed in the sunlight; all was mad confusion.
In the mêlée two young men met hand to hand. Both were tall and slight, and had dark, waving hair. So like were they that a warrior near them called out, "Behold, doth Manasseh fight with Manasseh!" But the youths heard not, recked not. Their blows fell thick and fast, until at last the Moslem gave way, and fell, wounded and bleeding, in the dust by the side of Hamza, who lay stiffening in death.
Then arose the shout, "The sword of God and his prophet!" and Abu Dudjana, armed with the prophet's own sword, waved it above his head and dashed into the thick of the battle.
Mosaab, the standard-bearer, followed close and planted the standard at the top of a knoll. An arrow struck him in the eye. He fell, and the cry arose that the prophet himself had fallen. Ali seized the standard and floated it aloft on the air; but the Moslems, seized with confusion, would not rally, and withdrew to the hill-top.
The Koreish, thinking Mohammed killed, forbore to follow them, and began the revolting work of plundering the dead. Henda and her companions savagely assisted in the gruesome task; and, coming upon Hamza, the fierce woman mutilated his dead body.
By him she found the handsome youth, whom she believed to be Manasseh, so torn and covered with blood as to conceal his Moslem adornments. To Manasseh she had taken a strange fancy, and she now ordered the youth to be conveyed in safety to the camp, with the army which was forming in line of march.
The band of Jews who had come with the forces of Abu Sofian, mainly for the purpose of delivering those of their afflicted brethren who had refused to join Mohammed, and of whom many were imprisoned in Medina, now joined with a band of the Koreish, who desired the freedom of some of their tribe, and, while the excitement of battle was still fresh, the party entered the city by stealth, then, dashing furiously down the street to the guard-house, overpowered the guards and battered open the doors, setting many of the prisoners free. Among these were Amzi, Asru, and Yusuf.
It was Manasseh himself who broke in the door of the apartment in which Yusuf was confined.
An exclamation of pleasure burst from him on recognizing the priest, and he threw his arms about his neck.
"Yusuf! My dear Yusuf!" he cried.
"My boy!" exclaimed the priest, in astonishment. "What means this?"
"It means that you are free," said the youth as he knocked off the chains. "Haste! We must on to the camp ere the Moslems return. Anything more than this I will tell you on the way."
Once again Yusuf stepped out into the pure air, along with many others who bore part of their chains in the broken links that still clanked upon their wrists and ankles.
In passing through the court-yard, the priest noticed some one crouched in a pitiable heap in a corner of the yard. Manasseh hauled him out. It was the peddler, with ashen face and eyes rolling with fear.
"Come along, my man!" laughed Manasseh. "Like the worm in a pomegranate, you are apt to do harm if left to yourself."
Abraham writhed and begged for mercy.
"Come along!" said Manasseh, impatiently. "I shall not hurt you; I shall merely look after you for awhile."
Thus consoled, the peddler hopped on with alacrity. A hasty mount was made and the party set out for the camp of Abu Sofian.
Yusuf then had a chance to ask the question burning at his heart. "How comes it, Manasseh, that you again fight against the prophet? When last I saw you, you wore the green of the Moslem."
"I!" said the youth in astonishment. "You jest, Yusuf!"
"It was surely you who met me on the field of Bedr."
"Yusuf, are you mad? It was never I."
"Then who can it have been? It was your very face."
"For once, Yusuf, your eyes have played you false. How could you have believed such a thing of Manasseh?"
"A strange resemblance!" mused Yusuf; then—"Whom see I before me yonder?"
"Manasseh's eyes do not play him false, and he declares it to be Amzi," said the youth.
They hastened up the narrow street, now crowded with soldiers, prisoners, camels, and horses; and, escaping the missiles thrown by infuriated Moslem women from the housetops, soon overtook Amzi and Asru. All proceeded at once to the camp of Abu Sofian.
Some large tents were set apart for the wounded Koreish, and here Yusuf and Amzi found speedy occupation in binding wounds, and giving drinks of water to the parched soldiers. Manasseh entered with them.
"What means this?" cried Henda. "Did I not have you conveyed, soaked with blood, among the wounded of the Koreish?"
"I have not been wounded to-day," returned Manasseh. "Read me this riddle, Henda. There must be a second self—"
"Here, Manasseh!"interruptedYusuf from one side. "Had you a twin brother, this must be he."
