For the Temple:

A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem
By G. A. Henty.

Preface.

In all history, there is no drama of more terrible interest than
that which terminated with the total destruction of Jerusalem. Had
the whole Jewish nation joined in the desperate resistance made, by
a section of it, to the overwhelming strength of Rome, the world
would have had no record of truer patriotism than that displayed,
by this small people, in their resistance to the forces of the
mistress of the world.

Unhappily, the reverse of this was the case. Except in the
defense of Jotapata and Gamala, it can scarcely be said that the
Jewish people, as a body, offered any serious resistance to the
arms of Rome. The defenders of Jerusalem were a mere fraction of
its population–a fraction composed almost entirely of turbulent
characters and robber bands, who fought with the fury of
desperation; after having placed themselves beyond the pale of
forgiveness, or mercy, by the deeds of unutterable cruelty with
which they had desolated the city, before its siege by the Romans.
They fought, it is true, with unflinching courage–a courage never
surpassed in history–but it was the courage of despair; and its
result was to bring destruction upon the whole population, as well
as upon themselves.

Fortunately the narrative of Josephus, an eyewitness of the
events which he describes, has come down to us; and it is the
storehouse from which all subsequent histories of the events have
been drawn. It is, no doubt, tinged throughout by his desire to
stand well with his patrons, Vespasian and Titus; but there is no
reason to doubt the accuracy of his descriptions. I have endeavored
to present you with as vivid a picture as possible of the events of
the war, without encumbering the story with details and, except as
regards the exploits of John of Gamala, of whom Josephus says
nothing, have strictly followed, in every particular, the narrative
of the historian.

G. A. Henty.

Chapter 1: The Lake Of
Tiberias.

“Dreaming, John, as usual? I never saw such a boy. You are
always in extremes; either tiring yourself out, or lying half
asleep.”

“I was not half asleep, mother. I was looking at the lake.”

“I cannot see much to look at, John. It’s just as it has been
ever since you were born, or since I was born.”

“No, I suppose there’s no change, mother; but I am never tired
of looking at the sun shining on the ripples, and the fishermen’s
boats, and the birds standing in the shallows or flying off, in a
desperate hurry, without any reason that I can make out. Besides,
mother, when one is looking at the lake, one is thinking of other
things.”

“And very often thinking of nothing at all, my son.”

“Perhaps so, mother; but there’s plenty to think of, in these
times.”

“Plenty, John; there are baskets and baskets of figs to be
stripped from the trees, and hung up to dry for the winter and,
next week, we are going to begin the grape harvest. But the figs
are the principal matter, at present; and I think that it would be
far more useful for you to go and help old Isaac and his son, in
getting them in, than in lying there watching the lake.”

“I suppose it would, mother,” the lad said, rising briskly; for
his fits of indolence were by no means common and, as a rule, he
was ready to assist at any work which might be going on.

“I do not wonder at John loving the lake,” his mother said to
herself, when the lad had hurried away. “It is a fair scene; and it
may be, as Simon thinks, that a change may come over it, before
long, and that ruin and desolation may fall upon us all.”

There were, indeed, few scenes which could surpass in tranquil
beauty that which Martha, the wife of Simon, was looking upon–the
sheet of sparkling water, with its low shores dotted with towns and
villages. Down the lake, on the opposite shore, rose the walls and
citadel of Tiberias, with many stately buildings; for although
Tiberias was not, now, the chief town of Galilee–for Sepphoris had
usurped its place–it had been the seat of the Roman authority, and
the kings who ruled the country for Rome generally dwelt there.
Half a mile from the spot where Martha was standing rose the
newly-erected walls of Hippos.

Where the towns and villages did not engross the shore, the rich
orchards and vineyards extended down to the very edge of the water.
The plain of Galilee was a veritable garden. Here flourished, in
the greatest abundance, the vine and the fig; while the low hills
were covered with olive groves, and the corn waved thickly on the
rich, fat land. No region on the earth’s face possessed a fairer
climate. The heat was never extreme; the winds blowing from the
Great Sea brought the needed moisture for the vegetation; and so
soft and equable was the air that, for ten months in the year,
grapes and figs could be gathered.

The population, supported by the abundant fruits of the earth,
was very large. Villages–which would elsewhere be called towns,
for those containing but a few thousand inhabitants were regarded
as small, indeed–were scattered thickly over the plain; and few
areas of equal dimensions could show a population approaching that
which inhabited the plains and slopes between the Sea of Galilee
and the Mediterranean. None could then have dreamed of the dangers
that were to come, or believed that this rich cultivation and
teeming population would disappear; and that, in time, a few flocks
of wandering sheep would scarce be able to find herbage growing, on
the wastes of land which would take the place of this fertile
soil.

Certainly no such thought as this occurred to Martha, as she
re-entered the house; though she did fear that trouble, and ruin,
might be approaching.

John was soon at work among the fig trees, aiding Isaac and his
son Reuben–a lad of some fifteen years–to pick the soft, luscious
fruit, and carry it to the little courtyard, shaded from the rays
of the sun by an overhead trellis work, covered with vines and
almost bending beneath the purple bunches of grapes. Miriam–the
old nurse–and four or five maid servants, under the eye of Martha,
tied them in rows on strings, and fastened them to pegs driven into
that side of the house upon which the sun beat down most hotly. It
was only the best fruit that was so served; for that which had been
damaged in the picking, and all of smaller size, were laid on trays
in the sun. The girls chatted merrily as they worked; for Martha,
although a good housewife, was a gentle mistress and, so long as
fingers were busy, heeded not if the tongue ran on.

“Let the damsels be happy, while they may,” she would say, if
Miriam scolded a little when the laughter rose louder than usual.
“Let them be happy, while they can; who knows what lies in the
future?”

But at present, the future cast no shade upon the group; nor
upon a girl of about fourteen years old, who danced in and out of
the courtyard in the highest spirits, now stopping a few minutes to
string the figs, then scampering away with an empty basket which,
when she reached the gatherers, she placed on her head and
supported demurely, for a little while, at the foot of the ladder
upon which John was perched–so that he could lay the figs in it
without bruising them. But, long ere the basket was filled she
would tire of the work and, setting it on the ground, run back into
the house.

“And so you think you are helping, Mary,” John said, laughing,
when the girl returned for the fourth time, with an empty
basket.

“Helping, John! Of course I am–ever so much. Helping you, and
helping them at the house, and carrying empty baskets. I consider
myself the most active of the party.”

“Active, certainly, Mary! but if you do not help them, in
stringing and hanging the figs, more than you help me, I think you
might as well leave it alone.”

“Fie, John! That is most ungrateful, after my standing here like
a statue, with the basket on my head, ready for you to lay the figs
in.”

“That is all very fine!” John laughed; “but before the basket is
half full, away you go; and I have to get down the ladder, and
bring up the basket and fix it firmly, and that without shaking the
figs; whereas, had you left it alone, altogether, I could have
brought up the empty basket and fixed it close by my hand, without
any trouble at all.”

“You are an ungrateful boy, and you know how bad it is to be
ungrateful! And after my making myself so hot, too!” Miriam said.
“My face is as red as fire, and that is all the thanks I get. Very
well, then, I shall go into the house, and leave you to your own
bad reflections.”

