Ephriam cowered in the shadow of the tent, from which he had slipped,
and pressed his ear close to the wall. He had cautiously ripped a
small opening in a seam of the cloth, so he could see and hear what was
passing in the lighted room of the woman he loved. The storm kept every
one within the tents whom duty did not summon into the open air, and
Ephraim had less reason to fear discovery on account of the deep shadow
that rested on the spot where he lay. The nurse’s cloak covered him
and, though shiver after shiver shook his young limbs, it was due to the
bitter anguish that pierced his soul.
The man on whose breast he saw Kasana lay her head was a prince, a
person of high rank and great power, and the capricious beauty did not
always repel the bold man, when his lips sought those for whose kiss
Ephraim so ardently longed.
She owed him nothing, it is true, yet her heart belonged to his uncle,
whom she had preferred to all others. She had declared herself ready to
endure the most terrible things for his liberation; and now his own eyes
told him that she was false and faithless, that she granted to another
what belonged to one alone. She had bestowed caresses on him, too, but
these were only the crumbs that fell from Hosea’s table, a robbery--he
confessed it with a blush--he had perpetrated on his uncle, yet he
felt offended, insulted, deceived, and consumed to his inmost soul with
fierce jealousy on behalf of his uncle, whom he honored, nay, loved,
though he had opposed his wishes.
And Hosea? Why, he too, like himself, this princely suitor, and all
other men, must love her, spite of his strange conduct at the well by
the roadside--it was impossible for him to do otherwise--and now, safe
from the poor prisoner’s resentment, she was basely, treacherously
enjoying another’s tender caresses.
Siptah, he had heard at their last meeting, was his uncle’s foe, and it
was to him that she betrayed the man she loved!
The chink in the tent was ready to show him everything that occurred
within, but he often closed his eyes that he might not behold it. Often,
it is true, the hateful scene held him in thrall by a mysterious spell
and he would fain have torn the walls of the tent asunder, struck the
detested Egyptian to the ground, and shouted into the faithless woman’s
face the name of Hosea, coupled with the harshest reproaches.
The fervent passion which had taken possession of him was suddenly
transformed to hate and scorn. He had believed himself to be the
happiest of mortals, and he had suddenly become the most miserable; no
one, he believed, had ever experienced such a fall from the loftiest
heights to the lowest depths.
The nurse had been right. Naught save misery and despair could come to
him from so faithless a woman.
Once he started up to fly, but he again heard the bewitching tones of
her musical laugh, and mysterious powers detained him, forcing him to
listen.
At first the seething blood had throbbed so violently in his ears that
he felt unable to follow the dialogue in the lighted tent. But,
by degrees, he grasped the purport of whole sentences, and now he
understood all that they said, not a word of their further conversation
escaped him, and it was absorbing enough, though it revealed a gulf from
which he shrank shuddering.
Kasana refused the bold suitor many favors for which he pleaded, but
this only impelled him to beseech her more fervently to give herself to
him, and the prize he offered in return was the highest gift of earth,
the place by his side as queen on the throne of Egypt, to which he
aspired. He said this distinctly, but what followed was harder to
understand; for the passionate suitor was in great haste and often
interrupted his hasty sentences to assure Kasana, to whose hands in this
hour he was committing his life and liberty, of his changeless love,
or to soothe her when the boldness of his advances awakened fear and
aversion. But he soon began to speak of the letter whose bearer Ephraim
had been and, after reading it aloud and explaining it, the youth
realized with a slight shudder that he had become an accomplice in the
most criminal of all plots, and for a moment the longing stole over
him to betray the traitors and deliver them into the hand of the mighty
sovereign whose destruction they were plotting. But he repelled the
thought and merely sunned himself in the pleasurable consciousness--the
first during this cruel hour-of holding Kasana and her royal lover in
his hand as one holds a beetle by a string. This had a favorable effect
on him and restored the confidence and courage he had lost. The
baser the things he continued to hear, the more clearly he learned to
appreciate the value of the goodness and truth which he had lost. His
uncle’s words, too, came back to his memory.