Yusuf was bending over a youth whose dark eyes spoke of suffering, and who lay listlessly permitting the priest to bathe his blood-covered brow. His eyes were fixed on Manasseh, who was quickly coming forward, and those near wondered at the striking resemblance, more marked than is often found between brothers.
"Who are you, friend?" asked Manasseh, curiously.
"Kedar the Bedouin!" returned the youth, proudly. "Though how I came into a Koreish camp, is more than I can explain."
"For that you may thank your resemblance to me," laughed Manasseh. "You are weak, Kedar, my proud Bedouin, and we will ask you to talk but little; yet, I pray you, tell me, who was your father?"
"Musa, the Bedouin Sheikh,"—haughtily.
"And your mother was Lois, daughter of Eleazar?"
"Even so," returned the other, wonderingly.
"My cousin!" exclaimed Manasseh, delightedly seizing his hand.
"And son of my Bedouin friend, Musa!" exclaimed Yusuf.
So the Bedouin youth, the rash, hot-headed Moslem recruit, found himself among friends in a Koreish camp.
Night had now fallen, and under cover of darkness, Mohammed's army silently returned to Medina.
There were those who censured the prophet for his conduct at this battle; and some even dared to charge him with deception in promising them victory. But Mohammed told them that defeat was due to their sins: "Verily, they among you who turned their backs on the day whereon the two armies met at Ohod, Satan caused them to slip for some crime which they had committed."
To quiet those who lamented for their slain friends, he brought forth the doctrine that the time of every man's death is fixed by divine decree, and that he must meet it at that time, wherever he be.
In the morning the majority of Abu Sofian's forces set out for Mecca. Among them were Yusuf and Amzi, also Asru the captain; and it was with no small sense of comfort that the half-starved prisoners sat again about Amzi's well-stocked board.
Manasseh was with them. Kedar, scorning to desert the Moslem army, had refused to leave Medina, and, by the earnest intercession of Yusuf and Amzi, whose word was of some import in Meccan ears, he had been given his freedom.
It was with deep relief that all felt the short respite from the blare of battle; and, though they looked forward to the future with anxious forebodings, and though their joy was clouded by the death of Dumah, they were thankful for present blessings. Notalone prayer, but praise, was an essential part of their religion, and their voices ascended in song,—
I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in thy mouth.My soul shall make her boast in the Lord; the humble shall hear thereof, and be glad.O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together.I sought the Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears.They looked unto him, and were lightened; and their faces were not ashamed.This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.O taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man that trusteth in him.O fear the Lord, ye his saints; for there is no want to them that fear him.
I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in thy mouth.
My soul shall make her boast in the Lord; the humble shall hear thereof, and be glad.
O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together.
I sought the Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears.
They looked unto him, and were lightened; and their faces were not ashamed.
This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.
The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.
O taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man that trusteth in him.
O fear the Lord, ye his saints; for there is no want to them that fear him.
"Blood! blood! The leaves above me and around meAre red with blood."
"Blood! blood! The leaves above me and around meAre red with blood."
In the year which followed, Mohammed's forces were more than once directed against Syrian caravans, and the plunder divided among the Moslem troops after one-fifth had been appropriated by the prophet; but otherwise the truce was unbroken, until at the end of the year, the Koreish, uniting with neighboring tribes, many of whom were Jews, formed the plan of a grand attack which was to free El Hejaz forever from the power of the Islam despot.
From the Caaba the call was given to all who could be appealed to through religion, through the interests of commerce, or through desire for blood-revenge in consequence of the battles of Bedr and Ohod. To the more earnest Jews the undertaking took the form of a vast religious war, undertaken against the hosts of Satan for the deliverance of a land in bondage; to the Meccan merchants it assumed the guise of a commercial transaction which would again restore the trade so long ruined by Mohammed's hostile measures; to the Koreish and the desert tribes it seemed the grand opportunity of clearing the honor stained by the unrevenged death of their friends.
Accordingly a host of volunteers to the number of one hundred thousand offered themselves, and the vast array set out. Among the volunteers were Yusuf, Amzi, Asru, and the valiant Manasseh, all of whom deemed the necessity of the hour a sufficient reason for entering upon a course foreign to the laws of peace which they would fain have seen established.
A mighty host it seemed in a land whose battles had chiefly been confined to skirmishes between different tribes. As it wound its way down the narrow valley, the women of Mecca stood upon the housetops, listening to the trampling, and beseeching their household gods to bless the enterprise.
Long ere they reached Medina the prophet had received word of their advance, and had had a ditch or entrenchment dug about the city as a sort of fortification.