“You need not do that, Mary. You can sit down in the shade
there, and watch us at work; and eat figs, and get yourself cool,
all at the same time. The sun will be down in another half hour,
and then I shall be free to amuse you.”

“Amuse me, indeed!” the girl said indignantly, as she sat down
on the bank to which John had pointed. “You mean that I shall amuse
you; that is what it generally comes to. If it wasn’t for me I am
sure, very often, there would not be a word said when we are out
together.”

“Perhaps that is true,” John agreed; “but you see, there is so
much to think about.”

“And so you choose the time when you are with me to think! Thank
you, John! You had better think, at present,” and, rising from the
seat she had just taken, she walked back to the house again,
regardless of John’s explanations and shouts.

Old Isaac chuckled, on his tree close by.

“They are ever too sharp for us, in words, John. The damsel is
younger than you, by full two years; and yet she can always put you
in the wrong, with her tongue.”

“She puts meanings to my words which I never thought of,” John
said, “and is angered, or pretends to be–for I never know which it
is–at things which she has coined out of her own mind, for they
had no place in mine.”

“Boys’ wits are always slower than girls’,” the old man said. “A
girl has more fancy, in her little finger, than a boy in his whole
body. Your cousin laughs at you, because she sees that you take it
all seriously; and wonders, in her mind, how it is her thoughts run
ahead of yours. But I love the damsel, and so do all in the house
for, if she be a little wayward at times, she is bright and loving,
and has cheered the house since she came here.

“Your father is not a man of many words; and Martha, as becomes
her age, is staid and quiet, though she is no enemy of mirth and
cheerfulness; but the loss of all her children, save you, has
saddened her, and I think she must often have pined that she had
not a girl; and she has brightened much since the damsel came here,
three years ago.

“But the sun is sinking, and my basket is full. There will be
enough for the maids to go on with, in the morning, until we can
supply them with more.”

John’s basket was not full, but he was well content to stop and,
descending their ladders, the three returned to the house.

Simon of Gadez–for that was the name of his farm, and the
little fishing village close by, on the shore–was a prosperous and
well-to-do man. His land, like that of all around him, had come
down from father to son, through long generations; for the law by
which all mortgages were cleared off, every seven years, prevented
those who might be disposed to idleness and extravagance from
ruining themselves, and their children. Every man dwelt upon the
land which, as eldest son, he had inherited; while the younger
sons, taking their smaller share, would settle in the towns or
villages and become traders, or fishermen, according to their bent
and means.

There were poor in Palestine–for there will be poor,
everywhere, so long as human nature remains as it is; and some men
are idle and self indulgent, while others are industrious and
thrifty–but, taking it as a whole there were, thanks to the wise
provisions of their laws, no people on the face of the earth so
generally comfortable, and well to do. They grumbled, of course,
over the exactions of the tax collectors–exactions due, not to the
contribution which was paid by the province to imperial Rome, but
to the luxury and extravagance of their kings, and to the greed and
corruption of the officials. But in spite of this, the people of
rich and prosperous Galilee could have lived in contentment, and
happiness, had it not been for the factions in their midst.

On reaching the house, John found that his father had just
returned from Hippos, whither he had gone on business. He nodded
when the lad entered, with his basket.

“I have hired eight men in the market, today, to come out
tomorrow to aid in gathering in the figs,” he said; “and your
mother has just sent down, to get some of the fishermen’s maidens
to come in to help her. It is time that we had done with them, and
we will then set about the vintage. Let us reap while we can, there
is no saying what the morrow will bring forth.

“Wife, add something to the evening meal, for the Rabbi Solomon
Ben Manasseh will sup with us, and sleep here tonight.”

John saw that his father looked graver than usual, but he knew
his duty as a son too well to think of asking any questions; and he
busied himself, for a time, in laying out the figs on
trays–knowing that, otherwise, their own weight would crush the
soft fruit before the morning, and bruise the tender skins.

A quarter of an hour later, the quick footsteps of a donkey were
heard approaching. John ran out and, having saluted the rabbi, held
the animal while his father assisted him to alight and, welcoming
him to his house, led him within. The meal was soon served. It
consisted of fish from the lake, kid’s flesh seethed in milk, and
fruit.

Only the men sat down; the rabbi sitting upon Simon’s right
hand, John on his left, and Isaac and his son at the other end of
the table. Martha’s maids waited upon them, for it was not the
custom for the women to sit down with the men and, although in the
country this usage was not strictly observed, and Martha and little
Mary generally took their meals with Simon and John, they did not
do so if any guest was present.

In honor of the visitor, a white cloth had been laid on the
table. All ate with their fingers; two dishes of each kind being
placed on the table–one at each end. But few words were said
during the meal. After it was concluded, Isaac and his son withdrew
and, presently, Martha and Mary, having taken their meal in the
women’s apartments, came into the room. Mary made a little face at
John, to signify her disapproval of the visitor, whose coming would
compel her to keep silent all the evening. But though John smiled,
he made no sign of sympathy for, indeed, he was anxious to hear the
news from without; and doubted not that he should learn much, from
the rabbi.

Solomon Ben Manasseh was a man of considerable influence in
Galilee. He was a tall, stern-looking old man, with bushy black
eyebrows, deep-set eyes, and a long beard of black hair, streaked
with gray. He was said to have acquired much of the learning of the
Gentiles, among whom, at Antioch, he had dwelt for some years; but
it was to his powers as a speaker that he owed his influence. It
was the tongue, in those days, that ruled men; and there were few
who could lash a crowd to fury, or still their wrath when excited,
better than Solomon Ben Manasseh.

For some time they talked upon different subjects: on the corn
harvest and vintage, the probable amount of taxation, the marriage
feast which was to take place, in the following week, at the house
of one of the principal citizens of Hippos, and other matters. But
at last Simon broached the subject which was uppermost in all their
thoughts.

“And the news from Tiberias, you say, is bad, rabbi?”

“The news from Tiberias is always bad, friend Simon. In all the
land there is not a city which will compare with it, in the
wrongheadedness of its people and the violence of its seditions;
and little can be hoped, as far as I can see, so long as our good
governor, Josephus, continues to treat the malefactors so
leniently. A score of times they have conspired against his life
and, as often, has he eluded them; for the Lord has been ever with
him. But each time, instead of punishing those who have brought
about these disorders, he lets them go free; trusting always that
they will repent them of their ways, although he sees that his
kindness is thrown away, and that they grow even bolder and more
bitter against him after each failure.

“All Galilee is with him. Whenever he gives the word, every man
takes up his arms and follows him and, did he but give the order,
they would level those proud towns Tiberias and Sepphoris to the
ground, and tear down stone by stone the stronghold of John of
Gischala. But he will suffer them to do nothing–not a hair of
these traitors’ heads is to be touched; nor their property, to the
value of a penny, be interfered with.

“I call such lenity culpable. The law ordains punishment for
those who disturb the people. We know what befell those who
rebelled against Moses. Josephus has the valor and the wisdom of
King David; but it were well if he had, like our great king, a Joab
by his side, who would smite down traitors and spare not.”

“It is his only fault,” Simon said. “What a change has taken
place, since he was sent hither from Jerusalem to take up our
government! All abuses have been repressed, extortion has been put
down, taxes have been lightened. We eat our bread in peace and
comfort, and each man’s property is his own. Never was there such a
change as he has wrought and, were it not for John of Gischala,
Justus the son of Piscus, and Jesus the son of Sapphias, all would
go quietly and well; but these men are continually stirring up the
people–who, in their folly, listen to them–and conspiring to
murder Josephus, and seize upon his government.”

