The year 621 glided peacefully away. Mohammed, occupied with thoughts
of a glorious future at Medina, had lost interest in spreading the
faith in Mecca; and the Koreish, deceived by his apparent inactivity,
had largely ceased to trouble him. Musab eventually returned with
a glowing account of the progress made at Medina; but the Prophet,
whose caution was certainly no less pronounced than his courage,
carefully guarded his enthusiasm until more definite proofs were at
hand. They soon came. In March, 622, the date fixed for the second
conclave, seventy-three Medinese came in obedience to the promise
made in the preceding year.
This occasion was so profoundly important that Mohammed took an
infinitude of pains to conceal it--even his trusted intimates did
not know about it beforehand. The Prophet, accompanied only by his
wealthy and trustworthy uncle Al-Abbas, met the delegates at dead
of night in a secluded glen. Al-Abbas diplomatically broke the ice
by stating that, while his wonderful nephew was happy, safe and
contented in Mecca, he nevertheless preferred to establish himself
at Medina--in case ample security for his safety were assured. To
this harangue Al-Bara, leader of the visitors, replied: “We have
listened to thy words. Our resolution is unshaken. Our lives are at
the Prophet’s service. It is now for _him_ to speak.” Then Mohammed,
beginning loftily as he always did by chanting long passages of the
Koran, finally descended to the earth and informed them that he would
be gracious enough to confer the boon of his presence upon Medina
if its inhabitants would make an irrevocable vow to defend him,
even as they would protect their nearest and dearest. A confused
jargon of voices arose, eagerly assuring him that his person would
be guarded at any cost. Al-Abbas, frightened almost out of his
skin, breathed: “Hush! There may be spies abroad,” and in low tones
requested them to plight their faith. The chief replied, “Stretch
out thy hand, O Mohammed!” He did so; and Al-Bara, followed by all
the rest, struck his hand upon the Prophet’s in token of fealty.
This was called the Second Pledge, since it included an oath to
fight for the Prophet, and the touching of his holy hand--an honor
never given to the generality of women. The assembly then silently
broke up.
Such a large body of men could not gather so close to Mecca, however,
without rumors leaking out. Next morning the mistrustful chiefs of
the Koreish called upon the visitors and informed them that their
presence warranted the suspicion that they were interfering in the
politics of Mecca--an act that virtually amounted to a declaration
of war. The Medinese did the only possible thing: they replied that
the Koreish were wholly mistaken, and the slow-witted Meccans were
ingenuous enough to believe them. But the clever Yathribites had
barely departed in high glee when the Koreish learnt the facts, and
set out upon a vain pursuit. Thus foiled, the enraged Koreish at
once vented their spleen upon the believers, to whom the Prophet
accordingly gave this command: “Depart unto Medina; for the Lord
hath verily given unto you brethren in that city, and a home in
which ye may find refuge.” Early in April the migration commenced,
in parties of twos and threes, while the baffled Koreish looked on
in stupefied amazement; for the number of clans that were involved
in the movement prevented any concerted hostilities, since no one
had the right to interfere in private family matters. By force or
guile, however, they succeeded in corrupting some of Mohammed’s
coadjutors who were weakest in faith or family ties; but the great
body of Islam--now numbering probably close to two hundred souls--got
safely away. A royal welcome awaited them, for the Medinese converts,
flushed with their novel fanaticism, bestowed every imaginable
honor upon the refugees--one zealot even went so far as to offer
his guest one-half of his property, and also added a special bounty
in the shape of one of his wives.
But Mohammed, together with his family and the household of Abu Bekr,
still lingered. He informed Abu that “his time was not yet come;
the Lord had not as yet given him the command to emigrate.” Whether
or no the Prophet’s decision to tarry was determined on account
of a genuine desire not to leave the burning ship before all the
passengers were safe, or because he cannily awaited further proofs
from the Medinese before trusting his skin to them, must forever
remain a matter for indulgent speculation. But in the middle of June
he received the fearful intelligence that the Koreish intended to
visit him. Their purpose is uncertain. It has been surmised that
they had decided to assassinate him--for if, like Cæsar, he were
to be pierced with swords driven home by representatives of every
tribe, his weak clan would have to be satisfied with blood-money
instead of blood-vengeance--to imprison him, to ostracize him, or
to do no man knows what. That Mohammed himself was not privy to
their intentions is indicated by this passage from the Koran: “And
call to mind when the Unbelievers plotted against thee, that they
might detain thee, or slay thee, or expel thee. Yea, they plotted,
but God plotted likewise. And God is the best of plotters.”