“Give no man, from the loftiest to the lowliest, a right to regard you
save with respect, and you can hold your head as high as the proudest
warrior who ever wore purple robe and golden armor.”
On the couch in Kasana’s house, while shaking with fever, he had
constantly repeated this sentence; but in the misery of captivity, and
on his flight it had again vanished from his memory. In the courtier’s
tent when, after he had bathed and perfumed himself, the old slave
held a mirror before him, he had given it a passing thought; but now
it mastered his whole soul. And strange to say, the worthless traitor
within wore a purple coat and golden mail, and looked like a military
hero, but he could not hold his head erect, for the work he sought to
accomplish could only succeed in the secrecy that shuns the light, and
was like the labor of the hideous mole which undermines the ground in
the darkness.
His tool was the repulsive cloven-footed trio, falsehood, fraud, and
faithlessness, and she whom he had chosen for his help-mate was the
woman--it shamed him to his inmost soul-for whom he had been in the act
of sacrificing all that was honorable, precious, and dear to him.
The worst infamies which he had been taught to shun were the rounds of
the ladder on which this evil man intended to mount.
The roll the youth had brought to the camp contained two letters. The
first was from the conspirators in Tanis, the second from Siptah’s
mother.
The former desired his speedy return and told him that the Syrian Aarsu,
the commander of the foreign mercenaries, who guarded the palace,
as well as the women’s house, was ready to do him homage. If the
high-priest of Amon, who was at once chief-judge, viceroy and keeper
of the seal, proclaimed him king, he was sovereign and could enter the
palace which stood open to him and ascend the throne without resistance.
If Pharaoh returned, the body-guards would take him prisoner and remove
him as Siptah, who liked no halfway measures, had secretly directed,
while the chief-priest insisted upon keeping him in mild imprisonment.
Nothing was to be feared save the premature return from Thebes of Seti,
the second son of Menephtah; for the former, after his older brother’s
death, had become heir to the throne, and carrier doves had brought news
yesterday that he was now on his way. Therefore Siptah and the powerful
priest who was to proclaim him king were urged to the utmost haste.
The necessary measures had been adopted in case of possible resistance
from the army; for as soon as the Hebrews had been destroyed, the
larger portion of the troops, without any suspicion of the impending
dethronement of their commander-in-chief, would be sent to their former
stations. The body-guards were devoted to Siptah, and the others
who entered the capital, should worst come to worst, could be easily
overpowered by Aarsu and his mercenaries.
“There is nothing farther for me to do,” said the prince, “stretching
himself comfortably, like a man who has successfully accomplished a
toilsome task,” except to rush back to Tanis in a few hours with Bai,
have myself crowned and proclaimed king in the temple of Amon, and
finally received in the palace as Pharaoh. The rest will take care
of itself. Seti, whom they call the heir to the throne, is just such
another weakling as his father, and must submit to a fixed fact, or if
necessary, be forced to do so. The captain of the body-guards will see
that Menephtah does not again enter the palace in the city of Rameses.
The second letter which was addressed to the Pharaoh, had been
written by the mother of the prince in order to recall her son and the
chief-priest Bai to the capital as quickly as possible, without exposing
the former to the reproach of cowardice for having quitted the army
so shortly before the battle. Though she had never been better, she
protested with hypocritical complaints and entreaties, that the hours
of her life were numbered, and besought the king to send her son and the
chief-priest Bai to her without delay, that she might be permitted to
bless her only child before her death.
She was conscious of many a sin, and no one, save the high-priest,
possessed the power of winning the favor of the gods for her, a dying
woman. Without his intercession she would perish in despair.
This letter, too, the base robber of a crown read aloud, called it a
clever bit of feminine strategy, and rubbed his hands gleefully.
Treason, murder, hypocrisy, fraud, shameful abuse of the most sacred
feelings, nay all that was evil must serve Siptah to steal the throne,
and though Kasana had wrung her hands and shed tears when she heard
that he meant to remove Pharaoh from his path, she grew calmer after
the prince had represented that her own father had approved of his
arrangements for the deliverance of Egypt from the hand of the king, her
destroyer.