“Already he has had, more than once, to reduce to submission
Tiberias and Sepphoris; happily without bloodshed for, when the
people of these cities saw that all Galilee was with Josephus, they
opened their gates and submitted themselves to his mercy. Truly, in
Leviticus it is said:

“‘Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the
children of thy people; but thou shalt love thy neighbor as
thyself.’

“But Josephus carries this beyond reason. Seeing that his
adversaries by no means observe this law, he should remember that
it is also said that ‘He that taketh the sword shall fall by the
sword,’ and that the law lays down punishments for the
transgressors. Our judges and kings slew those who troubled the
land, and destroyed them utterly; and Josephus does wrong to depart
from their teaching.”

“I know not where he could have learned such notions of mercy to
his enemies, and to the enemies of the land,” Simon said. “He has
been to Rome, but it is not among the Romans that he will have
found that it is right to forgive those who rise up in
rebellion.”

“Yes, he was in Rome when he was twenty-six years old,” Solomon
said. “He went thither to plead the cause of certain priests who
had been thrown into bonds, by Felix, and sent to Rome. It was a
perilous voyage, for his ship was wrecked in the Adriatic and, of
six hundred men who were on board, only eighty were picked
up–after floating and swimming all night–by a ship of Cyrene. He
was not long in Rome for, being introduced to Poppaea, the wife of
Caesar, he used his interest with her and obtained the release of
those for whose sake he went there.

“No, if he gained these ideas from anyone, he learned them from
one Banus–an Ascetic, of the sect of the Essenes, who lived in the
desert with no other clothing than the bark and leaves of trees,
and no other food save that which grew wild. Josephus lived with
him, in like fashion, for three years and, doubtless, learned all
that was in his heart. Banus was a follower, they say, of that John
whom Herod put to death; and for aught I know, of that Jesus who
was crucified, two years afterwards, at Jerusalem, and in whom many
people believed, and who has many followers, to this day. I have
conversed with some of them and, from what they tell me, this Jesus
taught doctrines similar to those which Josephus practices; and
which he may have learned from Banus, without accepting the
doctrines which the members of this sect hold, as to their founder
being the promised Messiah who was to restore Israel.”

“I, too, have talked with many of the sect,” Simon said; “and
have argued with them on the folly of their belief, seeing that
their founder by no means saved Israel, but was himself put to
death. From what I could see, there was much that was good in the
doctrines they hold; but they have exaggerated ideas, and are
opposed to all wars, even to fighting for their country. I hear
that, since there has been trouble with Rome, most of them have
departed altogether out of the land, so as to avoid the necessity
of fighting.”

“They are poor creatures,” Solomon Ben Manasseh said,
scornfully; “but we need not talk of them now, for they affect us
in no way, save that it may be that Josephus has learned somewhat
of their doctrines, from Banus; and that he is thus unduly and, as
I think, most unfortunately for the country, inclined too much to
mercy, instead of punishing the evildoers as they deserve.”

“But nevertheless, rabbi, it seems to me that there has been
good policy, as well, in the mercy which Josephus has shown his
foes. You know that John has many friends in Jerusalem; and that,
if he could accuse Josephus of slaughtering any, he would be able
to make so strong a party, there, that he could obtain the recall
of Josephus.”

“We would not let him go,” Solomon said, hotly. “Since the
Romans have gone, we submit to the supremacy of the council at
Jerusalem, but it is only on sufferance. For long ages we have had
nothing to do with Judah; and we are not disposed to put our necks
under their yoke, now. We submit to unity because, in the Romans,
we have a common foe; but we are not going to be tyrannized.
Josephus has shown himself a wise ruler. We are happier, under him,
than we have been for generations under the men who call themselves
kings, but who are nothing but Roman satraps; and we are not going
to suffer him to be taken from us. Only let the people of Jerusalem
try that, and they will have to deal with all the men of
Galilee.”

“I am past the age at which men are bound to take up the sword,
and John has not yet attained it but, if there were need, we would
both go out and fight. What could they do, for the population of
Galilee is greater than that of Judah? And while we would fight,
every man, to the death; the Jews would, few of them, care to
hazard their lives only to take from us the man we desire to rule
over us. Still, Josephus does wisely, perhaps, to give no occasion
for accusation by his enemies.

“There is no talk, is there, rabbi, of any movement on the part
of the Romans to come against us, in force?”

“None, so far as I have heard,” the rabbi replied. “King Agrippa
remains in his country, to the east; but he has no Roman force with
him sufficient to attempt any great enterprise and, so long as they
leave us alone, we are content.”

“They will come, sooner or later,” Simon said, shaking his head.
“They are busy elsewhere. When they have settled with their other
enemies, they will come here to avenge the defeat of Cestius, to
restore Florus, and to reconquer the land. Where Rome has once laid
her paw, she never lets slip her prey.”

“Well, we can fight,” Solomon Ben Manasseh said, sternly. “Our
forefathers won the land with the sword, and we can hold it by the
sword.”

“Yes,” Martha said quietly, joining in the conversation for the
first time, “if God fights for us, as He fought for our
forefathers.”

“Why should He not?” the rabbi asked sternly. “We are still his
people. We are faithful to his law.”

“But God has, many times in the past, suffered us to fall into
the hands of our enemies as a punishment for our sins,” Martha
said, quietly. “The tribes were carried away into captivity, and
are scattered we know not where. The temple was destroyed, and the
people of Judah dwelt long as captives in Babylon. He suffered us
to fall under the yoke of the Romans.

“In his right time, He will fight for us again; but can we say
that that time has come, rabbi, and that He will smite the Romans,
as He smote the host of Sennacherib?”

“That no man can say,” the rabbi answered, gloomily. “Time only
will show but, whether or no, the people will fight valiantly.”

“I doubt not that they will fight,” Simon said; “but many other
nations, to whom we are but as a handful, have fought bravely, but
have succumbed to the might of Rome. It is said that Josephus, and
many of the wisest in Jerusalem, were heartily opposed to the
tumults against the Romans, and that they only went with the people
because they were in fear of their lives; and even at Tiberias many
men of worth and gravity, such as Julius Capellus, Herod the son of
Miarus, Herod the son of Gamalus, Compsus, and others, are all
strongly opposed to hostility against the Romans.

“And it is the same, elsewhere. Those who know best what is the
might and power of Rome would fain remain friendly with her. It is
the ignorant and violent classes have led us into this strait; from
which, as I fear, naught but ruin can arise.”

“I thought better things of you, Simon,” the rabbi said,
angrily.

“But you yourself have told me,” Simon urged, “that you thought
it a mad undertaking to provoke the vengeance of Rome.”

“I thought so, at first,” Solomon admitted, “but now our hand is
placed on the plow, we must not draw back; and I believe that the
God of our fathers will show his might before the heathen.”

“I trust that it may be so,” Simon said, gravely. “In His hand
is all power. Whether He will see fit to put it forth, now, in our
behalf remains to be seen. However, for the present we need not
concern ourselves greatly with the Romans. It may be long before
they bring an army against us; while these seditions, here, are at
our very door, and ever threaten to involve us in civil war.”