Abu Sofian ordered his tents to be pitched below on the plain, and, this done, he at once laid siege to the city.
But his bad generalship ruined the undertaking. For a month he kept his men wholly inactive, and during that time Mohammed busied himself in sending emissaries in the midst of Abu Sofian's men for the purpose of sowing disaffection among them; and so completely was this done that the besieging force became hollow and rotten to its core. Tribe after tribe left. The few faithful besought their leader to permit them to attack the city, and when at last the order was given, but a feeble remnant of the original host remained. Notwithstanding this, the command "Forward!" was hailed with tumultuous joy, and the besiegers pressed forward in irregular yet serried masses.
Scarcely had the attack begun when a terrific storm arose. It was in the winter season, and a sudden hurricane of cold windscame shrieking through the gaps of the mountains to the north.
Amzi, having, as an influential Meccan, been appointed to the command of a division, charged boldly forward in the teeth of the tempest, waving his sword above his head and cheering his men on with his hopeful voice. Yusuf, Asru and Manasseh pressed forward close behind him. A cloud of arrows met them, yet they poured impetuously on. And now the bank was climbed and the conflict became almost hand-to-hand. The priest's tall form rendered him conspicuous in the fray. Some one came hacking and hewing his way towards him. It was the agile Uzza. The priest was beset on all sides and was defending himself against fearful odds, when the face of Uzza, fiend-like in its hate, burst upon him as a new opponent. He raised his weapon for a blow, but the vision of a Guebre altar upon which a little, bleeding child lay, rose before him, and his arm fell.
Uzza perceived his advantage. With a howl of triumph he cried, "False priest, you shall not escape me this time!" and made a fierce stroke with his scimitar. But the blow was parried.
"Simpleton! Would you let him kill you?" cried a harsh voice close by the priest. And the next moment Uzza fell with a death-groan at the feet of Asru.
And now the storm struck with full fury, howling among the houses of Medina, whistling shrilly on the upper air, and bending the palm trees low along its furious path. Thatches were torn from the roofs and carried whirling through the air; clouds of dust were blown high along the streets, and black, ragged clouds scurried across the sky as if urged on by demon-force. Horses neighed loudly. Many of them became unmanageable, and dashed, with terrified eyes and distended nostrils, through the midst of the flying soldiery. The tents of Abu Sofian were torn from their pegs and hurled away. Then the rain descended in sheets, or, whirled round by the wind, swirled along in columns with almost the force of a water-spout.
Suddenly a cry was raised: "It is Mohammed! The prophet has raised the storm by enchantment!"
The cry echoed from mouth to mouth above the roar of the tempest. The superstitious Arabs were seized with terror and fled precipitately, believing themselves surrounded by legions of invisible spirits. Amzi and his little band stayed until the last; then, deserted by all and blinded by the descending torrents, they, too, were obliged to withdraw, and another victory, that of the Battle of the Ditch, had fallen to the prophet.
This was the last expedition undertaken by the Koreish against their victorious enemy. Mohammed, of course, attributed his great conquest to divine agency. In a passage from the Koran he declared:
"O true believers, remember the favor of God toward you, when armies of infidels came against you, and we sent against them a wind and hosts of angels which ye saw not."
The heart sickens in following further Mohammed's willful career of blood. During the following five years he is said to have commanded twenty-seven expeditions and fought nine pitched battles. Against the Christian Jews in particular the bitterest expressions of his hate were directed; and to his dying day this incomprehensible man, from whose lips proceeded words of mercy and of deadliest rancor, words of love and of hate, words of purity and of gross sensuality—this strange man persecuted them to the last, nor ever ceased to direct his arms against all who followed that gentle Jesus of Nazareth of whose power this blood-marked, self-proclaimed prophet of Allah was envious.
His followers, dazzled by the glare of his brilliant victories or solicitous for self-preservation, constantly swelled in numbers, but there were a few who, like Kedar, had heard of the peaceableness of the religion of Jesus Christ, and who began to sicken of the flow of blood which deluged the sands of El Hejaz, and ran even into the Nejd, the borders of Syria, and of Arabia-Felix.
