THE WHITE DROMEDARY.
Long before the first streaks of light in the east proclaimed the dawn,
Seth was awake. Outside he could hear the grunting of the sleepy camels,
as their drivers aroused them to fasten the heavy loads on their patient
backs. He raised the flap of the tent and looked out. A keen sparkle
of stars overhead and a whiff of cold air greeted him. Yet he knew that
it must be near the time to start, and he felt a thrill of boyish
excitement at the prospect. Among the dark figures which were moving
about near the dying fire he thought he could distinguish that of Ben
Hesed himself. Presently he slipped out, leaving Anat peacefully asleep.
Shivering a little in the cool breeze, he made his way towards the place
where the most active preparations were in full tide of progress.
"Make haste!" he heard in the authoritative tones of Ben Hesed's voice.
"Thou shouldst have prepared the water-skins last night. Feasting is
good, but fasting is better, since it giveth diligence rather than
sloth. I would not that ye press on through the fiercest of the midday
heat," he added; "the maid hath imperfectly recovered as yet."
"They will walk with the drivers, my lord?"
"Nay, not so. Thou shalt put the saddle upon Mirah, it will suffice for
both."
Marvelling greatly at this mark of favor, the men brought the great
white dromedary, the favorite of her master, and threw upon her the
broad saddle, gay with scarlet leather and tinkling bells.
Seth stared with amazement and delight at the docile beast that stood
with outstretched neck snuffing at the fresh wind.
"What dost thou make of such favor to these beggar brats?" said one of
the men in low tones to his companion, as he bent to fasten the saddle
girth.
"Nay, I know not; 'tis a marvel," answered the other, looking cautiously
about him. "Adah told me last night that he had promised to take the
lad after his return in the place of his son Eri."
"Ah, sayest thou so? Let me tell thee then that the lad will not
return. Why should such a thing be, when the son of his sister is among
his tried followers?"
"What wilt thou do to prevent it, son of my lord's sister," said the
other, with a low chuckle--"and a kid slain also, in the very midst of
the mourning, that the heathen beggars might be feasted!" he added with
malicious enjoyment.
Seth prudently drew back in the darkness quite unnoticed, but not before
a fragment of the reply reached him; it was this, and it filled him with
vague alarms. "What befell the lad Joseph in the days when he dreamed
dreams, may also again happen."
Who was the lad Joseph, he wondered, and what befell him? But he
presently forgot this in the bustle and excitement of starting forth
upon their journey. Anat had been aroused, and the two, perched
securely on the back of the gentle Mirah, were the centre of a group of
women, some of whom held up their little ones to see, while others
pushed parcels of fruit into the hand of the blind girl, wishing them
prosperity in their journeyings.
At length all was ready, the last strap adjusted, the last farewell
spoken, and the little cavalcade, consisting of some three or four
camels and as many men, moved slowly away, followed by the stately
Mirah, the two children, unaccustomed to the peculiar swinging motion of
her gait, clinging fast to the saddle and scarcely remembering to look
back into the kind faces of their rescuers.
All that day they traveled, stopping only for a brief space at the
noontide hour. Seth, remembering the command of Ben Hesed, wondered a
little at this, but he said nothing. In the man who seemed to be in
command of the expedition, the lad had recognized with a feeling of
uneasiness the one who had spoken the mysterious words, "What befell the
lad Joseph may also again happen."
"Hast thou ever heard of the lad Joseph?" he said to Anat, when they
were once more under way. They had grown somewhat accustomed to the
long, swinging strides of the dromedary now, and were consequently more
at their ease.
"The lad Joseph?" repeated Anat, in her clear, penetrating voice.
"Hist! do not let them hear thee. Yes, the lad Joseph, something
strange befell him; it is a legend perhaps. I heard it spoken of in
yonder encampment; thou knowest many such tales, for myself I have no
mind to remember them."
"There is the great canal of Joseph in the land of Egypt, as thou
knowest," said Anat, after a few moments of thought; "there is a tale
concerning him who caused it to be made, I know not how long ago. I
have heard it many times from our mother. He was a great prince----"
"Nay, then he was not the one; it is of the lad Joseph, and what befell
him, that I wish to know," broke in Seth impatiently.