The letter from the prince’s mother to Pharaoh, the mother who urged her
own son to the most atrocious crimes, was the last thing Ephraim heard;
for it roused in the young Hebrew, who was wont to consider nothing
purer and more sacred than the bonds which united parents and children,
such fierce indignation, that he raised his fist threateningly and,
springing up, opened his lips in muttered invective.
He did not hear that Kasana made the prince swear that, if he attained
the sovereign power, he would grant her first request. It should cost
him neither money nor lands, and only give her the right to exercise
mercy where her heart demanded it; for things were in store which must
challenge the wrath of the gods and he must leave her to soothe it.
Ephraim could not endure to see or hear more of these abominable things.
For the first time he felt how great a danger he ran of being dragged
into this marsh and becoming a lost, evil man; but never, he thought,
would he have been so corrupt, so worthless, as this prince. His uncle’s
words again returned to his mind, and he now raised his head proudly
and arched his chest as if to assure himself of his own unbroken vigor,
saying meanwhile, with a long breath, that he was of too much worth to
ruin himself for the sake of a wicked woman, even though, like Kasana,
she was the fairest and most bewitching under the sun.
Away, away from the neighborhood of this net, which threatened to
entangle him in murder and every deed of infamy.
Resolved to seek his people, he turned toward the gate of the camp, but
after a few hasty steps paused, and a glance at the sky showed him
that it was the second hour past midnight. Every surrounding object
was buried in silence save that from the neighboring Dens of the royal
steeds, came the sound of the rattle of a chain, or of the stamp of a
stallion’s hoof.
If he risked escaping from the camp now, he could not fail to be seen
and stopped. Prudence commanded him to curb his impatience and, as he
glanced around, his eyes rested on the chamberlain’s tent from which the
old slave had just emerged to look for his master, who was still waiting
in the prince’s tent for his lord’s return.
The old man had treated Ephraim kindly, and now asked him with
good-natured urgency to come in and rest; for the youth needed sleep.
And Ephraim accepted the well-meant invitation. He felt for the first
time how weary his feet were, and he had scarcely stretched himself upon
the mat which the old slave--it was his own--spread on the floor of
the tent for him, ere the feeling came over him that his limbs were
relaxing; and yet he had expected to find here time and rest for calm
deliberation.
He began, too, to think of the future and his uncle’s commission.
That he must join his people without delay was decided. If they escaped
Pharaoh’s army, the others could do what they pleased, his duty was to
summon his shepherds, servants, and the youths of his own age, and with
them hurry to the mines to break Joshua’s chains and bring him back to
his old father and the people who needed him. He already saw himself
with a sling in his girdle and a battle-axe in his hand, rushing on in
advance of the others, when sleep overpowered him and bound the sorely
wearied youth so firmly and sweetly that even dreams remained aloof from
his couch and when morning came the old slave was obliged to shake him
to rouse him.
The camp was already pervaded with bustling life. Tents were struck,
asses and ox-carts laden, steeds curried and newly-shod, chariots
washed, weapons and harnesses cleaned, breakfast was distributed and
eaten.
At intervals the blare of trumpets was heard in one direction, loudly
shouted commands in another, and from the eastern portion of the camp
echoed the chanting of the priests, who devoutly greeted the new-born
sun-god.
A gilded chariot, followed by a similar one, drove up to the costly
purple tent beside Kasana’s, which active servants were beginning to
take down.
Prince Siptah and the chief-priest Bai had received Pharaoh’s permission
to set off for Tanis, to fulfil the wish of a “dying woman.”
Soon after Ephraim took leave of the old slave and bade him give
Kasana’s nurse the cloak and tell her that the messenger had followed
her advice and his uncle’s.
Then he set off on his walk.
He escaped unchallenged from the Egyptian camp and, as he entered the
wilderness, he heard the shout with which he called his shepherds in
the pastures. The cry, resounding far over the plain, startled a
sparrow-hawk which was gazing into the distance from a rock and, as the
bird soared upward, the youth fancied that if he stretched out his arms,
wings must unfold strong enough to bear him also through the air. Never
had he felt so light and active, so strong and free, nay had the priest
at this hour asked him the question whether he would accept the office
of a captain of thousands in the Egyptian army, he would undoubtedly
have answered, as he did before the ruined house of Nun, that his sole
desire was to remain a shepherd and rule his flocks and servants.