Kedar often longed for the friendly touch, the hearty, kindly words, of the friends whom he had met and parted from as in a dream. He had soon refused to believe in Mohammed's divine appointment. Even this Bedouin youth had enough penetration to see that religion must stand upon its results, and that the private life of Mohammed would not stand the test of inspection. Fain would he have left his ranks many and many a time. The brand of coward he knew could not be attached to him for leaving victorious ranks to ally himself with the few and feeble Jews, yet there was something in the idea of "turning his coat" which he did not like. He imagined in a vague way that such a proceeding would compromise his principles of honor, and he had not reached the wisdom of that great educator, Comenius, who, not long ere his death, wrote a treatise upon "the art of wisely withdrawing one's own assertions." So he fought doggedly on, until circumstances again threw him into the bosom of his friends.
"God's in his heaven, all's right with the world."
"God's in his heaven, all's right with the world."
On the evening upon which the Battle of the Ditch was fought, the wife of Asru, and his daughter, Sherah, now almost grown to womanhood, were returning from performing Tawaf at the temple. They had prayed for the success of the Koreish expedition; they had drank of the well of Ismael, Zem-Zem, and had poured its water on their heads. Now they were hastening home to offer prayers to their household gods in the same cause, for, during Asru's apostasy to the Moslem ranks, his wife, a woman of the Koreish, and her family had never swerved from their hostility to Mohammed and all connected with him. For their obstinacy in this, they had been cruelly abused by Asru, who, with the superiority which most men in the East assume over women, ruled as a tyrant in his house.
It was with unspeakable satisfaction that Sherah and her mother found that Asru had at last broken all connection with the prophet, but a change had come into his manner which was to them most unaccountable. Instead of cruelty now was kindness; instead of stormy petulance, now was patience; and yet, Asru had not mentioned the cause of his new life. A sort of backwardness on the subject, a desire to know more of it before communicating with others, strove with him against the dictates of his conscience, and he had as yet been dumb. He had not concealed his connection with the little band of Jewish Christians. In spite of the jeers of his friends among the Koreish, he had attended their meetings regularly. That had been the extent of his active Christian work; yet his life had been preaching while his lips were still.
Sherah and her mother talked of him as they walked.
"Mother, however it be, father was never kind until he went to the Jewish meetings."
"True. Yet many of these same Jews are wicked, thieves, low robbers, not fit for such as Asru to mingle with," said the mother haughtily.
"Yet not the Jews who attend the church," returned the girl, quickly. "I know them. Most of them are poor, but not thieves; they seem quiet, industrious people. Then, Amzi attends there now, you know, and Yusuf, who, when the plague was raging, spent weeks in attending the sick. Did he not come to father and sit with him night after night, when, mother—I shame to say it—both you and I fled!"
The mother walked in silence for a moment.
"There must be some strange power that urges a man to do such acts," she said, musingly. "It would be easier far to go outto battle, urged on by the enthusiasm of conquest, and cheered by the music and clash of timbrels to deeds of bravery. It takes a different spirit to enter the houses of filthy disease, to court death in reeking lazar-houses, to sit for weeks watching hideous faces and listening to the ravings of madmen through the long, hot nights of the plague-season."
"Mother, I am convinced that their religion prompts them to do it. What else can it be?"
"What is their religion?"
"I know not; yet we may know for the going, perhaps. See, the lights gleam in their little hall. They hold meeting to-night. Let us go."
"What! And let the proud tribe of the Koreish, the guardians of the Caaba, see a woman of the Koreish enter there?"
"We can go in long cloaks, mother, and it is well-nigh dark. Come, will you not?"
The pleading voice was so earnest that the mother consented. Yet, that the influence of the gods in the result of the battle might not be lost, they first entered their own house, prostrated themselves before the gods, and besought their aid in the Koreish cause. Then, donning long outer cloaks, and veiling their faces closely, the two slipped out of a back way and stealthily hastened towards the Jewish church.
It was late when they arrived. Neither Yusuf nor Amzi was present to raise the hearts of their hearers with words of simple and earnest piety, no voice of Manasseh was there to lead in the songs of praise, but an old man with snowy hair and a saint-like face was standing behind a table, a volume of the Scriptures before him, and the voices of the congregation, some twenty in number, arose in the old, yet ever new words:
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."
The Koreish woman listened. She could not understand all this. Yet it was beautiful,—"green pastures," "still waters." Could it be that these people knew of an Elysian spot, unknown to Meccans—that their God led them to such favored retreats? She could restrain her impatience no longer.
"Where are the green pastures and still waters?" she cried, impetuously, "that I too may go to them!"
The old man smiled with serene kindness. "Daughter," he said, "the green pastures and still waters are the pleasant places of the soul. Hast thou never known what it was to have doubts and fears, restlessness and dissatisfaction in the present, uncertainty for the future, a feeling that there is little in life, and a great gulf in death?"