“We need fear no civil war,” the rabbi said. “The people of all
Galilee, save the violent and ill disposed in a few of the towns,
are all for Josephus. If it comes to force, John and his party know
that they will be swept away, like a straw before the wind. The
fear is that they may succeed in murdering Josephus; either by the
knife of an assassin, or in one of these tumults. They would rather
the latter, because they would then say that the people had torn
him to pieces, in their fury at his misdoings.

“However, we watch over him, as much as we can; and his friends
have warned him that he must be careful, not only for his own sake,
but for that of all the people; and he has promised that, as far as
he can, he will be on his guard against these traitors.”

“The governor should have a strong bodyguard,” John exclaimed,
impetuously, “as the Roman governors had. In another year, I shall
be of age to have my name inscribed in the list of fighting men;
and I would gladly be one of his guard.”

“You are neither old enough to fight, nor to express an opinion
unasked,” Simon said, “in the presence of your elders.”

“Do not check the boy,” the rabbi said. “He has fire and spirit;
and the days are coming when we shall not ask how old, or how
young, are those who would fight, so that they can but hold
arms.

“Josephus is wise not to have a military guard, John, because
the people love not such appearance of state. His enemies would use
this as an argument that he was setting himself up above them. It
is partly because he behaves himself discreetly, and goes about
among them like a private person, of no more account than
themselves, that they love him. None can say he is a tyrant,
because he has no means of tyrannizing. His enemies cannot urge it
against him at Jerusalem–as they would doubtless do, if they
could–that he is seeking to lead Galilee away from the rule of
Jerusalem, and to set himself up as its master for, to do this, he
would require to gather an army; and Josephus has not a single
armed man at his service, save and except that when he appears to
be in danger many, out of love of him, assemble and provide him
escort.

“No, Josephus is wise in that he affects neither pomp nor state;
that he keeps no armed men around him, but trusts to the love of
the people. He would be wiser, however, did he seize one of the
occasions when the people have taken up arms for him to destroy all
those who make sedition; and to free the country, once and for all,
from the trouble.

“Sedition should be always nipped in the bud. Lenity, in such a
case, is the most cruel course; for it encourages men to think that
those in authority fear them, and that they can conspire without
danger; and whereas, at first, the blood of ten men will put an end
to sedition, it needs, at last, the blood of as many thousands to
restore peace and order. It is good for a man to be merciful, but
not for a ruler, for the good of the whole people is placed in his
hands. The sword of justice is given to him, and he is most
merciful who uses it the most promptly against those who work
sedition. The wise ruler will listen to the prayers of his people,
and will grant their petitions, when they show that their case is
hard; but he will grant nothing to him who asketh with his sword in
his hand, for he knows full well that when he yields, once, he must
yield always; until the time comes, as come it surely will, when he
must resist with the sword. Then the land will be filled with blood
whereas, in the beginning, he could have avoided all trouble, by
refusing so much as to listen to those who spoke with threats.

“Josephus is a good man, and the Lord has given him great gifts.
He has done great things for the land; but you will see that many
woes will come, and much blood will be shed, from this lenity of
his towards those who stir up tumults among the people.”

A few minutes later the family retired to bed; the hour being a
late one for Simon’s household, which generally retired to rest a
short time after the evening meal.

The next day the work of gathering in the figs was carried on,
earnestly and steadily, with the aid of the workers whom Simon had
hired in the town and, in two days, the trees were all stripped,
and strings of figs hung to dry from the boughs of all the trees
round the house.

Then the gathering of the grapes began. All the inhabitants of
the little fishing village lent their aid–men as well as women and
children–for the vintage was looked upon as a holiday; and Simon
was regarded as a good friend by his neighbors, being ever ready to
aid them when there was need, judging any disputes which arose
between them, and lending them money without interest if misfortune
came upon their boats or nets, or if illness befell them; while the
women, in times of sickness or trouble, went naturally to Martha
with their griefs, and were assured of sympathy, good advice, and
any drugs or dainty food suited to the case.

The women and girls picked the grapes, and laid them in baskets.
These were carried by men, and emptied into the vat; where other
men trod them down, and pressed out the juice. Martha and her maids
saw to the cooking and laying out, on the great tables in the
courtyard, of the meals; to which all sat down, together. Simon
superintended the crushing of the grapes; and John worked now at
one task, and now at another. It was a pretty scene, and rendered
more gay by the songs of the women and girls, as they worked; and
the burst of merry laughter which, at times, arose.

It lasted four days, by which time the last bunch, save those on
a few vines preserved for eating, was picked and crushed; and the
vats in the cellar, sunk underground for coolness, were full to the
brim. Simon was much pleased with the result; and declared that
never, in his memory, had the vine and fig harvest turned out more
abundant. The corn had long before been gathered, and there
remained now only the olives; but it would be some little time yet
before these were fit to be gathered, and their oil extracted, for
they were allowed to hang on the trees until ready to drop.

The last basket of grapes was brought in with much ceremony; the
gatherers forming a little procession, and singing a thanksgiving
hymn as they walked. The evening meal was more bounteous, even,
than usual; and all who helped carried away with them substantial
proofs of Simon’s thankfulness, and satisfaction.

For the next few days Simon and his men, and Martha’s maids,
lent their assistance in getting in the vintage of their neighbors;
for each family had its patch of ground, and grew sufficient grapes
and fruits for its own needs. Those in the village brought their
grapes to a vat, which they had in common; the measures of the
grapes being counted as they were put in, and the wine afterwards
divided, in like proportion–for wine, to be good, must be made in
considerable quantities.

And now there was, for a time, little to do on the farm. Simon
superintended the men who were plowing up the corn stubbles, ready
for the sowing in the spring; sometimes putting his hand to the
plow, and driving the oxen. Isaac and his son worked in the
vineyard and garden, near the house; aided to some extent by John
who, however, was not yet called upon to take a man’s share in the
work of the farm–he having but lately finished his learning, with
the rabbi, at the school in Hippos. Still, he worked steadily every
morning and, in the afternoon, generally went out on the lake with
the fishermen, with whom he was a great favorite.

This was not to last long for, at seventeen, he was to join his
father, regularly, in the management of the farm and, indeed, the
Rabbi Solomon, who was a frequent guest, was of opinion that Simon
gave the boy too much license; and that he ought, already, to be
doing man’s work.

But Simon, when urged by him, said:

“I know that, at his age, I was working hard, rabbi; but the lad
has studied diligently, and I have a good report of him; and I
think it well that, at his age, the bow should be unbent
somewhat.

“Besides, who knows what is before us! I will let the lad have
as much pleasure from his life as he can. The storm is approaching;
let him play, while the sun shines.”

Chapter 2: A Storm On Galilee.

One day, after the midday meal, John said:

“Mary, Raphael and his brother have taken the big boat, and gone
off with fish to Tiberias; and have told me that I can take the
small boat, if I will. Ask my mother to let you off your task, and
come out with me. It is a fortnight since we had a row on the lake,
together.”

“I was beginning to think that you were never going to ask me
again, John; and, only I should punish myself, I would say you nay.
There have you been, going out fishing every afternoon, and leaving
me at home to spin; and it is all the worse because your mother has
said that the time is fast coming when I must give up wandering
about like a child, and must behave myself like a woman.