"If thou wilt hold thy peace, water-carrier," replied Anat with dignity,
"I will tell thee the tale as it was told me."
"Thou mayest say on; it will help pass away the time."
"He was a great prince," resumed Anat, still with dignity, "but he was
also a lad first. I had the tale from our mother. As I have said, it
was told to her when she was a maid and dwelt in the borders of the
wilderness; it is a true tale. As a lad this Joseph dwelt in the
wilderness, the youngest of twelve brethren, the others were grown men;
they hated Joseph and were envious of him because their father, who was
very rich, gave him many things which they received not, an embroidered
tunic, a chain of silver, and such like. The lad also dreamed
dreams----"
"Ah!" exclaimed Seth eagerly, "he dreamed, sayest thou?"
"Of a surety," replied the blind girl; "he dreamed that when he bound
his sheaf at harvest time, the sheaves of his father and mother and of
his brethren came and bowed themselves before it, and other dreams of
the like which signified that he would become a great prince, and that
all they of his household should do reverence before him. He should not
have told such dreams," she added sagely, "for of course his brothers
only hated him the more. One day he was sent into the wilderness to
fetch dates and honey to the eleven men, his brothers, who were herding
the flocks; they saw him coming, wearing his fine, many-colored tunic,
and they made up their minds to put him out of the way."
"What did they do?" said Seth breathlessly.
"I was just coming to that, impatient one. Canst thou not hold thy
peace? Thou art as greedy over this tale as a flock of sparrows over a
measure of corn that hath been spilled on the ground."
"I will hold my peace, queen of my soul," said Seth meekly; "only, I
pray thee, tell me what befell the lad."
Somewhat appeased by his humble demeanor, the imperious little maid
proceeded with her story. "First," she continued impressively, "they
thought that they would kill him, and take his fine tunic home and tell
their father that a beast had slain him, but just as they were turning
the matter over in their minds they spied a caravan coming towards them,
so they changed their wicked purpose to a wickeder yet, and sold him for
a slave. Yes, their own brother for a slave," she repeated, much
gratified by the involuntary cry which her listener gave at this. "They
took him to Egypt----" she went on.
But Seth did not hear the remainder of the story; he was clenching his
brown hands in silent anguish of soul. It was all clear to him now.
They were to be sold as slaves after all of their sufferings and
dangers; they would never see the Holy City, nor the man Jesus who could
heal blindness. He groaned aloud.
Anat, in the full tide of her narrative, mistook this for a note of
admiration or wonder. She had just arrived at the point in her story
where the unfortunate hero is cast into prison. "What wouldst thou have
done then?" she asked abruptly.
"I--I--am sure I cannot tell thee, little one," answered Seth, rousing
himself with difficulty.
"Thou wouldst have remained there till the day of thy death, no doubt,"
with superb scorn, "but not so Joseph; he----"
"I am drowsy, little one; Sechet rages fiercely in the heavens; let us
leave the tale till to-morrow," said Seth in a smothered voice.
Anat touched his cheek with a cautious forefinger. "It is true, thy
flesh hath over-much heat. See! I have here a pomegranate; thou shalt
eat of it and be refreshed."
After this the travelers spoke but little. Tirelessly the white
dromedary strode onward under the blinding glare of the sun, her broad
feet making no sound on the yielding sand; the landscape quivered in the
intense heat, melting into golden, pink and violet fires in the far
distances, while near at hand the scarlet blooms of the cactus glowed
like live coals. Once they came upon a flock of vultures gorging
themselves upon the carcass of a camel; they rose with hoarse croakings
and withdrew themselves to a little distance, till the living should
pass by. "As yet, we have no concern with thee," they seemed to say to
the white dromedary, "but so shall it be with thee also, for man is
ungrateful." Then they again descended, a dismal crew, upon the
stranded wreck of the desert ship. And the stately Mirah strode onward
tirelessly.
That night they pitched a tent and built a fire of the dried shrubs.