He was an orphan, but he had a nation, and where his people were was his
home.
Like a wanderer, who, after a long journey, sees his home in the
distance, he quickened his pace.
He had reached Tanis on the night of the new moon and the round silver
shield which was paling in the morning light was the same which had then
risen before his eyes. Yet it seemed as though years lay between his
farewell of Miriam and the present hour, and the experiences of a life
had been compressed into these few days.
He had left his tribe a boy; he returned a man; yet, thanks to this one
terrible night, he had remained unchanged, he could look those whom he
loved and reverenced fearlessly in the face.
Nay, more!
He would show the man whom he most esteemed that he, too, Ephraim, could
hold his head high. He would repay Joshua for what he had done, when he
remained in chains and captivity that he, his nephew, might go forth as
free as a bird.
After hurrying onward an hour, he reached a ruined watch-tower,
climbed to its summit, and saw, at a short distance beyond the mount
of Baal-zephon, which had long towered majestically on the horizon, the
glittering northern point of the Red Sea.
The storm, it is true, had subsided, but he perceived by the surging of
its emerald surface that the sea was by no means calm, and single black
clouds in the sky, elsewhere perfectly clear, seemed to indicate an
approaching tempest.
He gazed around him asking himself what the leader of the people
probably intended, if--as the prince had told Kasana--they had encamped
between Pihahiroth--whose huts and tents rose before him on the narrow
gulf the northwestern arm of the Red Sea thrust into the land--and the
mount of Baal-zephon.
Had Siptah lied in this too?
No. This time the malicious traitor had departed from his usual custom;
for between the sea and the village, where the wind was blowing slender
columns of smoke asunder, his falcon-eye discovered many light spots
resembling a distant flock of sheep, and among and beside them a
singular movement to and fro upon the sands.
It was the camp of his people.
How short seemed the distance that separated him from them!
Yet the nearer it was, the greater became his anxiety lest the great
multitude, with the women and children, herds and tents, could not
escape the vast army which must overtake them in a few hours.
His heart shrank as he gazed around him; for neither to the east, where
a deeper estuary was surging, nor southward, where the Red Sea tossed
its angry waves, nor even toward the north, whence Pharaoh’s army was
marching, was escape possible. To the west lay the wilderness of
Aean, and if the wanderers escaped in that direction, and were pressed
farther, they would again enter Egyptian soil and the exodus would be
utterly defeated.
So there was nothing left save to risk a battle, and at the thought
a chill ran through the youth’s veins; for he knew how badly armed,
untrained, savage, unmanageable, and cowardly were the men of his race,
and had witnessed the march of the powerful, well-equipped Egyptian
army, with its numerous foot-soldiers and superb war-chariots.
To him now, as to his uncle a short time before, his people seemed
doomed to certain destruction, unless succored by the God of his
fathers. In former years, and just before his departure, Miriam, with
sparkling eyes and enthusiastic words, had praised the power and majesty
of this omnipotent Lord, who preferred his people above all other
nations; but the lofty words of the prophetess had filled his childish
heart with a slight fear of the unapproachable greatness and terrible
wrath of this God.
It had been easier for him to uplift his soul to the sun-god, when his
teacher, a kind and merry-hearted Egyptian priest, led him to the temple
of Pithom. In later years he had felt no necessity of appealing to any
god; for he lacked nothing, and while other boys obeyed their parents’
commands, the shepherds, who well knew that the flocks they tended
belonged to him, called him their young master, and first in jest,
then in earnest, paid him all the honor due a ruler, which prematurely
increased his self-importance and made him an obstinate fellow.
He whom stalwart, strong men obeyed, was sufficient unto himself, and
felt that others needed him and, as nothing was more difficult for him
than to ask a favor, great or small, from any one, he rebelled against
praying to a God so far off and high above him.