“Oh, dear, how tiresome it will be when there will be nothing to
do but to sit and spin, and to look after the house, and to walk
instead of running when I am out, and to behave like a grown-up
person, altogether!”

“You are almost grown up,” John said; “you are taller, now, than
any of the maids except Zillah; but I shall be sorry to see you
growing staid and solemn. And it was selfish of me not to ask you
to go out before, but I really did not think of it. The fishermen
have been working hard, to make up for the time lost during the
harvest; and I have really been useful, helping them with their
nets, and this is the last year I shall have my liberty.

“But come, don’t let’s be wasting time in talking; run in and
get my mother’s permission, and then join me on the shore. I will
take some grapes down, for you to eat; for the sun is hot today,
and there is scarce a breath of wind on the water.”

A few minutes later, the young pair stood together by the side
of the boat.

“Your mother made all sorts of objections,” Mary said, laughing,
“and I do think she won’t let me come again. I don’t think she
would have done it, today, if Miriam had not stood up for me, and
said that I was but a child though I was so tall; and that, as you
were very soon going to work with your father, she thought that it
was no use in making the change before that.”

“What nonsense it all is!” John said. “Besides, you know it is
arranged that, in a few months, we are to be betrothed according to
the wishes of your parents and mine. It would have been done, long
ago, only my father and mother do not approve of young betrothals;
and think it better to wait, to see if the young ones like each
other; and I think that is quite right, too, in most cases–only,
of course, living here, as you have done for the last three
years–since your father and mother died–there was no fear of our
not liking each other.”

“Well, you see,” Mary said, as she sat in the stern of the boat,
while John rowed it quietly along, “it might have been just the
other way. When people don’t see anything of each other, till they
are betrothed by their parents, they can’t dislike each other very
much; whereas, when they get to know each other, if they are
disagreeable they might get to almost hate each other.”

“Yes, there is something in that,” John agreed. “Of course, in
our case it is all right, because we do like each other–we
couldn’t have liked each other more, I think, if we had been
brother and sister–but it seems to me that, sometimes, it must be
horrid when a boy is told by his parents that he is to be betrothed
to a girl he has never seen. You see it isn’t as if it were for a
short time, but for all one’s life. It must be awful!”

“Awful!” Mary agreed, heartily; “but of course, it would have to
be done.”

“Of course,” John said–the possibility of a lad refusing to
obey his parents’ commands not even occurring to him. “Still it
doesn’t seem to me quite right that one should have no choice, in
so important a matter. Of course, when one’s got a father and
mother like mine–who would be sure to think only of making me
happy, and not of the amount of dowry, or anything of that sort–it
would be all right; but with some parents, it would be
dreadful.”

For some time, not a word was spoken; both of them meditating
over the unpleasantness of being forced to marry someone they
disliked. Then, finding the subject too difficult for them, they
began to talk about other things; stopping, sometimes, to see the
fishermen haul up their nets, for there were a number of boats out
on the lake. They rowed down as far as Tiberias and, there, John
ceased rowing; and they sat chatting over the wealth and beauty of
that city, which John had often visited with his father, but which
Mary had never entered.

Then John turned the head of the boat up the lake and again
began to row but, scarcely had he dipped his oar into the water,
when he exclaimed:

“Look at that black cloud rising, at the other end of the lake!
Why did you not tell me, Mary?”

“How stupid of me,” she exclaimed, “not to have kept my eyes
open!”

He bent to his oars, and made the boat move through the water at
a very different rate to that at which she had before traveled.

“Most of the boats have gone,” Mary said, presently, “and the
rest are all rowing to the shore; and the clouds are coming up very
fast,” she added, looking round.

“We are going to have a storm,” John said. “It will be upon us
long before we get back. I shall make for the shore, Mary. We must
leave the boat there, and take shelter for a while, and then walk
home. It will not be more than four miles to walk.”

But though he spoke cheerfully, John knew enough of the sudden
storms that burst upon the Sea of Galilee to be aware that, long
before he could cross the mile and a half of water, which separated
them from the eastern shore, the storm would be upon them; and
indeed, they were not more than half way when it burst.

The sky was already covered with black clouds. A great darkness
gathered round them; then came a heavy downpour of rain; and then,
with a sudden burst, the wind smote them. It was useless, now, to
try to row, for the oars would have been twisted from his hands in
a moment; and John took the helm, and told Mary to lie down in the
bottom of the boat. He had already turned the boat’s head up the
lake, the direction in which the storm was traveling.

The boat sprang forward, as if it had received a blow, when the
gale struck it. John had, more than once, been out on the lake with
the fishermen, when sudden storms had come up; and knew what was
best to be done. When he had laid in his oars, he had put them so
that the blades stood partly up above the bow, and caught the wind
somewhat; and he, himself, crouched down in the bottom, with his
head below the gunwale and his hand on the tiller; so that the
tendency of the boat was to drive straight before the wind. With a
strong crew, he knew that he could have rowed obliquely towards the
shore but, alone, his strength could have done nothing to keep the
heavy boat off her course.

The sea rose, as if by magic, and the spray was soon dashing
over them; each wave, as it followed the boat, rising higher and
higher. The shores were no longer visible; and the crests of the
waves seemed to gleam, with a pallid light, in the darkness which
surrounded them. John sat quietly in the bottom of the boat, with
one hand on the tiller and the other arm round Mary, who was
crouched up against him. She had made no cry, or exclamation, from
the moment the gale struck them.

“Are we getting near shore?” she asked, at last.

“No, Mary; we are running straight before the wind, which is
blowing right up the lake. There is nothing to be done but to keep
straight before it.”

Mary had seen many storms on the lake, and knew into what a fury
its waters were lashed, in a tempest such as was now upon them.

“We are in God’s hands, John,” she said, with the quiet
resignation of her race. “He can save us, if He will. Let us pray
to him.”

John nodded and, for a few minutes, no word was spoken.

“Can I do anything?” Mary asked, presently, as a wave struck the
stern, and threw a mass of water into the boat.

“Yes,” John replied; “take that earthen pot, and bale out the
water.”

John had no great hope that they would live through the gale,
but he thought it better for the girl to be kept busily employed.
She bailed steadily but, fast as she worked, the water came in
faster; for each wave, as it swept past them, broke on board. So
rapidly were they traveling that John had the greatest difficulty
in keeping the boat from broaching to–in which case the following
wave would have filled, or overturned, her.

“I don’t think it’s any use, John,” Mary said, quietly, as a
great wave broke on board; pouring in as much water, in a second,
as she could have baled out in ten minutes.

“No use, dear. Sit quietly by me but, first, pull those oars
aft. Now, tie them together with that piece of rope. Now, when the
boat goes down, keep tight hold of them.

“Cut off another piece of rope, and give it me. When we are in
the water, I will fasten you to the oars. They will keep you
afloat, easily enough. I will keep close to you. You know I am a
good swimmer and, whenever I feel tired, I can rest my hands on the
oars, too.

“Keep up your courage, and keep as quiet as you can. These
sudden storms seldom last long; and my father will be sure to get
the boats out, as soon as he can, to look for us.”

John spoke cheerfully, but he had no great hopes of their being
able to live in so rough a sea. Mary had still less, but she
quietly carried out John’s instructions. The boat was half-full of
water, now, and rose but heavily upon the waves.

