_NIGHT BY THE DEAD SEA._
[Illustration: Initial]
With my thoughts fluctuating between the extreme beauty of Mary Magdalen
and the danger which Ethopus seemed to apprehend, I walked some distance
without regarding my new companion.
When I did so, I was surprised and puzzled at his appearance. He was a
young man of singularly handsome features, the only drawback being a nose
which was a little too aquiline. His black hair curled in short ringlets
close to his head, and his face was thoroughly bronzed by sun and tempest.
His dress was rather that of some foreigner attached to an Assyrian or
Egyptian caravan, than the coarse and simple clothing of a Hebrew servant.
And then there was something bold and free in his bearing, which precluded
the idea that he was a menial either in character or condition.
“Are you engaged in my uncle’s service?” said I.
He shifted the heavy basket from one arm to the other, and made no reply.
I repeated my question in a louder tone; but he did not seem to hear me,
looking straight ahead at the road before him.
“This handsome fellow is both deaf and dumb,” said I to myself. “My uncle
has a curious passion for silent people.”
Debarred the pleasure of conversation, I relapsed into reverie. I
determined to make a use of this visit which my uncle little anticipated.
I resolved to approach my father boldly, contagion or no contagion, and
have an interview with him. I wanted to tell him of the neglected and
unhappy condition of his children, of our increasing repugnance to
Magistus, and of the indifference or treachery of Caiaphas. I wanted his
advice. He could surely direct me to friends in the city, whose assistance
might arrest our impending ruin.
Made happier by that resolution, as if it had already accomplished
something, I let my mind revert back to the woman I saw at the gate, and a
new cause of uneasiness arose as I reflected upon that accidental meeting.
Boyish and inexperienced as I was, I discovered something in the dress and
manner of the early visitor, which whispered to me that she was not a
suitable companion for my sisters. She certainly was not a domestic. Who
could she be? What could she want at our house just after daybreak?
Perhaps she came to see Magistus on business. It was not the hour or the
place for that. Perhaps she was one of the midnight revelers whom I heard
singing and dancing in the basement story of my uncle’s secluded
residence. That idea startled me more than all. I determined to get back
home by rapid walking before nightfall, and explore this disquieting
mystery.
We had passed over hill and dale through a highly-cultivated country, full
of vineyards and gardens and orchards, full of sweet little villages and
beautiful rural villas. This did not last long, and we turned in a
south-easterly direction. The villages disappeared; the houses became more
sparse and humble; the trees became more stunted and bare; the rocks
larger and the road more difficult. At the point where the highway leads
down the steep hills toward Jericho and the plain of the Jordan, my guide
turned suddenly due south into a rough, barren and wild country, where
there was no road at all.
The sounds of life faded behind us. Vegetation almost wholly disappeared.
No animals were to be seen but a few goats far away browsing among the
rocks. The birds seemed to refuse to accompany us further. The silence of
the desert fell gradually upon us. This was the wilderness of Judea.
We were winding downward to the Salt Sea, that great watery waste, in
whose silent deeps Sodom and Gomorrah lie buried; on whose shores stand
bleak and desolate mountains full of sulphur springs; the gloom without
the glory of nature; the home of wild beasts and lepers and robbers and
demons; mountains fearful in their nakedness and solitude; evil genii
guarding in stern silence the eternal sleep of the lost cities of the
plain.
I grew uneasy and melancholy as we approached these famous and dangerous
places. The taciturnity of my guide, together with an increasing shadow on
his expressive face, magnified my apprehensions almost into fears. I felt
my boyish weakness and inexperience by the side of this strong, rough,
silent man of the wilderness, who now seemed to my excited imagination to
have got into his native element, and to be a part of the lonely and
supernatural region into which we had entered.
Our attention was suddenly drawn to a neighboring eminence by sounds of so
strange a character, that it was impossible to say whether they were
animal or human. Four lepers appeared in sight, almost naked, holding up
their long, withered arms, and screeching out from their hoarse throats
and swollen lips their hideous cry,
“Unclean! unclean!”
I trembled at this sad spectacle and gazed intently, expecting and afraid
to recognize my poor father in the group. My guide suddenly laid his hand
upon my shoulder, and we both stood still. He then set the basket upon the
ground, made signals to the lepers to approach, and drew me away from the
spot. A horrible chorus of guttural thanks came up from the leprous
creatures, who awaited our departure before pouncing upon the acceptable
present.