But now, when his heart was oppressed by the terrible destiny that
threatened his people, he was overwhelmed by the feeling that only
the Greatest and Mightiest could deliver them from this terrible,
unspeakable peril, as if no one could withstand this powerful army, save
He whose might could destroy heaven and earth.
What were they that the Most High, whom Miriam and Hosea described as so
pre-eminently great, should care for them? Yet his people numbered many
thousands, and God had not disdained to make them His, and promise
great things for them in the future. Now they were on the verge of
destruction, and he, Ephraim, who came from the camp of the enemy, was
perhaps the sole person who saw the full extent of the danger.
Suddenly he was filled with the conviction that it was incumbent upon
him, above all others, to tell the God of his fathers,--who perhaps in
caring for earth and heaven, sun and stars, had forgotten the fate of
His people--of the terrible danger impending, and beseech Him to save
them. He was still standing on the top of the ruined tower, and raised
his arms and face toward heaven.
In the north he saw the black clouds which he had noticed in the blue
sky swiftly massing and rolling hither and thither. The wind, which
had subsided after sunrise, was increasing in strength and power, and
rapidly becoming a storm. It swept across the isthmus in gusts, which
followed one another more and more swiftly, driving before them dense
clouds of yellow sand.
He must lift up his voice loudly, that the God to whom he prayed might
hear him in His lofty heaven, so, with all the strength of his young
lungs, he shouted into the storm:
“Adonai, Adonai! Thou, whom they call Jehovah, mighty God of my
fathers, hear me, Ephraim, a young inexperienced lad, of whom, in his
insignificance, Thou hast probably never thought. I ask nothing for
myself. But the people, whom Thou dost call Thine, are in sore peril.
They have left durable houses and good pastures because Thou didst
promise them a better and more beautiful land, and they trusted in Thee
and Thy promises. But now the army of Pharaoh is approaching, so great a
host that our people will never be able to resist it. Thou must believe
this, Eli, my Lord. I have seen it and been in its midst. So surely as I
stand here, I know that it is too mighty for Thy people. Pharaoh’s power
will crush them as the hoofs of the cattle trample the grain on the
threshing-floor. And my people, who are also Thine, are encamped in a
spot where Pharaoh’s warriors can cut them down from all directions, so
that there is no way for them to fly, not one. I saw it distinctly from
this very spot. Hear me now, Adonai. But canst Thou hear my words,
oh Lord, in such a tempest? Surely Thou canst; for they call Thee
omnipotent and, if Thou dost hear me and dost understand the meaning of
my words, Thou wilt see with Thy mighty eyes, if such is Thy will, that
I speak the truth. Then Thou wilt surely remember the vow Thou didst
make to the people through Thy servant Moses.
“Among the Egyptians, I have witnessed treachery and murder and
shameful wiles; their deeds have filled me, who am myself but a sinful,
inexperienced youth, with horror and indignation. How couldst Thou, from
whom all good is said to proceed, and whom Miriam calls truth itself,
act like those abominable men and break faith with those who trusted
in Thee? I know, Thou great and mighty One, that this is far from
Thee, nay, perhaps it is a sin even to cherish such a thought. Hear me,
Adonai! Look northward at the troops of the Egyptians, who will surely
soon leave their camp and march forward, and southward to the peril of
Thy people, for whom escape is no longer possible, and Thou wilt rescue
them by Thy omnipotence and great wisdom; for Thou hast promised them a
new country, and if they are destroyed, how can they reach it?”
With these words he finished his prayer, which, though boyish and
incoherent, gushed from the inmost depths of his heart. Then he sprang
with long leaps from the ruined tower to the barren plain at his feet,
and ran southward as fleetly as if he were escaping from captivity a
second time. He felt how the wind rushing from the north-east urged
him forward, and told himself that it would also hasten the march of
Pharaoh’s soldiers. Perhaps the leaders of his people did not yet know
how vast was the military power that threatened them, and undervalued
the danger in which their position placed them. But he saw it, and could
give them every information. Haste was necessary, and he felt as though
he had gained wings in this race with the storm.
