HIGH up among the black lava crags of Perea stood the dismal fortress of
Macherus. Behind its close prison bars a restless captive groped his way
back and forth in a dungeon cell. Sometimes, at long intervals, he was
given such liberty as a chained eagle might have, when he was led up
into one of the towers of the gloomy keep, and allowed to look down,
down into the bottomless gorges surrounding it. For months he had chafed
in the darkness of his underground dungeon; escape was impossible.
It was John Baptist, brought from the wild, free life of the desert to
the tortures of the "Black Castle." Here he lay at the mercy of Herod
Antipas, and death might strike at any moment. More than once, the
whimsical monarch had sent for him, as he sat at his banquets, to be the
sport of the passing hour.
The lights, the color, the flash of gems may have dazzled his eyes for a
brief space, accustomed as they were to the midnight darkness of his
cell; but his keen vision saw, under the paint and purple of royal
apparel, the corrupt life of king and court.
Pointing his stern, accusing finger at the uneasy king, he cried, "It is
not lawful for thee to have thy brother's wife!" With words that stung
like hurtling arrows, he laid bare the blackened, beastly life that
sought to hide its foulness under royal ermine.
Antipas cowered before him; and while he would gladly have been freed
from a man who had such power over him, he dared not lift a finger
against the fearless, unflinching Baptist.
But the guilty Herodias bided her time, with blood-thirsty impatience;
his life should pay the penalty of his bold speech.
Meanwhile he waited in his cell, with nothing but memories to relieve
the tediousness of the long hours. Over and over again he lived those
scenes of his strange life in the desert,--those days of his
preparation,--the preaching to the multitudes, the baptizing at the ford
of the Jordan.
He wondered if his words still lived; if any of his followers still
believed on him. But more than all, he wondered what had become of that
One on whom he had seen the spirit of God descending out of heaven in
the form of a dove.
"Where art Thou now?" he cried. "If Thou art the Messiah, why dost Thou
not set up Thy kingdom, and speedily give Thy servant his liberty?" The
empty room rang often with that cry; but the hollow echo of his own
words was the only answer.
One day the door of his cell creaked back far enough to admit two men,
and then shut again, leaving them in total darkness. In that momentary
flash of light, he recognized two old followers of his, Timeus bar Joram
and Benjamin the potter.
With a cry of joy he groped his way toward them, and clung to their
friendly hands.
"How did you manage to penetrate these Roman-guarded walls?" he asked,
in astonishment.
"I knew the warden," answered Benjamin. "A piece of silver conveniently
closes his eyes to many things. But we must hasten! Our time is
limited."
They had much to tell of the outside world. Pilate had just given
special offence, by appropriating part of the treasure of the Temple,
derived from the Temple tax, to defray the cost of great conduits he had
begun, with which to supply Jerusalem with water.
Stirred up by the priests and rabbis, the people besieged the government
house, crying loudly that the works be given up. Armed with clubs,
numbers of soldiers in plain clothes surrounded the great mob, and
killed so many of the people that the wildest excitement prevailed
throughout all Judea and Galilee.
There was a cry for a national uprising to avenge the murder.
"They only need a leader!" exclaimed John. "Where is He for whom I was
but a voice crying in the wilderness? Why does He not show Himself?"
"We have just come from the village of Nain," said Timeus bar Joram. "We
saw Him stop a funeral procession and raise a widow's son to life. He
was followed by a motley throng whom He had healed of all sorts of
diseases; and there were twelve men whom He had chosen as life-long
companions.
"We questioned some of them closely, and they gave us marvellous reports
of the things He had done."
"Is it not strange," asked Benjamin the potter, "that having such power
He still delays to establish His kingdom?"
The captive prophet made no answer for awhile. Then he groped in the
thick darkness till his hand rested heavily on Benjamin's arm.
"Go back, and say that John Baptist asks, 'Art Thou the Coming One, or
must we look for another?'"
Days passed before the devoted friends found themselves once more inside
the prison walls. They had had a weary journey over rough hills and
rocky by-paths.
"What did He say?" demanded the prisoner, eagerly.
"Go and tell John what ye saw and heard: that the blind receive sight;
the lame walk; the lepers are cleansed; the deaf hear; the dead are
raised; and the poor have the gospel preached unto them."
The man stood up, his long hair hanging to his shoulder, his hand
uplifted, and his eyes dilated like a startled deer that has caught the
sound of a coming step.
"The fulfilment of the words of Isaiah!" he cried. "For he hath said,
'Your God will come and save you. Then the eyes of the blind shall be
opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame
man leap as a hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing!' Yea, he _hath_
bound up the broken-hearted; and he shall yet 'proclaim liberty to the
captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound, to
proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord!'"
Then with both hands clasped high above his head, he made the prison
ring with the cry, "The kingdom is at hand! The kingdom is at hand! I
shall soon be free!"
Not long after that, the castle blazed with the lights of another
banquet. The faint aroma of wines, mingled with the heavy odor of
countless flowers, could not penetrate the grim prison walls. Nor could
the gay snatches of song and the revelry of the feast. No sound of
applause reached the prisoner's ear, when the daughter of Herodias
danced before the king.
Sitting in darkness while the birthday banqueters held high carnival, he
heard the heavy tramp of soldiers' feet coming down the stairs to his
dungeon. The great bolts shot back, the rusty hinges turned, and a
lantern flickered its light in his face, as he stood up to receive his
executioners.
A little while later his severed head was taken on a charger to the
smiling dancing girl. She stifled a shriek when she saw it; but the
wicked Herodias looked at it with a gleam of triumph in her treacherous
black eyes.