“Oh, sir!” said I, resisting my guide, and forgetting that he was deaf and
dumb, “you have given my father’s food to those unhappy wretches! Where is
my father? Oh, take me to him!”
He stopped and looked me full in the face.
“Oh yes!” I continued, in a supplicating tone; “that basket has food and
wine for my poor father, the leper, and a bouquet and a letter from
Martha, and a pair of sandals from little Mary—”
Overcome with emotion I burst into tears.
The guide drew a deep sigh; and when I looked up into his face it was
radiant with a sweet and benevolent expression. He had either heard me or
he comprehended intuitively the nature of my distress. He shook his head
and made a deprecating gesture with his hand. He then drew me off
strongly, but so gently that I was partially reassured, and walked meekly
at his side, overwhelmed with surprise and sorrow.
After passing over several rough ridges we turned into a deep ravine. The
guide made me go in front. The pathway down this narrow gorge, this cleft
between two mountains, was rough and dangerous. There were deep holes or
pits upon one side, and frightfully overhanging rocks upon the other. It
was so dark and precipitous in some places that I could scarcely believe
we were not descending into the bowels of the earth. We suddenly emerged
from this monstrous fissure on a little mound made by the soil washed down
from above, and found ourselves on the shore of the Dead Sea.
I had never seen such an expanse of water before, and was charmed with the
sight. Away to the left was the plain of the Jordan and the sacred river
of that name, invisible at a distance among its reeds and rushes. Opposite
arose the reddish-brown mountain chain which borders the sea on the west.
Far down to the right stretched a range of high hills of a bluish gray
color. In front, and widening away to the south, lay the mighty surface of
the sea, shining like a burnished mirror in the noon-day sun. A fine
breeze was blowing; but there was only a faint ripple on the water, for
its heavy salt waves can scarcely be stirred by the wind—like the soul of
a wicked man, which cannot be moved by the Spirit of God.
I was recalled from that delicious reverie into which every one is
transported by a view of the sea; for my guide pointed to a clump of
stunted trees or rather large bushes near the beach. Half hidden by them
was a tent of alternate white and red canvas, in front of which a large
boat was drawn up on the sand. Two rough-looking fellows lay in the boat
asleep. There was no human habitation anywhere about this lonely spot.
These people belonged on the other side of the sea. They were ready for
flight in a moment. They were wild, roving, secretive, fugitive. They were
engaged in some unlawful business. I had fallen into the hands of robbers.
These disquieting thoughts passed through my mind as we approached the
tent. Hearing our footsteps on the sand, the chief came out of it. He was
tall and sinewy, a man of unusual weight and size. He was clad in a
richly-embroidered crimson robe, with a splendid scimitar, jewel-hilted,
at his side. A long beard, stained of a golden yellow by some vegetable
dye, gave him a grotesque and never-to-be-forgotten appearance. All this
barbaric ornament did not prevent me from recognizing the strange, coarse
man who held the long interview with Magistus two days before. Then he was
disguised; now his character was apparent.
We stood before him. My guide made a low obeisance and said in a clear
voice:
“Barabbas! I have obeyed your orders!”
My astonishment on discovering that my robber-guide was neither deaf nor
dumb, was turned into another channel when Barabbas exclaimed:
“Well done! Bind him tightly with the old Persian. If Beltrezzor’s ransom
does not arrive by sunrise, we will make way with them both together.”
My uncle had betrayed me into the hands of the Ishmaelite to be murdered.
There could be no doubt that the atrocious assassin had taken every
precaution to prevent escape or failure. Resistance was impossible. There
were four men in sight, either one of whom could have overpowered me in a
moment. My heart sank in despair when my guide led me behind the tent, and
bound me securely to a little tree, without evincing the least remorse or
care at his own part in this shameful and cowardly transaction.
I now surveyed my fellow-prisoner, who was tied to another tree close to
me. His gray hair and beard showed that he had passed considerably beyond
the meridian of life. He had a serene and rather handsome face, full of
thought and benevolence. Young and inexperienced as I was, I perceived by
a kind of intuition that my companion in distress was a cultivated and
superior man. He wore a rich Eastern robe and a bright-colored turban. He
was smoking a long pipe curiously carved and twisted. He surveyed me
quietly and nodded kindly to me, evidently pitying my childish terror and
despair.
“We shall be murdered to-morrow!” I gasped.
“I learned a proverb in India,” said the old man. “Brahma writes the
destiny of every one on his skull. No man can read it”—and watching his
smoke fade into air, he slowly continued, “and even the gods cannot avert
it.”