John raised himself and looked round; in hopes that the wind
might, unnoticed, have shifted a little and blown them towards the
shore. As he glanced around, him he gave a shout. Following almost
in their track, and some fifty yards away, was a large galley;
running before the wind, with a rag of sail set on its mast.

“We are saved, Mary!” he exclaimed. “Here is a galley, close to
us.”

He shouted loudly, though he knew that his voice could not be
heard, many yards away, in the teeth of the gale but, almost
directly, he saw two or three men stand up in the bow of the
galley. One was pointing towards them, and he saw that they were
seen.

In another minute the galley came sweeping along, close to the
boat. A dozen figures appeared over her side, and two or three
ropes were thrown. John caught one, twisted it rapidly round Mary’s
body and his own, knotted it and, taking her in his arms, jumped
overboard. Another minute they were drawn alongside the galley, and
pulled on board. As soon as the ropes were unfastened, John rose to
his feet; but Mary lay, insensible, on the deck.

“Carry the damsel into the cabin,” a man, who was evidently in
authority said. “She has fainted, but will soon come round. I will
see to her, myself.”

The suddenness of the rescue, the plunge in the water, and the
sudden revulsion of his feelings affected John so much that it was
two or three minutes before he could speak.

“Come along with me, lad,” one of the sailors said, laying his
hand on his shoulder. “Some dry clothes, and a draught of wine will
set you all right again; but you have had a narrow escape of it.
That boat of yours was pretty nearly water logged and, in another
five minutes, we should have been too late.”

John hastily changed his clothes in the forecastle, took a
draught of wine, and then hurried back again towards the aft cabin.
Just as he reached it, the man who had ordered Mary to be carried
in came out.

“The damsel has opened her eyes,” he said, “and you need not be
uneasy about her. I have given her some woolen cloths, and bade her
take off her wet garments, and wrap herself in them.

“Why did you not make for the shore, before the tempest broke?
It was foolish of you, indeed, to be out on the lake, when anyone
could see that this gale was coming.”

“I was rowing down, and did not notice it until I turned,” John
replied. “I was making for the shore, when the gale struck
her.”

“It was well, for you, that I noticed you. I was, myself,
thinking of making for the shore although, in so large and
well-manned craft as this, there is little fear upon the lake. It
is not like the Great Sea; where I, myself, have seen a large ship
as helpless, before the waves, as that small boat we picked you
from.

“I had just set out from Tiberias, when I marked the storm
coming up; but my business was urgent and, moreover, I marked your
little boat, and saw that you were not likely to gain the shore; so
I bade the helmsman keep his eye on you, until the darkness fell
upon us; and then to follow straight in your wake, for you could
but run before the wind–and well he did it for, when we first
caught sight of you, you were right ahead of us.”

The speaker was a man of about thirty years of age; tall, and
with a certain air of command.

“I thank you, indeed, sir,” John said, “for saving my life; and
that of my cousin Mary, the daughter of my father’s brother. Truly,
my father and mother will be grateful to you, for having saved us;
for I am their only son.

“Whom are they to thank for our rescue?”

“I am Joseph, the son of Matthias, to whom the Jews have
intrusted the governorship of this province.”

“Josephus!” John exclaimed, in a tone of surprise and
reverence.

“So men call me,” Josephus replied, with a smile.

It was, indeed, the governor. Flavius Josephus, as the Romans
afterwards called him, came of a noble Jewish family–his father,
Matthias, belonging to the highest of the twenty-four classes into
which the sacerdotal families were divided. Matthias was eminent
for his attainments, and piety; and had been one of the leading men
in Jerusalem. From his youth, Josephus had carefully prepared
himself for public life, mastering the doctrines of the three
leading sects among the Jews–the Pharisees, Sadducees, and
Essenes–and having spent three years in the desert, with Banus the
Ascetic. The fact that, at only twenty-six years of age, he had
gone as the leader of a deputation to Rome, on behalf of some
priests sent there by Felix, shows that he was early looked upon as
a conspicuous person among the Jews; and he was but thirty when he
was intrusted with the important position of Governor of
Galilee.

Contrary to the custom of the times, he had sought to make no
gain from his position. He accepted neither presents, nor bribes;
but devoted himself entirely to ameliorating the condition of the
people, and in repressing the turbulence of the lower classes of
the great towns; and of the robber chieftains who, like John of
Gischala, took advantage of the relaxation of authority, caused by
the successful rising against the Romans, to plunder and tyrannize
over the people.

The expression of the face of Josephus was lofty and, at the
same time, gentle. His temper was singularly equable and, whatever
the circumstances, he never gave way to anger, but kept his
passions well under control. His address was soft and winning, and
he had the art of attracting respect and friendship from all who
came in contact with him. Poppaea, the wife of Nero, had received
him with much favor and, bravely as he fought against them,
Vespasian and Titus were, afterwards, as much attached to him as
were the Jews of Galilee. There can be no doubt that, had he been
otherwise placed than as one of a people on the verge of
destruction, Josephus would have been one of the great figures of
history.

John had been accustomed to hear his father and his friends
speak in tones of such admiration for Josephus, as the man who was
regarded not only as the benefactor of the Jews of Galilee, but as
the leader and mainstay of the nation, that he had long ardently
desired to see him; and to find that he had now been rescued from
death by him, and that he was now talking to him face to face,
filled him with confusion.

“You are a brave lad,” Josephus said, “for you kept your head
well, in a time when older men might have lost their presence of
mind. You must have kept your boat dead before the wind; and you
were quick and ready, in seizing the rope and knotting it round
yourself, and the maid with you. I feared you might try and fasten
it to the boat. If you had, full of water as she was, and fast as
we were sailing before the wind, the rope would barely have stood
the strain.”

“The clouds are breaking,” the captain of the boat said, coming
up to Josephus, “and I think that we are past the worst of the
gale. And well it is so for, even in so staunch a craft, there is
much peril in such a sea as this.”

The vessel, although one of the largest on the lake, was indeed
pitching and rolling very heavily; but she was light and buoyant
and, each time that she plunged bows under, as the following waves
lifted her stern high in the air, she rose lightly again; and
scarce a drop fell into her deep waist, the lofty erections, fore
and aft, throwing off the water.

“Where do you belong, my lad?” Josephus asked. “I fear that it
is impossible for us to put you ashore, until we reach Capernaum;
but once there, I will see that you are provided with means to take
you home.”

“Our farm lies three miles above Hippos.”

“That is unfortunate,” Josephus said, “since it lies on the
opposite side of the lake to Capernaum. However, we shall see. If
the storm goes down rapidly, I may be able to get a fishing boat to
take you across, this evening; for your parents will be in sore
trouble. If not, you must wait till early morning.”

In another hour they reached Capernaum. The wind had, by this
time, greatly abated; although the sea still ran high. The ship was
soon alongside a landing jetty, which ran out a considerable
distance, and formed a breakwater protecting the shipping from the
heavy sea which broke there when the wind was, as at present, from
the south.

Mary came out from the cabin, as the vessel entered the harbor,
wrapped up from head to foot in the woolen cloths with which she
had been furnished. John sprang to her side.

“Are you quite well, Mary?”

“Quite well,” she said, “only very ashamed of having fainted,
and very uncomfortable in these wrappings. But, oh! John, how
thankful we ought to be, to God, for having sent this ship to our
aid, just when all seemed lost!”