Tradition states that Gabriel informed the Prophet of the malignant
design; he at once told Ali to lie upon his bed, then went forth,
and simultaneously greeted the evil-comers with a handful of dust
and this excerpt from the Koran, “And We have covered them so that
they shall not see.” For, indeed, the best of plotters had wrapped
Mohammed in a cloak of invisibility; he therefore escaped undetected
while the murderous men lay in wait, thinking that the silent figure
on the bed was the Prophet until the morning light apprised them
of their sad error. It seems more likely, however, that Mohammed
merely threw his deceptive red mantle over the recumbent Ali, and
then slipped out of the back window to join the trembling Abu Bekr,
who wept joyous tears now that his superior had at last decided to
leave Mecca.
For the next three days, the two men lay in concealment in a
neighboring cave, while the distracted Koreish feverishly sought
everywhere for them. The house of Abu Bekr was searched, but when
his daughter Asma was asked, “Where is thy father?” she innocently
replied, “Truly, I know not where he is”--whereupon Abu Jahl, a
ferocious and impudent fellow, “slapped her on the face with such
force that one of her earrings dropped.” Meanwhile the two outcasts
lurked in the secrecy of the cave, across whose entrance, we are
informed, a divinely commissioned spider wove a protecting web; yet
legends are often more industrious than spiders. Abu Bekr would
shake with fear and breathe the low whisper, “What if one were to
look through the chink, and see us underneath his very feet?” to
which the Prophet would boldly reply: “Think not thus, Abu Bekr!
We are two, but God is in the midst a third.” Yet Mohammed loved
Abu “more than all the world; he held no one equal unto him,” sang
the poet Hassan; and the generally taciturn and morose Prophet,
listening to the song, was pleased and laughed so heartily that he
held his sides and his back teeth became visible. “Thou hast spoken
truly, O Hassan!” he remarked after he had recovered his breath,
“it is just as thou hast said.”
After three days had passed without their detection, it seemed safe
to speed toward Medina. The careful Abu Bekr had fetched a purse,
bulging with thousands of gold pieces, as well as two of his best
camels; and, probably on the night of June 20, they mounted the
beasts--Mohammed taking care to choose the swifter one, Al-Kaswa--and
started on the perilous journey. The two-hundred-odd miles that
they must traverse extended over a parched, barren, inexpressibly
desolate and mournful waste, where only such rugged trees as the
tamarind and acacia could exist, where phantom mirages mocked
the eye, and all nature was but a ribbed and menacing skeleton.
They traveled chiefly at night, resting during the sweltering heat
of the day and buying provisions from such scattered Bedouins as
they chanced to encounter. Abu Bekr, who was well known to most of
these desert dwellers, was frequently asked who his friend was,
and he regularly made the answer, “A guide to lead me,” while the
diplomatic Prophet kept a strict silence.
At length, after eight days of doubt and deprivation, they came in
sight of Medina; but the wary Mohammed had no intention of trusting
himself to the city before he knew exactly how things lay. “Lead
us,” he said to the guide, “straight to the Beni Amr at Koba, and
draw not yet nigh unto Medina.” This overscrupulous vigilance
turned out to be unnecessary, for rumors of his approach had set
the city agog with delight; and every morning a band of converts
and refugees had posted themselves on a hill to watch his arrival.
On this morning one of them, catching sight of the travelers as
they trudged toward Koba, raised the rapturous shout: “Ho! he has
come! he whom we have been looking for has come!” The marvelous
news flew from tongue to tongue, and everybody rushed forth to Koba
to greet the majestic guest. Even the children cried out: “Here is
the Prophet! He is come! He is come!” while a great crowd surged
around him and made profound obeisance. Then Mohammed knew at last
that he was safe among friends. He had escaped from Mecca, where
the Koreishite swords might have altered the course of events for
all time; but the otherwise dull and sluggish Middle Ages were
fated to be infinitely enriched by the romantic contest between the
Crescent and the Cross. “Ye people!” he courteously proclaimed,
“show your joy by giving your neighbors the salutation of peace;
send portions to the poor; bind close the ties of kinsmanship; and
offer up your prayers whilst others sleep. Thus ye shall enter
Paradise in peace.”