The village of Pihahiroth was soon gained, and while dashing by it
without pausing, he noticed that its huts and tents were deserted by men
and cattle. Perhaps its inhabitants had fled with their property to a
place of safety before the advancing Egyptian troops or the hosts of his
own people.
The farther he went, the more cloudy became the sky,--which here so
rarely failed to show a sunny vault of blue at noonday,--the more
fiercely howled the tempest. His thick locks fluttered wildly around his
burning head, he panted for breath, yet flew on, on, while his sandals
seemed to him to scarcely touch the ground.
The nearer he came to the sea, the louder grew the howling and whistling
of the storm, the more furious the roar of the waves dashing against the
rocks of Baal-zephon. Now--a short hour after he had left the tower--he
reached the first tents of the camp, and the familiar cry: “Unclean!” as
well as the mourning-robes of those whose scaly, disfigured faces
looked forth from the ruins of the tents which the storm had overthrown,
informed him that he had reached the lepers, whom Moses had commanded to
remain outside the camp.
Yet so great was his haste that, instead of making a circuit around
their quarter, he dashed straight through it at his utmost speed. Nor
did he pause even when a lofty palm, uprooted by the tempest, fell to
the ground so close beside him that the fan-shaped leaves in its crown
brushed his face.
At last he gained the tents and pinfolds of his people, not a few of
which had also been overthrown, and asked the first acquaintances he met
for Nun, the father of his dead mother and of Joshua.
He had gone down to the shore with Moses and other elders of the people.
Ephraim followed him there, and the damp, salt sea-air refreshed him and
cooled his brow.
Yet he could not instantly get speech with him, so he collected his
thoughts, and recovered his breath, while watching the men whom he
sought talking eagerly with some gaily-clad Phoenician sailors. A youth
like Ephraim might not venture to interrupt the grey-haired heads of the
people in the discussion, which evidently referred to the sea; for the
Hebrews constantly pointed to the end of the bay, and the Phoenicians
sometimes thither, sometimes to the mountain and the sky, sometimes to
the north, the center of the still increasing tempest.
A projecting wall sheltered the old men from the hurricane, yet they
found it difficult to stand erect, even while supported by their staves
and clinging to the stones of the masonry.
At last the conversation ended and while the youth saw the gigantic
figure of Moses go with slow, yet firm steps among the leaders of the
Hebrews down to the shore of the sea, Nun, supported by one of his
shepherds, was working his way with difficulty, but as rapidly as
possible toward the camp. He wore a mourning-robe, and while the others
looked joyous and hopeful when they parted, his handsome face, framed by
its snow-white beard and hair, had the expression of one whose mind and
body were burdened by grief.
Not until Ephraim called him did he raise his drooping leonine head, and
when he saw him he started back in surprise and terror, and clung more
firmly to the strong arm of the shepherd who supported him.
Tidings of the cruel fate of his son and grandson had reached him
through the freed slaves he had left in Tanis; and the old man had torn
his garments, strewed ashes on his head, donned mourning robes,
and grieved bitterly for his beloved, noble, only son and promising
grandson.
Now Ephraim was standing before him; and after Nun had laid his hand on
his shoulders, and kissed him again and again, he asked if his son was
still alive and remembered him and his people.
As soon as the youth had joyfully assured him that such was the case,
Nun threw his arms around the boy’s shoulders, that henceforth his own
blood, instead of a stranger, should protect him from the violence of
the storm.
He had grave and urgent duties to fulfil, from which nothing might
withhold him. Yet as the fiery youth shouted into his ear, through the
roar of the hurricane, on their way through the camp, that he would
summon his shepherds and the companions of his own age to release Hosea,
who now called himself Joshua, old Nun’s impetuous spirit awoke and,
clasping Ephraim closer to his heart, he cried out that though an
old man he was not yet too aged to swing an axe and go with Ephraim’s
youthful band to liberate his son. His eyes sparkled through his tears,
and waving his free arm aloft, he cried:
“The God of my fathers, on whom I learned to rely, watches over His
faithful people. Do you see the sand, sea-weed, and shells yonder at the
end of the estuary? An hour ago the place was covered with water, and
roaring waves were dashing their white spray upward. That is the
way, boy, which promises escape; if the wind holds, the water--so the
experienced Phoenicians assure us--will recede still farther toward
the sea. Their god of the north wind, they say, is favorable to us,
and their boys are already lighting a fire to him on the summit of
Baal-zephon yonder, but we know that it is Another, Who is opening to us
a path to the desert. We were in evil case, my boy!”