“We ought, indeed, Mary. I have been thanking him, as I have
been standing here watching the waves; and I am sure you have been
doing the same, in the cabin.”

“Yes, indeed, John. But what am I to do, now? I do not like
going on shore like this, and the officer told me I was, on no
account, to put on my wet clothes.”

“Do you know, it is Josephus himself, Mary–think of that–the
great Josephus, who has saved us! He marked our boat before the
storm broke and, seeing that we could not reach the shore, had his
vessel steered so as to overtake us.”

Mary was too surprised to utter more than an exclamation. The
thought that the man, who had been talking so kindly and pleasantly
to her, was the great leader of whom she had heard so much, quite
took away her breath.

At that moment Josephus, himself, came up.

“I am glad to see you have got your color again, maiden,” he
said. “I am just going to land. Do you, with your cousin, remain on
board here. I will send a woman down, with some attire for you. She
will conduct you both to the house where I shall be staying.

“The sea is going down, and the captain tells me that he thinks,
in another three or four hours, I shall be able to get a boat to
send you across to your home. It will be late, but you will not
mind that; for they are sure not to retire to rest, at home, but to
be up all night, searching for you.”

A crowd had assembled on the jetty, for Josephus was expected,
and the violent storm had excited the fears of all for his safety;
and the leading inhabitants had all flocked down to welcome him,
when his vessel was seen approaching.

“Isn’t he kind and good?” Mary said, enthusiastically, as she
watched the greeting which he received, as he landed. “He talked to
me, just as if he had been of my own family.”

“He is grand!” John agreed, with equal enthusiasm. “He is just
what I pictured to myself that a great leader would be; such as
Joshua, or Gideon, or the Prince of the Maccabees.”

“Yes; but more gentle, John.”

“Brave men should always be gentle,” John said, positively.

“They ought to be, perhaps,” Mary agreed, “but I don’t think
they are.”

They chatted, then, about the storm and the anxiety which they
would be feeling, at home; until an officer, accompanied by a woman
carrying attire for Mary, came on board. Mary soon came out of the
cabin, dressed; and the officer conducted them to the house which
had been placed at the disposal of Josephus. The woman led them up
to a room, where a meal had been prepared for them.

“Josephus is in council, with the elders,” she said. “He bade me
see that you had all that you required. He has arranged that a bark
shall start with you, as soon as the sea goes down; but if, by
eight o’clock, it is still too rough, I shall take the maiden home
to my house, to sleep; and they will arouse you, as soon as it is
safe to put out, whatever the hour may be, as your friends will be
in great anxiety concerning you.”

The sun had already set and, just as they finished their meal,
the man belonging to the boat came to say that it would be midnight
before he could put out.

Mary then went over with the woman; and John lay down on some
mats, to sleep, until it was time to start. He slept soundly, until
he was aroused by the entry of someone, with lights. He started to
his feet, and found that it was Josephus, himself, with an
attendant.

“I had not forgotten you,” he said, “but I have been, until now,
in council. It is close upon midnight, and the boat is in
readiness. I have sent to fetch the damsel, and have bidden them
take plenty of warm wraps, so that the night air may do her no
harm.”

Mary soon arrived; and Josephus, himself, went down with them to
the shore, and saw them on board the boat–which was a large one,
with eight rowers. The wind had died away to a gentle breeze, and
the sea had gone down greatly. The moon was up, and the stars
shining brightly. Josephus chatted kindly to John, as they made
their way down to the shore.

“Tell your father,” he said, “that I hope he will come over to
see me, ere long; and that I shall bear you in mind. The time is
coming when every Jew who can bear arms will be needed in the
service of his country and, if your father consents, I will place
you near my person; for I have seen that you are brave and cool, in
danger, and you will have plenty of opportunities of winning
advancement.”

With many thanks for his kindness, John and Mary took their
places in the stern of the boat. Mary enveloped herself in the
wraps that had been prepared for her, for the nights were chilly.
Then the sail was hoisted, and the boat sailed away from the land.
The wind had shifted round, somewhat, to the west, and they were
able to lay their course across towards Hippos; but their progress
was slow, and the master bade the crew get out their oars, and aid
the sail.

In three hours they neared the land, John pointing out the exact
position of the village; which was plainly enough marked out, by a
great fire blazing on the shore. As they approached it, they could
see several figures and, presently, there came a shout, which John
recognized as that of Isaac.

“Any news?”

“Here we are, Isaac, safe and well.”

There was a confused sound, of shouts and cries of pleasure. In
a few minutes, the boat grated on the shallow shore. The moment she
did so, John leaped out over the bow and waded ashore, and was at
once clasped in his mother’s arms; while one of the fishermen
carried Mary to the land. She received, from Martha, a full share
of her caresses; for she loved the girl almost as dearly as she did
her son. Then Miriam and the maids embraced and kissed her, while
Isaac folded John in his arms.

“The God of Israel be thanked and praised, my children!” Martha
exclaimed. “He has brought you back to us, as from the dead, for we
never thought to see you again. Some of the fishermen returned, and
told us that they saw your boat, far on the lake, before the storm
burst; and none held out hope that you could have weathered such a
storm.”

“Where is father?” John asked.

“He is out on the lake, as are all the fishermen of the village,
searching for you.

“That reminds me, Isaac, set fire to the other piles of wood
that we have prepared.

“If one of the boats returned, with any sure news of you, we
were to light them to call the others back–one fire if the news
was bad, two if it was good–but we hardly even dared to hope that
the second would be required.”

A brand from the fire was soon applied to the other piles, and
the three fires shone out across the lake, with the good news. In a
quarter of an hour a boat was seen approaching, and soon came a
shout:

“Is all well?”

“All is well,” John shouted, in reply, and soon he was clasped
in his father’s arms.

The other boats came in, one by one; the last to arrive towing
in the boat–which had been found, bottom upwards, far up the lake,
its discovery destroying the last hope of its late occupants being
found alive.

As soon as Simon landed, the party returned to the house. Miriam
and the maids hurried to prepare a meal–of which all were sorely
in need, for no food had been eaten since the gale burst on the
lake; while their three hours in the boat had again sharpened the
appetite of John and Mary. A quantity of food was cooked, and a
skin of old wine brought up from the cellar; and Isaac remained
down on the shore, to bid all who had been engaged in the search
come up and feast, as soon as they landed.

John related to his parents the adventure which had befallen
them, and they wondered greatly at the narrowness of their
deliverance. When the feasting was over, Simon called all together,
and solemnly returned thanks to God for the mercies which He had
given them. It was broad daylight before all sought their beds, for
a few hours, before beginning the work of the day.

A week later Josephus himself came to Hippos, bringing with him
two nobles, who had fled from King Agrippa and sought refuge with
him. He had received them hospitably, and had allotted a home to
them at Tarichea, where he principally dwelt.

He had, just before, had another narrow escape, for six hundred
armed men–robbers and others–had assembled round his house,
charging him with keeping some spoils which had been taken, by a
party of men of that town, from the wife of Ptolemy–King Agrippa’s
procurator–instead of dividing them among the people. For a time,
he pacified them by telling them that this money was destined for
strengthening the walls of their town, and for walling other towns
at present undefended; but the leaders of the evildoers were
determined to set his house on fire, and slay him.

