_A Narrow Escape_
[Sidenote: A Basket of Wine]
While my mind was wandering away in thoughts of the madness of ambition
in so brief a being as man, I heard a loud clamor of voices in the
chambers below. The rustic guards had been enjoying themselves, but
their wine was already out, and they set their faces boldly against
the discipline which pretended to limit the wine of patriots so true
and thirsty. The clamor arose from the discovery that the cellars of
the tower had been examined by a previous guard, who provided for
the temperance of their successors by taking the whole temptation to
themselves. High words followed between the abettors of discipline and
the partizans of the vintage, and if my door were but unbarred I might
have expeditiously relieved the captain of his charge. But its bolts were
enormous, and I tried them in vain. As I was giving up the effort, a
light footstep ascended the stairs; a key turned in the ponderous wards,
and the minstrel of the tent stood before me.
“If you wish to escape from certain death,” he whispered, “do as I bid
you.”
[Sidenote: A Minstrel’s Aid]
He looked from the casement, sang a few notes, and on being answered
from without pulled up a rope, which we hauled in together. The task
was of some difficulty, but at length a weighty basket appeared, loaded
with wine. He took a portion of the contraband freight in his hands and
without a word disappeared. I heard his welcome proclaimed below with
loud applause. Half the guard were instantly on the stairs to assist
him down with the remainder, but against this he firmly protested, and
threatened in case of a single attempt to interfere with his operations
that he would awake the captain and publicly give back this incomparable
private store to the legitimate hand. The threat was effective; the
unlading of the basket was left to his own dexterity, and at length but
one solitary flask lay before us.
“You deserve some payment for your trouble,” said he, with the careless
and jovial air of his brethren. “Here’s to your night’s enterprise,
whatever it be,” pouring out a few drops and tasting them, while he gave
a large draft to my feverish lips. “And now, good-night, my prince,
unless you love the tower too much to take leave of this gallant guard by
a window.”
“But, boy, if you should be detected in assisting my escape?”
“I have no fear of that,” said he. “I have been detected in all sorts
of frolics in my time, and yet here I am. The truth is, my prince, I
have traveled in your country and have an old honor for your name. No
later than to-day you gave me the handsomest present I have got since
I came within the walls. I know the noble captain of the guard to be a
thorough knave, and the mighty Onias to want nothing for wickedness but
the opportunity. In short, the thought occurred to me, on seeing you, to
help the honest revelers below to a little more wine than was good for
their understandings, the contraband being a commodity in which, between
ourselves, I deal; and further to break the laws by assisting you to
leave captain, sentinels, and all behind.”
I asked what was to be done.
“If you value your life, be the substitute for the empty flasks and make
your way through the air like a bird. I shall be safe enough. You need
have no fears for me.”
I coiled the rope round a beam, forced myself through the narrow
casement, and launched out into air at a height of a hundred feet. If
I felt any distrust, it was brief. I was rapidly lowered, passing the
various casements, in which I saw the successive watches of the guard
drinking, sleeping, singing, and discussing public affairs with village
rationality. Luckily no eye turned upon the fugitive, and the ground was
touched at last.
In another moment the minstrel came, rather flying than sliding, down
the rope. I said something in acknowledgment of this service, but he laid
his finger on his lip, and pointing to a rampart, where a moving torch
showed me that we were still within observation, led on through paths
beset with thickets that no eye could penetrate, but, as he laughingly
said, “that of a supplier of garrisons with contraband.” But their
intricacy offered no obstruction to this stripling; and after amusing
himself with my perplexities he led me to the verge of the plain.
“I have detained you,” said he, “in these brambles for the double purpose
of avoiding the lookout from the battlements and of giving the moon time
to hide her blushing beauties.”
She lay reddening with the mists on the horizon.
“She has been often called our mother, and as her children the minstrels
are allowed the privilege of keeping later hours and being madder than
the mob of mankind. But like other children we are sometimes engaged in
matters which would dispense with the maternal eye, and to-night I wished
that she was many a fathom below the ocean. Mother,” said he, throwing
himself into an attitude, “take a child’s blessing and begone.”