"I have felt so almost every day," she replied, passionately.
"Hast thou not found comfort in thy gods?" he asked, gently.
"Alas, I fear to say that I have not!" she exclaimed.
"And why fearest thou thus?" he said.
"Ah, knowest thou not that the gods are gods of vengeance?" she replied in an awed whisper.
"I know naught of your gods," he returned. "Our God is a God of love. He gives us the certainty of his presence ever with us in this life, his companionship in death, and the privilege of looking upon his face and being 'forever with the Lord' in the world to come."
"And are you not afraid of death?" she asked. "To me it seems a dreadful thing. It makes me shudder to think that I too must one day suffer the struggle for breath, and then lie still and cold."
"To those who love the Lord 'to die is gain,'" he said. "Have we not sung 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me'? Surely one who believes that, and knows that he is going to be always with the Lord, always able to look on his face, need not fear death."
"It is a beautiful thought," the woman said, bowing her head on her hands.
"Yet not more beautiful than the thought that the Holy Spirit is ever with us; that Jesus himself is our brother, and understands all our little troubles; that he has promised to help us in overcoming all evil. 'For every one that asketh receiveth, and he that seeketh findeth, and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.' 'If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone? If he ask a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent? Or if he shall ask an egg, will he offer him a scorpion? If ye, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him.' Daughter, these are the very words of Jesus. Do they not show you the way to the still waters and green pastures? Do you not see that the love of our God acts upon the heart as gentle showers upon the barren land, causing it to rejoice and bring forth fruit worthy of being presented to our Lord and Master? 'He hath loved us with an everlasting love.' He loves us ever, therefore in our returning this love to him doth the 'peace of God that passeth all understanding' lay hold upon our hearts."
"But ye are Jews!" she said. "Such promises are not for the Koreish."
"Such promises are for all," was the confident reply. "Jesus said whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. None so sinful that Jesus cannot wash out the stain; none are excluded from his mercy. Daughter, believe, receive. Let the love of God enter thine heart, and repent best by doing thine evil deeds no more. Only come to Jesus himself. Only have faith in him."
The Koreish woman hid her face in her hands again, and answered nothing. The old man turned to the Scriptures and read the story of Jesus and the woman of Samaria, raising his voice in triumphant fervor as he reached the words: "Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life."
Then he turned to the words spoken by Jesus to his disciples just before his betrayal, and read: "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you. Let not your heart be troubled," and, "Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself except it abide in the vine, no more can ye except ye abide in me. I am the vine, ye are the branches; he that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit; for without me ye can do nothing."
The woman listened. With the quick appreciation of the Arab for metaphor and simile, she grasped the meaning of the words, and a new, wonderful train of thought came into her mind as she sat with bowed head while simple, pleading, heart-offered prayer was sent up to the Throne of Grace, and the parting hymn was sung.
Then the little band gathered around her, speaking words of cheer, and the aged leader dismissed her with a gentle, "Come again, daughter."
As Sherah and her mother walked home, the last remnant of the fearful storm that had visited Medina passed over Mecca. They saw the ragged clouds borne wildly over the northern hills; they saw the stunted aloes bending low beneath the sweep of the wind. Yet to them there was a grandeur in it, for there was still upon them the influence of the Divine presence, and they thought of Him who "walketh upon the wings of the wind."
And as they went on, bowing their heads before its spent fury, Asru, Amzi, and Yusuf, far to the northward, struggled on with the fugitive army, wondering at the continued triumph of the false prophet, yet serene in the confidence that in the Divine Hands all was well, and that in the far-distant end, however blurred to human vision, all must work for good to those who love God, even though the reason of his working, the seeming mystery of the fortunes of the great conflict, might not be unravelled until in the bright hereafter, when all things will at last be made plain.
"Spirit of purity and grace,Our weakness, pitying, see!O make our hearts thy dwelling-place,And worthier Thee."
"Spirit of purity and grace,Our weakness, pitying, see!O make our hearts thy dwelling-place,And worthier Thee."
The Koreish, after their disastrous defeat at the Battle of the Ditch, returned in bitter disappointment to Mecca. Many even of the bravest of the tribe felt that it was hopeless to strive against the prophet, whose phenomenal success seemed to render his troops invincible. Many, too, with the superstition at all times common to the Arabs, were in deadly dread of his "enchantments," and were only too ready to listen to his bold assertions that the momentous storm at the siege of Medina had been caused in his favor by heavenly agency; that a great host of angels had been in invisible co-operation with the Moslems and had drawn their legions about the ill-fated company, crying, "God is great!" and striking panic to the hearts of the besiegers.