“Yes, grandfather!” cried the youth. “You were trapped like lions in
the snare, and the Egyptian host--it passed me from the first man to the
last--is mighty and unconquerable. I hurried as fast as my feet could
carry me to tell you how many heavily-armed troops, bowmen, steeds, and
chariots....”
“We know, we know,” the old man interrupted, “but here we are.”
He pointed to an overturned tent which his servants were trying to prop,
and beside which an aged Hebrew, his father Elishama, wrapped in cloth,
sat in the chair in which he was carried by bearers.
Nun hastily shouted a few words and led Ephraim toward him. But while
the youth was embracing his great-grandfather, who hugged and caressed
him, Nun, with youthful vivacity, was issuing orders to the shepherds
and servants:
“Let the tent fall, men! The storm has begun the work for you! Wrap
the covering round the poles, load the carts and beasts of burden. Move
briskly, You, Gaddi, Shamma, and Jacob, join the others! The hour for
departure has come! Everybody must hasten to harness the animals, put
them in the wagons, and prepare all things as fast as possible. The
Almighty shows us the way, and every one must hasten, in His name and
by the command of Moses. Keep strictly to the old order. We head the
procession, then come the other tribes, lastly the strangers and leprous
men and women. Rejoice, oh, ye people; for our God is working a great
miracle and making the sea dry land for us, His chosen people. Let
everyone thank Him while working, and pray from the depths of the heart
that He will continue to protect us. Let all who do not desire to be
slain by the sword and crushed by the weight of Pharaoh’s chariots put
forth their best strength and forget rest! That will await us as soon as
we have escaped the present peril. Down with the tent-cover yonder;
I’ll roll it up myself. Lay hold, boy! Look across at the children of
Manasseh, they are already packing and loading. That’s right, Ephraim,
you know how to use your hands!
“What more have we to do! My head, my forgetful old head! So much has
come upon me at once! You have nimble feet, Raphu;--I undertook to warn
the strangers to prepare for a speedy departure. Run quickly and hurry
them, that they may not linger too far behind the people. Time is
precious! Lord, Lord, my God, extend Thy protecting hand over Thy
people, and roll the waves still farther back with the tempest,
Thy mighty breath! Let every one pray silently while working, the
Omnipresent One, Who sees the heart, will hear it. That load is too
heavy for you, Ephraim, you are lifting beyond your strength. No. The
youth has mastered it. Follow his example, men, and ye of Succoth,
rejoice in your master’s strength.”
The last words were addressed to Ephraim’s shepherds, men and maid
servants, most of whom shouted a greeting to him in the midst of their
work, kissed his arm or hand, and rejoiced at his return. They
were engaged in packing and wrapping their goods, and in gathering,
harnessing, and loading the animals, which could only be kept together
by blows and shouts.
The people from Succoth wished to vie with their young master, those
from Tanis with their lord’s grandson, and the other owners of flocks
and lesser men of the tribe of Ephraim, whose tents surrounded that of
their chief Nun, did the same, in order not to be surpassed by others;
yet several hours elapsed ere all the tents, household utensils, and
provisions for man and beast were again in their places on the animals
and in the carts, and the aged, feeble and sick had been laid on litters
or in wagons.
Sometimes the gale bore from the distance to the spot where the
Ephraimites were busily working the sound of Moses’ deep voice or the
higher tones of Aaron. But neither they nor the men of the tribe of
Judah heeded the monition; for the latter were ruled by Hur and Naashon,
and beside the former stood his newly-wedded wife Miriam. It was
different with the other tribes and the strangers, to the obstinacy and
cowardice of whose chiefs was due the present critical position of the
people.