The words were spoken to a touch on his little harp—rambling, but
singularly sweet.
“Do you know,” said he with a sigh, as he turned and saw me gazing in
admiration of his skill, “I am weary to death of my profession.”
“Then why not leave it? You are fit for better things. Your skill is of
the very nature that makes its way in the world.”
[Sidenote: The Freedom of Singing]
“Why not leave it? For a hundred reasons. In the first place, I should
be more wearied of every other. I should be the bird in the cage, fed,
sheltered, and possibly a favorite. But what bird would not rather take
the chance of the open air, even to be scorched by the summer and frozen
by the winter? No; let me clap my pinions and sing my song under the free
canopy of the skies, or be voiceless, and wingless, and—dead.”
“Boy, this is the natural language of your years. But the time must come
when the spirit sinks and man requires other charms in life than the
power of roaming.”
He hung his head over the harp and let his fingers stray among the
strings. The moon was now touching the mountains.
“We must begone,” said I. “I owe you something for your night’s service,
which shall be repaid by taking you into my household should the siege be
raised; if not, you are but as you were.”
He was all nervous excitement at the offer—wept, laughed, danced, played
a prelude upon the strings, kissed my hand, and finally bounded away
before me. I called to him, repeating my wish that he should go no
farther.
[Sidenote: The Minstrel Guide]
“Impossible,” said he; “you would be lost in a moment. If I had not
crossed the ground hundreds of times, I should never be able to find my
road. Half a mile forward it is all rampart, trench, and ravine. You
would be stopped by a myriad of sentinels. Nothing on earth could get to
the foot of yonder hills, but an army—or a minstrel.”
He ran on before me, and ran with a rapidity that tasked even my foot
to follow. We soon came into the fortified ground, and I then felt
his value. He led me over fosse and rampart, up the scarp and through
the palisade, with the sagacity of instinct. But this was not all. I
repeatedly saw the sentinels within a few feet of us, and expected to
be challenged every moment, but not a syllable was heard. I passed with
patrols of the legionary horse on either side of me; still not a word. I
walked through the rows of tents, in which the troops were preparing for
the duties of the morning. Not an eye fell upon me, and I almost began to
believe myself, like a hero of the heathen fables, covered with a cloud.
[Sidenote: Salathiel’s New Captors]
The boy still continued racing along, until, on reaching the summit of a
mound at some distance in front of me, he uttered a cry and fell. I had
heard no challenge, and hurried toward him. A flight of arrows whizzed
over my head, and the black visages of a mob of Ethiopian riders[51] came
bounding up a hollow between us. It was not my purpose to fight, even if
I had any hope of success against marksmen who could hit an elephant’s
eye. I surrendered in every language of which I was capable. But the
Ethiopians only shook their woolly heads, laid hands on me, and began an
investigation of my riches creditable to polished society. Barbarians,
with a tongue and physiognomy worthy only of their kindred baboons,
probed every plait of my garments, with an accuracy that could have been
surpassed only in the most civilized custom-houses of the empire. A
succession of shrieks, which I mistook for rage, but which were the mirth
of those sons of darkness, were the prelude to measures which augured
more formidable consequences. A rope was thrown over my arms, and I was
led toward the outposts.
Yet even the neighborhood of their Roman friends did not seem the most
congenial to my captors. More than one consultation was held, in which
their white teeth were bared to the jaw with rage, and their simitars
were whirled like so many flashes of lightning about each other’s
turbans, before they could decide whether my throat was to be cut on the
spot, to get rid of an incumbrance, or whether they were to try how far
the emptiness of my purse might not be made up by the reward for the
capture of a spy in the trappings of a chieftain.
I gave up remonstrance where, if I had all the tongues of Babel, none
of them seemed likely to answer my purpose, and reserving the nice
distinction between an ambassador and a spy for more cultivated ears,
quietly walked onward in the midst of this troop of thieves; the more
insensible to honesty or argument, as they were privileged according to
law. But our approach to the camp bred another difficulty. The troop felt
an obvious disinclination to come too close to the legionaries. Untutored
as the negroes were, they had acquired a knowledge of the official
conscience, and they bowed to the mastery of the white in plunder as
among the accomplishments of an advanced age!