Because of these superstitions the hearts of the Arabs failed them, and they day after day lessened in their hostility, and increased in their spirit of submission to the now famous prophet of El Islam.
The Jews, however, held out to the last, and against them the reeking blades of Mohammed's army were turned. The Jewish tribes of the Koraidha, Kainoka, and the Nadhirites, in the vicinity of Medina, were speedily overthrown, and their goods taken possession of by the Moslems. Then, before the blood cooled on the scimitars, these conquests were followed by the dastardly assassination of the few Jews who were still in Medina, and, being possessed of considerable property, were a tempting bait to the avaricious prophet, who now, making religion a cloak to cover his greed and ambition, went to the wildest excesses in attaining his objects.
Many of the Jews, escaping dearly with their lives, fled to the city of Khaïbar, five days' journey to the northeast of Medina, a city inhabited by Jews, who, living in the midst of a luxuriant farming district, had grown rich in the peaceful arts of agriculture and commerce. Others hastened thither in the hope that Khaïbar might become the nucleus of a successful resistance of Mohammed's power in the near future; and among the latter class was Manasseh.
Late one afternoon he arrived in the rich pasture-lands surrounding the city. The air of peace and prosperity, the lowing of herds and bleating of sheep, delighted him; and, though weary from his journey, it was with a light heart that he urged his flagging horse between the long groves of palm-trees until the city came in sight.
His martial spirit glowed as he noted the heavy out-works, and the strength of the citadel Al Kamus, which, built on a high rock, and towering ragged and black against the orange sky of the setting sun, seemed to the young soldier almost impregnable.
He was welcomed at the gates as another recruit to the gathering forces, and, on his request, was at once directed to the house of the chief, Kenana Ibn al Rabi, a man reputed to be exceedingly wealthy. Here he was courteously received by Kenana and his wife Safiya; and, in a long conference, he informed the chief of the numbers and zeal of Mohammed's army, urging upon him the immediate strengthening of the city, as it was highly probable that the prophet would not long desist from making an attempt upon a tid-bit so tempting as that which Khaïbar presented.
That evening an informal council of war was held in the court-yard of the chief's house. Al Hareth, a brother of Asru, a man who, although an Arab, had been appointed to high office, and had proved himself one of the most distinguished commanders of the Jewish colony, was present; and, among others, Asru himself entered.
"Asru!" exclaimed Manasseh, delightedly,hurrying him aside to an arbor, "you here! I thought I had become separated from you all in that ill-fated storm. Where are Amzi and Yusuf, know you?"
"Gone to Mecca with Abu Sofian's remnant of an army—as miserable and hang-head lot of fugitives as ever disgraced field!" said Asru contemptuously. "By my faith, it shamed me to see our brave friends in their company, even for the journey!"
"Why did they go to Mecca?"
"Because they were firmly convinced that Mecca will be the next point of attack," said Asru, "but methinks they shall find themselves mistaken. Mohammed will keep Mecca as a sort of sacred spot, dedicated to his worship—and the worship of Allah!" with infinite scorn. "But Khaïbar is a pomegranate of the highest branches, too mellow, too luscious, too tempting, to elude his grasp. Yes, Manasseh, Khaïbar will be his next point of attack. However, I am truly glad that Yusuf and Amzi have gone home. The Jews and Christians in Mecca will be safe enough for some time to come, and our friends are getting too old to endure much fatigue of battle."
"Aye, Asru, you and I are better fitted to face the brunt of the charge and the weariness of the march. The work of Yusuf and Amzi should be milder, though not less glorious, than ours."
"You say well," returned the other, with kindling eye. "Asru, for one, can never forget what they have done for him."
"Asru, are all the stories of the wickedness of your past life—your cruelty, your treachery, your blasphemy—true?"
"Manasseh, let my past life go into the tomb of oblivion if you will. 'Tis a sorry page for Asru to look upon. The cruelty, the blasphemy,—aye, boy, I was full of it; but treacherous, never! Whatever Asru was, and no devil was blacker than he in many ways, he was never guilty of perfidy, except you call the trying to free Amzi and poor Dumah perfidy."
"I am glad," returned Manasseh, quietly; "yet it would not matter now, since our Asru is a changed man."
