The night was far advanced, and there were indications that the great
festival was drawing to a close. The last feature expected was an
address from the king. The hour appointed had arrived, and expectation
ran high, but Jehoiakim made not his appearance. At last Sherakim
appeared before the vast audience, and commenced an apology for the
absence of the monarch in the following strain:
“Princes and Nobles of Judah! It is with heartfelt regret that I am
compelled to convey to you the painful intelligence that our
illustrious sovereign, owing to illness, will not be able to deliver
the royal address. This no one can regret more than your unworthy
servant. Is it any wonder that—”
Just at this time, the king himself, with a flushed countenance and a
very unsteady step, appeared on the stage. It was glaringly evident to
all who were not in the same condition themselves, that the King of
Judah was altogether incompetent for that important branch of business
which, in despite of the kind remonstrances of his personal friends, he
was determined to undertake.
The reader is already aware that the king had been twice disturbed by
the dark predictions of the persecuted Jeremiah. In the attempt to
throw off his embarrassment, and appear courageous before his friends,
he sought relief in mixed wines, of which he partook without restraint.
These, in a measure, proved sufficient to stupefy his guilty
conscience, but they added to his vanity and self-conceit. Long before
the hour arrived for the delivery of the royal address, the King of
Judah’s conversation amounted to nothing more than drunken babbling.
A number of his most influential courtiers endeavored, with all their
tact and ingenuity, to dissuade their sovereign from the attempt,
urging that the excitement of the night had already so prostrated him
that it would be unsafe for his health to enter again into the uproar
of the festive hall. Now, Sherakim had come to the conclusion that
their arguments had finally prevailed, and that the king had been
comfortably removed to his bed-chamber; hence his remarks, which were
cut short by the sudden appearance of the king. Jehoiakim, without any
ceremony, commanded the orator to fall back; which command was
instantly obeyed. Instead of ascending the throne, as usual, he took
the stand that had been vacated by Sherakim, waved his hand, and loudly
laughed, while the audience cheered; then, with violent gestures and
faltering tongue, he went on:
“Princes and Nobles of Judah! I am here! I tell you I am here! Am I not
Jehoiakim, King of Judah? Is not this the glorious reign of my
anniversary? Where is the villain that dares to say it is not? Then
that is a settled question. I hear no contradiction. Who dares
contradict? I hear no reply. Who is afraid of the King of Babylon? If
ye know of such an one, bring the cowardly dog to me, and I will take
off his head—Ha! ha! ha! Old Jeremiah! Where is he? Ah, I’ll soon put
him out of the way. Can there be any danger while the King of Babylon
is fighting with the King of Egypt?
“Princess and Nobles of Judah! I perceive ye understand your sovereign.
We are all safe! He dethroned me three years ago—Ha! ha! ha! Will he do
it again? Shall I pay him any more tribute money? Never! I defy his
power! And to-morrow I shall punish the enemies of Judah who live in
our midst. Tomorrow shall flow rivers of blood!”
The heavy blasts of trumpets were now distinctly heard without, which
arrested the king in his drunken speech. A number of officers rose to
their feet. A young officer in uniform rushed into the banquet-hall and
cried at the top of his voice: “To arms! To arms! To arms, O Judah! The
legions of the Chaldeans are approaching the Holy City! To arms! To
arms! To arms!” and the officer hurried again into the street. The
confusion that ensued was indescribable. Officers ran to and fro in
wild haste. Wives and daughters wailed, lamented, and clung to their
husbands and fathers in the utmost dismay. Hilarity and mirth were
turned into sorrow and bitter lamentations. Those proud and lofty
arches that had so lately rung to the sound of the merry song and
boisterous laugh, now answered to the distracted cry of the fair
daughters of Judah. Thus, in “confusion worse confounded,” broke up the
great festival of the last anniversary of the reign of Jehoiakim, King
of Judah.
The dawn of day presented to the inhabitants of Jerusalem their true
and lamentable condition. A portion of the Chaldean army was already
encamped on the plains before the city, and nearby the remaining
legions were on a rapid march to the same spot. This sudden appearance
of the forces of Nebuchadnezzar before the walls of Jerusalem was owing
to the King of Judah’s refusing to pay the tribute money as agreed on
another occasion.
Three years before, the same king, who then reigned jointly with his
father, brought his forces before the city, and without any resistance
they thought fit to surrender. Jehoiakim was still permitted to reign,
but subjected to be a tributary to the King of Babylon. For two years
this agreement was adhered to by the King of Judah. On the third, the
King of Babylon marched his forces into Egypt, to bring into subjection
the revolting inhabitants, whom he had previously conquered. Jehoiakim,
trusting that the Egyptians would be able to stand their ground, and,
peradventure, prove victorious, thought this a favorable time to throw
off the Chaldean yoke; and consequently, scornfully refused to pay the
tribute money, and treated the Chaldean ambassador with haughtiness.
But, contrary to the expectations of the King of Judah, the Egyptians,
when they beheld the powerful legions of the Chaldeans, gave up their
rebellion, and promised allegiance to the King of Babylon.
Nebuchadnezzar, enraged by the conduct of the King of Judah, ordered
his forces in Egypt to march and encamp before the walls of Jerusalem.
Early in the morning of that fatal day, Jehoiakim called together a
grand council, in order to deliberate on the best measures to be
pursued in the painful emergency. Some advised a strenuous resistance;
others said this would be vain—that the city was not able to stand a
siege for one month because they were destitute of provisions, and,
moreover, the army was in a very imperfect condition. The king thought
it advisable to show no resistance, but to treat the King of Babylon
with, civility. Finally, the grand council agreed that it was not
expedient to resist the entrance of the King of Babylon, and concluded
to throw open the gates of the city.
As yet the Chaldeans remained stationary, about thirty furlongs to the
south. About the third hour they began to advance, their glittering
arms, dazzling in the bright sunbeams, giving them a grand and imposing
appearance. The walls of the city were thronged with anxious gazers,
and all hearts throbbed with deep and painful anxiety. Nearer and
nearer they approached! The rumbling of their war chariots fell heavily
on the ear. The heavy hoofs of their spirited chargers made the earth
tremble. The loud blasts of their numerous trumpeters were carried on
the wings of the wind, while the echoes answered from the lofty towers
of ancient Salem. Suddenly the massive gates were thrown open. Then a
grand shout from the whole army rent the air. For hours they poured in
through the wide portals, and once more the gods of the Gentiles were
escorted in triumph through the wide thoroughfares of the “City of the
Great King.”