All could not venture to the camp; yet who was to be entrusted with
receiving the reward? The discussion was carried on chiefly by gesture,
which sometimes proceeded to blows, and at last was wound up to such
vigor that a brawny ruffian, to preserve the peace, seized the rope and,
dragging me out the circle, began sharpening his simitar, to extinguish
the controversy. But at the instant a horrid outcry arose, and a figure,
hideous beyond conception, not a foot high, blacker than the blackest,
and darting flames from its mouth, bounded in among us, mounted upon a
wild beast of a horse that kicked and tore at everything. The Ethiopians
shrieked with terror and scattered on all sides at the first shock, but
the ground was so cut up by the military operations that they stumbled
at every step. Some were unhorsed; some probably had their necks broken,
and others carried home the tale, to spread it through the land of lions.
I heard it long after, exciting the utmost amaze in a venerable circle
round one of the fountains of the Nile.
[Sidenote: Salathiel’s Appeal]
I was now saved from being thus summarily made the victim of peace, but
was as far as ever from freedom. While I was endeavoring to loose the
rope, a patrol of the legionary horse came galloping from the camp, and
I was seized with this badge of a bad character upon me. But the flying
negroes were the more amusing objects. There was just light enough to
see them rolling about the plain; turbans flying off in the air; and the
few riders who could boast of keeping their seats, whirled away over
brake and brier, at the mercy of their frightened horses. This display,
which had been at first taken for the prelude to an assault on the lines,
was now a source of pleasantry, and the horsemanship of the savages was
honored with many a roar.
My case came next under consideration. “I was found at the edge of the
Roman entrenchments, where to be found was to die; I was besides taken
with the mark of reprobation upon me.”
I pleaded my own merits loudly, and appealed to the rope as evidence that
I was not there by my own will. The legionaries were better soldiers
than logicians, and my defense perplexed them until some one thought
of inquiring what brought me there at all. The troop flocked round to
hear my answer to this overwhelming question. I told my purpose in a few
words.
[Sidenote: On the Point of Death]
The scale again turned in my favor, and I began to think victory secure,
when a young standard-bearer, who was probably destined to rise in the
state, declared, with a splenetic tongue and brow of office, that “in
this land of cheating too much precaution could not be adopted against
cheats of all colors; that the more plausible my story was, the more
likely it was to be a falsehood; and finally, that as my escape might do
some kind of mischief, while my hanging could do none whatever, it was
advisable to hang me without delay.”
The orator spoke the words of popularity, and my fate was sealed.
But a new difficulty arose. By whom was the sentence to be put in
execution?—for the duty would have sullied the legionary honor for life.
A trampled African, who lay groaning in a ditch beside me, caught the
sound of the debate, dragged himself out, and offered, mangled as he
was, to perform the office for any sum that their generosity might think
proper to give. Never was man nearer to paying the grand debt than I was
at that moment. The African recovered his vigor as by magic, and the
young statesman took upon himself the superintendence of this service
to his country. I raised my voice loudly against this violence to a
“negotiator”; but the troopers of the imperial horse had been roused from
their sleep on my account, and they were not to return, liable to the
ridicule of having been roused by a false alarm. I still endeavored to
put off the evil hour, when the trampling of a large body of cavalry was
heard.
“The general!” exclaimed the young officer, who evidently had an
instinctive sensibility to the approach of rank.
“Let Titus come,” said I, “or any man of honor, and _he_ will understand
me.”
I tore the badge of disgrace from my arms and stepped forward to meet
the great son of Vespasian. My confidence alarmed the troop, and the
standard-bearer made way for the man who dared to speak to the heir of
the throne. But the general was not Titus; a broad, brutal countenance,
red with excess, glared haughtily round. I recognized Cestius. A whisper
from one of the officers put him in possession of the circumstances, and
he rode up to me.
“So, rebel! you are come to this at last! You have been taken in the fact
and must undergo your natural fate.”
[Sidenote: Salathiel Defies Cestius]
“I demand to be led to your general. I scorn to defend myself before
inferiors.”