The man Pagiel spoke roughly to the children; he bade the lad gather the
fuel; as for the maid, he pushed her aside with his foot, as though she
were a dog. Seth's eyes burned when he saw the thing, but he said
nothing; he thought instead. The white dromedary crouched upon the
sand, chewing her cud, her large eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the
distance. The boy approached her cautiously and caressed her snowy
neck; the beast permitted it with a low sound in her throat.
"That wouldst thou not venture with every beast in the flock," said one
of the men good-naturedly. "They be ugly save with those who know them.
Yonder camel can be touched by no other save Jered, his driver; but
Mirah there is of another sort; I have seen my lord's little ones climb
upon her back when they were babes. For speed she is a marvel; thou
hast not seen it, for the camels travel but slowly."
"She can outrun them then?" said Seth, his heart beating violently.
"Assuredly, boy, there is nothing swifter save the wind."
"Fetch fuel, beggar!" cried Pagiel, accompanying his words with a fierce
look, "and do thou afterward get into the tent and sleep, thou and the
girl."
"Why dost thou speak thus harshly to the lad?" questioned the other
after Seth had withdrawn in obedience to the command.
"He is a heathen beggar; why should he receive kindness at my hand?
Listen! to-morrow we come to the fountain of Hodesh, 'tis but a day's
march from the river; we will tarry there till a caravan shall pass by,
then will we sell the lad and the maiden for gold. The gold shalt thou
divide between the three of you, and thou shalt say naught to Ben Hesed
concerning the matter; it will pass from his mind, even as the mist
dissolves before the rising sun. But thou shalt have that wherewith to
comfort thyself."
The man listened with bent brows. "What is comfort to me," he said
sullenly, "if I have not thy daughter to wife; she is comely, and I love
her better than gold."
Pagiel stared at the speaker with amazement. "Thou hast forgotten
thyself," he said haughtily.
"Nay, I have not forgotten; thou art the son of my lord's sister, I am
the son of Kish the herdsman. Yet in the desert what matters it, am I
not a man like unto thee?"
Pagiel was silent a moment. "It shall be so," he said at length. "It
is true thou art a man, and my daughter is, after all, only a woman; I
have sons also, thanks be to Jehovah!"
"And the gold?"
"Shall be for the maid's dowry, in addition to what she hath already."
"Thou hast dealt graciously with me, my lord, I am henceforth as thy
son, and as thy son will I obey thee."
On the morrow they came to the fountain of Hodesh, and they encamped
there, waiting for a caravan. On the third day during the heat of the
noontide the men slept within the tent, but Seth rose up softly, and
went out. He filled his goat skin at the fountain and bound it upon his
back; he took also of the parched corn a small measure, and of the dates
a double handful; "for," he said to himself, "it was for us that these
things were given by the lord of the desert."
"Why dost thou fill thy goat-skin, brother?" said Anat, hearing the
familiar tinkle of the brasses.
"Wake not the men yonder," answered Seth in a cautious whisper. "They
would deal with us after the manner of the brethren of Joseph. We will
get us away upon the white dromedary, nor shall they be able to overtake
us."
So the two went softly to where Mirah crouched beneath the shadow of the
palms, and they climbed upon her back.
"It is a good thing for us that Pagiel commanded her to be saddled,"
quoth Seth. "He had the intent to ride after his sleep."
Then he spoke softly in the ear of the beast after the fashion of her
driver; and she rose up with them, and went silently away into the
desert towards the range of hills, beyond which lay the land of Judaea.
But Pagiel awaked out of his sleep and stood in the door of his tent.
And when he saw the dromedary fleeing away, he made a great outcry and
awakened the others also; and they pursued after them for many hours,
but they were not able to overtake them because the gentle Mirah was
very swift. Anon she disappeared from before their eyes like a white
sail on the distant verge of the sea. When Pagiel saw that she was gone,
bearing the two whom he would have sold into slavery, he tore his beard
and wept with rage because he had promised his daughter to the son of
Kish, the herdsman. For he feared his women, notwithstanding he was a
man, and of great stature.