When the lights were out, and the feasters gone, two men came in at the
warden's bidding,--two men with heavy hearts, and voices that shook a
little when they spoke to each other. They were Timeus and Benjamin.
Silently they lifted the body of their beloved master, and carried it
away for burial; and if a tear or two found an unaccustomed path down
their bearded cheeks, no one knew it, under cover of the darkness.
So, out of the Black Castle of Macherus, out of the prison-house of a
mortal body, the white-souled prophet of the wilderness went forth at
last into liberty.
For him, the kingdom was indeed at hand.
* * * * *
Meanwhile in the upper country, Phineas was following his friend from
village to village. He had dropped his old familiar form of address, so
much was he impressed by the mysterious power he saw constantly
displayed.
Now when he spoke of the man who had been both friend and playfellow,
it was almost reverently that he gave Him the title of Master.
It was with a heavy heart that Joel watched them go away. He, too,
longed to follow; but he knew that unless he took the place at the
bench, Phineas could not be free to go.
Gratitude held him to his post. No, not gratitude alone; he was learning
the Master's own spirit of loving self-sacrifice. As he dropped the
plumb-line over his work, he measured himself by that perfect life, and
tried to straighten himself to its unbending standard.
He had his reward in the look of pleasure that he saw on the carpenter's
face when Phineas came in, unexpectedly, one day, dusty and
travel-stained.
"How much you have accomplished!" he said in surprise. "You have filled
my place like a grown man."
Joel stretched his strong arms with a slight laugh. "It is a pleasure to
work now," he said. "It seems so queer never to have a pain, or that
worn-out feeling of weakness that used to be always with me. At first I
was often afraid it was all a happy dream, and could not last. I am
getting used to it now. Where is the Master?" Joel asked, as Phineas
turned towards the house.
"He is the guest of Simon. He will be here some days, my son. I know you
wish to be with Him as much as possible, so I shall not expect your help
as long as He stays."
"If I could only do something for Him!" was Joel's constant thought
during the next few days. Once he took a coin from the little money bag
that held his hoarded savings--a coin that was to have helped buy his
revenge--and bought the ripest, juiciest pear he could find in the
market. Often he brought Him water, fresh and cold from the well when He
looked tired and warm from His unceasing work.
Wherever the Master turned, there, close beside Him, was a beaming
little face, so full of love and childish sympathy that it must have
brought more refreshment to His thirsty soul than either the choice
fruit or the cooling water.
One evening after a busy day, when He had talked for hours to the people
on the seashore who had gathered around the boat in which He sat, He
sent away the multitude.
"Let us pass over unto the other side," He said.
Joel slipped up to Andrew, who was busily arranging their sails. "Let me
go, too!" he whispered pleadingly.
"Well," assented the man, carelessly, "You can make yourself useful, I
suppose. Will you hand me that rope?"
Joel sprang to obey. Presently the boat pushed away from the shore, and
the town, with its tumult and its twinkling lights, was soon left far
behind.
The sea was like glass, so calm and unruffled that every star above
could look down and see its unbroken reflection in the dark water below.
Joel, in the hinder part of the ship, lay back in his seat with a sigh
of perfect enjoyment. The smooth gliding motion of the boat rested him;
the soft splash of the water soothed his excited brain. He had seen his
Uncle Laban that afternoon among other of the scribes and Pharisees, and
heard him declare that Beelzebub alone was responsible for the wonders
they witnessed.
Joel's indignation flared up again at the memory. He looked down at the
Master, who had fallen asleep on a pillow, and wondered how anybody
could possibly believe such evil things about Him.
It was cooler out where they were now. He wondered if he ought not to
lay some covering over the sleeping form. He took off the outer mantle
that he wore, and bent forward to lay it over the Master's feet. But he
drew back timidly, afraid of wakening Him. "I'll wait awhile," he said
to himself, folding the garment across his knees in readiness.
Several times he reached forward to lay it over Him, and each time drew
back. Then he fell asleep himself.
From its situation in the basin of the hills, the Galilee is subject to
sudden and furious storms. The winds, rushing down the heights, meet and
clash above the water, till the waves run up like walls, then sink again
into seething whirlpools of danger.
Joel, falling asleep in a dead calm, awoke to find the ship rolling and
tossing and half-full of water. The lightning's track was followed so
closely by the crash of thunder, there was not even pause enough between
to take one terrified gasp.
Still the Master slept. Joel, drenched to the skin, clung to the boat's
side, expecting that every minute would be his last. It was so dark and
wild and awful! How helpless they were, buffetted about in the fury of
the storm!
As wave after wave beat in, some of the men could no longer control
their fear.
"Master!" they called to the sleeping man, as they bent over Him in
terror. "Carest Thou not that we perish?"
He heard the cry for help. The storm could not waken Him from His deep
sleep of exhaustion, but at the first despairing human voice, He was up,
ready to help.
Looking up at the midnight blackness of the sky, and down at the wild
waste of waters, He stretched out His hand.
"_Peace!_" he commanded in a deep voice. "_Be still!_" The storm sank to
earth as suddenly as a death-stricken raven; a great calm spread over
the face of the waters. The silent stars shone out in their places; the
silent sea mirrored back their glory at His feet.
The men huddled fearfully together. "What manner of man is this?" they
asked, one of another. "Even the wind and the sea obey Him!"
Joel, looking up at the majestic form, standing so quietly by the
railing, thought of the voice that once rang out over the night of
Creation with the command, "Let there be light!" At its mere bidding
light had flowed in across the darkness of primeval night.
Just so had this voice thrilled the storm with its "Peace! Be still!"
into utter calm.
The child crouched at His feet, burying his face in his mantle, and
whispering, in awe and adoration, "He _is_ the Christ! He is the son of
God!"