Asru looked at the youth earnestly. "Manasseh," he said, "does the old nature never come back upon you? Or have you never known what it was to feel wrong impulses?"
"Wrong impulses!" exclaimed the other. "Yes, Asru, many and many a time. Yet, when one does not even look at the evil, but keeps his face turned steadfastly towards the right, the old self seems to lose its hold. In drawing near to God we draw away from evil."
"Your words, I know, are true," returned the other; "yet the keeping from doing wrong seems to me the hardest thing in living a Christian life."
"But, Asru," said Manasseh, "perhaps you are not loving enough. The more you love Jesus, and the more you feel him in your life, the easier it will be to turn from temptation—to hate the thing that inspires it. If you really love him you simply cannot do what will pain him."
"But the temptation to act hastily, to speak unkindly, comes upon me so often, Manasseh, that I grow discouraged."
"The only safety is in always looking Above for help. Believe me, Asru, I speak from experience. Temptation in itself is not sin; the yielding to it is. Little by little the temptations bother us less, and we grow in grace. You know this is expected of us. Paul speaks of 'perfecting holiness in the fear of the Lord.' He says, too, 'The weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds.' He said, also, to the Philippians, 'It is God that worketh in you, both to will and to do of his good pleasure,' and the Lord himself has said, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.' So, Asru, my friend, the whole secret is in accepting that gift, in knowing him, and in keeping the soul in a constant state of openness for the working of the Holy Spirit—a 'pray-without-ceasing' attitude in which one's whole life is resolved into the prayer: 'Thy will, not mine, be done.'"
Asru regarded Manasseh curiously.
"How is it, young as you are," he said, "that these things are so plain to you?"
"Ah, you forget," said Manasseh, "what a blessed home training I have had, and that from my childhood I have had Yusuf for my counsellor. For these Christian friends of my childhood, I never cease to be thankful."
Asru turned his face away. "And I, too, have children, Manasseh," he said in a low voice, "children who, with their mother, are little better than idolaters, and I have never told them differently."
"But you will teach them?" returned Manasseh.
"Ah, yes, if God spares me through this perilous time I shall teach them."
"Have you heard or seen aught of Kedar, lately?" asked Manasseh, abruptly.
"In the Battle of the Ditch I saw him for a moment, charging furiously against one of Abu Sofian's divisions. He was in advance of the rest, riding with his head bent in the teeth of the tempest. On a knoll above me, I saw him for a moment, between me and the sky, his hair and long sash streaming in the wind; then the rain came, and I saw him no more. Aye, but he is a brave lad!"
"Poor cousin!" said Manasseh. "It is misplaced bravery. Would he were one of us!"
"He is not a Christian; and, unless he were so, a spirit like his would scorn to be one of such a craven, contention-torn mob as that which Abu Sofian brought to the field. Strange, is it not, that the little band of Christians find themselves allied to a set of idolaters, against one who would cast idols down?"
"Aye, but Mohammed would trample Christians and idolaters alike. Think you that defeat was owing wholly to cowardice of the soldiers?"
"Not so much, perhaps, as to bad generalship of the leader," returned Asru. "Nevertheless the superstition of the heathen Arabs, and their fear when the cry of Mohammed's enchantment was raised, made a craven of every one of them. Manasseh, had we had ten thousand Christian Jews, there might have been a different story."
"We are nearly all Jews, here," said Manasseh, proudly. "Have you happy forebodings for the issue of the next combat?"
Asru shook his head, gloomily. "There will be a brave resistance on the part of our garrisons," he said, "although many of the men are well-nigh as ignorant and superstitious as the heathen Arabs; but Mohammed's forces have swelled wondrously since the 'enchanted' storm. Well, we can but do our best. Now, I see that the council has assembled. They call us. Come."
The two left the arbor and joined the others in the middle of the garden. And there, while the stars shone peacefully above in the evening sky, and the palm-trees waved, and a little bird twittered contentedly over its nest in an olive bush, these men talked of measures of fortification, of tactics of war, and schemes of blood-shed; a conversation forced upon them, not as a matter of choice but of necessity—the necessity of a desperate few, earthed by a relentless conqueror and a ruthless despot, whose intolerance to all who denied his claims has never been surpassed in earth's history.
"Five great enemies to peace inhabit with us, viz.: Avarice, Ambition, Envy, Anger, and Pride."—Petrarch.
"Five great enemies to peace inhabit with us, viz.: Avarice, Ambition, Envy, Anger, and Pride."—Petrarch.