“Inferiors!” He bit his livid lip. “Traitor, you are not now on the hill
of Scopas at the head of an army.”
“Nor you,” said I, “on the plain at the head of an army—and so much the
more fortunate for both you and them. But I scorn to talk to men whose
backs I have seen. Lead me to your master, fugitive!”
The troops, unaccustomed to this plain speaking, looked on with wonder.
Cestius himself was staggered, but the nature of the man soon returned,
and in a voice of fury he ordered a body of Arab archers, who were seen
moving at a distance, to be brought up for the extinction of a “traitor
unworthy of a Roman sword.” The Arabs, exhilarated by the prospect of
employment, came up, shouting, tossing their lances, and shooting their
arrows. As a last resource, I solemnly protested against this murder,
which I pronounced to be the work of a revenge disgraceful to the name
of soldier; and taunting Cestius with his defeat, demanded that, if he
doubted my honor, he should try on the spot “which of our swords was the
better.”
He answered only by a glare of rage and a gesture to the archers,
who instantly threw themselves into a half circle round me, with the
expertness of proficients in the trade of justice, and bended their bows.
Determined to resist to the last, I flung out upbraidings and scorn upon
the murderer, which drove him to hide his head behind the troops. Another
disturbance arose. Simitars waved, turbans shook, horses plunged; the
deep order was broken, and at length a horseman, magnificently appareled
and mounted, burst into the ring and looked fiercely round.
“What, you miscreants,” he shouted, “who dares to take command out of
my hands? Down with your bows! Commit murder and I not present! The
first man that pulls a string shall leave an empty saddle. Draw off,
cutthroats, or if you want to do the world a service, shoot one another.”
[Sidenote: A Meeting With the Captain]
I seemed to remember the voice, but I gazed in vain on the splendid
figure. The turban that, blazing with gems, hung down on his forehead,
and the beard that, black as the raven’s wing, curled full round his lip,
completely baffled me. He looked at me in turn, thrust out a sinewy hand,
and, clasping mine, exclaimed with a laugh:
“Prince, does the plumage make you forget the bird? What can have brought
you into the hands of my culprits? I thought that you were drowned,
burned, or a candidate for the imperial diadem by this time.”
I now knew him.
“My friend of the free-trade!” said I in a low tone.
He spoke in a fearless tone. “By no means. I have reformed—am a changed
man—captain of the seas no more; but a loyal plunderer—in the service of
Vespasian, and in command of a thousand Arab cavalry that will ride, run
away, and rob with any corps in the service; and the word is a bold one.”
Our brief conference was broken up by the return of Cestius, who,
outrageous at the delay and coming to inquire the cause, found fresh fuel
for his wrath in the sight of the Arab captain turned into my protector.
With an execration he demanded “why his orders had been disobeyed.”
The captain answered, with the most provoking coolness, that “no Roman
officer, let his rank be what it might, was entitled to degrade the
allies into executioners.”
The Roman grew furious with the slight in the face of the troops, who
highly enjoyed it. The Arab grew more sarcastic, till Cestius was rash
enough to lift his hand, and the Arab anticipated the blow, by dashing
his charger at him and leaving the general and his horse struggling
together on the ground. An insult of this kind to the second in command
was, of course, not to be forgiven. The Arabs bent their bows to make
battle for their captain, but he forbade resistance; and when the
legionary tribune demanded his sword, he surrendered it with a smile,
saying that “he had done service enough for one day in saving an honest
man and punishing a ruffian,” and that he should justify himself to Titus
alone.
[Sidenote: The Approach of the Enemy]
My fate was still undetermined. But the legionaries soon had more
pressing matters to think of. The clangor of horns and shouts came in
the direction of the city. The plain still lay in shade, but I could see
through the dusk immense crowds moving forward like an inundation. The
legions were instantly under arms, and I stood a chance of being walked
over by two armies!
But I was not to encounter so distinguished a catastrophe. Some symptoms
of my inclination to escape attracted the eye of the guard, and I was
marched to the common repository of malefactors in the rear of the lines.