In the meantime Yusuf and Amzi had taken up the old routine of life in Mecca—the faithful doing of the daily round, the little deeds of charity, the duties of business, the attendance at meetings in the little church. Everything seemed to sink back into the old way, yet there was not a man in the city but held himself in readiness to takeup arms were an attack made upon them to wrest from them their freedom.
And word came that Mohammed was coming,—coming, not in war, but in peace, on his first pilgrimage to the Caaba. Mecca was instantly thrown into the wildest confusion. Some deemed the prophet's message honorable, but the majority were dubious, and thought that if Mohammed once gained an entrance, notwithstanding the fact that it was the sacred month Doul Kaada, his coming would be but to deluge the streets with blood.
A hasty consultation was held, and a troop of horse under one Khaled Ibn Waled, was sent out to check the prophet's advance. Mohammed, however, by means of his spies, early got word of this sally, and, turning aside from the way, he proceeded by ravines and by-paths through the mountains; and, ere the Meccans were aware of his proximity, his whole force was encamped near the city.
A deputation came from his army to the dignitaries of Mecca bearing messages of peace; but their reception was haughty.
"Go to him who sent you," was the reply to their overtures, "and say that Meccan doors are shut to one against whom every family in Mecca owes the revenge of blood."
For days the deputation was sent, with the same result, until at last ambassadors of the prophet entered with the offer of a truce for ten years.
The promise of a long respite from blood, and the hope of securing time to recuperate their forces, caught the ear of the Meccans. A deputation was appointed to treat with the prophet, and Amzi, though a Christian, by reason of his wisdom and learning was chosen as one of the representatives.
Yusuf accompanied him to an eminence above the defile in which the Moslem tents were pitched. A strange sight it was. Far as eye could reach, tents, white and black, dotted the narrow valley; horses were picketed, and camels browsed; and in the foreground one thousand four hundred men were grouped, waiting to hear the issue of the conference,—one thousand four hundred men, bare-footed, and with shaven heads, and each wearing the white skirt and white scarf over the shoulder, assumed by pilgrims. Strangely different were they from the ordinary troops of the prophet, strangely unrecognizable in their garb of humility and peace; yet a second glance revealed the fact that each carried a sheathed sword.
Yusuf remained above, but Amzi descended with the embassy sent with the message that the treaty, if suitable, would be at once ratified. Mohammed, who, in place of his green garb, now with obsequious humility wore the pilgrims' costume, expressed his pleasure at the amicable attitude of the Meccans. He was seated upon a white camel named El Kaswa in honor of the faithful beast which had borne him in the earlier vicissitudes of his fortunes. Beside him, at a table placed on the sand, sat his vizier and son-in-law, Ali, to whom was given the task of writing the treaty as dictated by Mohammed.
"Begin, O Ali," said the prophet, "'In the name of the most merciful God'—"
Sohail, the spokesman of the Meccan deputation, immediately objected, "It is the custom of the Meccans to begin, 'In Thy name, O God.'"
"So be it," assented the prophet; then, continuing, he dictated the opening of the body of the treaty—"'These are the conditions on which Mohammed, the apostle of God, has made peace with those of Mecca.'"
A deep murmur of disapproval arose throughout the Meccan embassy.
"Not so, O Mohammed!" cried Sohail again. "Had we indeed acknowledged you as the prophet of God, think you we would have sent Khaled Ibn Waled with armed men against you? Think you we would have closed the streets of Mecca against one whom we recognized as an ambassador of the Most High? No, Mohammed, son of Abdallah, it must not be 'apostle of God.'"
Mohammed again bowed in token of submission. "Write thus, then, O Ali," he said. "'These are the conditions on which Mohammed, son of Abdallah, has made peace with those of Mecca.'"
He then proceeded to the terms of the treaty, stipulating that the prophet and his followers should have access to the city at any season during the period of truce, provided they came unarmed, habited as pilgrims, and did not remain over three days at a time.
This business concluded, the embassy from Mecca retraced its way; and Mohammed, changing his mind about entering the city at that time, ordered that prayers should be offered up on the spot, that seventy camels should there be sacrificed, and that the pilgrims should then return home.
This was accordingly done, and the people went back in some disappointment to Medina, where the prophet announced the success of his mission in a new passage from the Koran:
"Now hath God verified unto his apostle the vision wherein he said, Ye shall surely enter the holy temple of Mecca, if God please, in full security."