He had but twenty armed men with him. Closing the doors, he went
to an upper room, and told the robbers to send in one of their
number to receive the money. Directly he entered, the door was
closed. One of his hands was cut off, and hung round his neck; and
he was then turned out again. Believing that Josephus would not
have ventured to act so boldly, had he not had a large body of
armed men with him, the crowd were seized with panic and fled to
their homes.

After this, the enemies of Josephus persuaded the people that
the nobles he had sheltered were wizards; and demanded that they
should be given up to be slain, unless they would change their
religion to that of the Jews. Josephus tried to argue them out of
their belief, saying that there were no such things as wizards and,
if the Romans had wizards who could work them wrong, they would not
need to send an army to fight against them; but as the people still
clamored, he got the men privately on board a ship, and sailed
across the lake with them to Hippos; where he dismissed them, with
many presents.

As soon as the news came that Josephus had come to Hippos, Simon
set out with Martha, John, and Mary, to see him. Josephus received
them kindly, and would permit no thanks for what he had done.

“Your son is a brave youth,” he said to Simon, “and I would
gladly have him near me, if you would like to have it so. This is a
time when there are greater things than planting vineyards, and
gathering in harvests, to be done; and there is a need for brave
and faithful men. If, then, you and your wife will give the lad to
me, I will see to him, and keep him near me. I have need of
faithful men with me, for my enemies are ever trying to slay me. If
all goes well with the lad, he will have a good opportunity of
rising to honor.

“What say you? Do not give an answer hastily, but think it over
among yourselves and, if you agree to my proposal, send him across
the lake to me.”

“It needs no thought, sir,” Simon said. “I know well that there
are more urgent things, now, than sowing and reaping; and that much
trouble and peril threaten the land. Right glad am I that my son
should serve one who is the hope of Israel, and his mother will not
grudge him for such service. As to advancement, I wish nothing
better than that he should till the land of his fathers; but none
can say what the Lord has in store for us, or whether strangers may
not reap what I have sown. Thus, then, the wisdom which he will
gain, in being with you, is likely to be a far better inheritance
than any I can give him.

“What say you, Martha?”

“I say as you do, Simon. It will grieve me to part with him, but
I know that such an offer as that which my lord Josephus makes is
greatly for his good. Moreover, the manner in which he was saved
from death seems to show that the Lord has something for his hand
to do, and that his path is specially marked out for him. To refuse
to let him go would be to commit the sin of withstanding God–

“Therefore, my lord, I willingly give up my son to follow
you.”

“I think that you have decided wisely,” Josephus said. “I tarry
here, for tonight, and tomorrow cross to Tiberias; therefore, let
him be here by noon.”

Mary was the most silent of the party, on the way home. Simon
and his wife felt convinced the decision they had made was a wise
one and, although they were not ambitious, they yet felt that the
offer of Josephus was a most advantageous one, and opened a career
of honor to their son.

John, himself, was in a state of the highest delight. To be
about the person of Josephus seemed, to him, the greatest honor and
happiness. It opened the way to the performance of great actions,
which would bring honor to his father’s name; and although he had
been, hitherto, prepared to settle down to the life of a cultivator
of the soil, he had had his yearnings for one of more excitement
and adventure; and these were now likely to be gratified, to the
fullest.

Mary, however, felt the approaching loss of her friend and
playmate greatly, though even she was not insensible to the honor
which the offer of Josephus conferred upon him.

“You don’t seem glad of my good fortune, Mary,” John said as,
after they returned home, they strolled together, as usual, down to
the edge of the lake.

“It may be your good fortune, but it’s not mine,” the girl said,
pettishly. “It will be very dull here, without you. I know what it
will be. Your mother will always be full of anxiety, and will be
fretting whenever we get news of any disturbances; and that is
often enough, for there seem to be disturbances, continually. Your
father will go about silently, Miriam will be sharper than usual
with the maids, and everything will go wrong. I can’t see why you
couldn’t have said that, in a year or two, you would go with the
governor; but that, at present, you thought you had better stop
with your own people.”

“A nice milksop he would have thought me!” John laughed. “No, if
he thought I was man enough to do him service, it would have been a
nice thing for me to say that I thought I was too young.

“Besides, Mary, after all it is your good fortune, as well as
mine; for is it not settled that you are to share it? Josephus is
all powerful and, if I please him and do my duty, he can, in time,
raise me to a position of great honor. I may even come to be the
governor of a town, or a captain over troops, or a councilor.”

“No, no!” Mary laughed, “not a councilor, John. A governor,
perhaps; and a captain, perhaps; but never, I should say, a
councilor.”

John laughed good temperedly.

“Well, Mary, then you shall look forward to be the wife of a
governor, or captain; but you see, I might even fill the place of a
councilor with credit, because I could always come to you for
advice before, I give an opinion–then I should be sure to be
right.

“But, seriously, Mary, I do think it great honor to have had
such an offer made me, by the governor.”

“Seriously, so do I, John; though I wish, in my heart, he had
not made it. I had looked forward to living here, all my life, just
as your mother has done; and now there will be nothing fixed to
look forward to.

“Besides, where there is honor, there is danger. There seem to
be always tumults, always conspiracies–and then, as your father
says, above all there are the Romans to be reckoned with and, of
course, if you are near Josephus you run a risk, going wherever he
does.”

“I shall never be in greater risk, Mary, than we were, together,
on the lake the other day. God helped us, then, and brought us
through it; and I have faith that He will do so, again. It may be
that I am meant to do something useful, before I die. At any rate,
when the Romans come, everyone will have to fight; so I shall be in
no greater danger than any one else.”

“I know, John, and I am not speaking quite in earnest. I am
sorry you are going–that is only natural–but I am proud that you
are to be near our great leader, and I believe that our God will be
your shield and protector.

“And now, we had better go in. Your father will, doubtless, have
much to say to you, this evening; and your mother will grudge every
minute you are out of her sight.”

Chapter 3: The Revolt Against
Rome.

That evening the Rabbi Solomon Ben Manasseh came in, and was
informed of the offer which Josephus had made.

“You were present, rabbi,” Simon said, “at the events which took
place in Jerusalem, and at the defeat of Cestius. John has been
asking me to tell him more about these matters for, now that he is
to be with the governor, it is well that he should be well
acquainted with public affairs.”

“I will willingly tell him the history for, as you say, it is
right that the young man should be well acquainted with the public
events and the state of parties and, though the story must be
somewhat long, I will try and not make it tedious.

“The first tumult broke out in Caesarea, and began by frays
between our people and the Syrian Greeks. Felix the governor took
the part of the Greeks; and many of our people were killed, and
more plundered. When Felix was recalled to Rome, we sent a
deputation there with charges against him; but the Greeks, by means
of bribery, obtained a decree against us, depriving the Jews of
Caesarea of rights of equal citizenship. From this constant
troubles arose but, outside Caesarea, Festus kept all quiet;
putting down robbers, as well as impostors who led the people
astray.

“Then there came trouble in Jerusalem. King Agrippa’s palace
stood on Mount Zion, looking towards the Temple; and he built a
lofty story, from whose platform he could command a view of the
courts of the Temple, and watch the sacrifices. Our people resented
this impious intrusion, and built a high wall to cut off the view.
Agrippa demanded its destruction, on the ground that it intercepted
the view of the Roman guard. We appealed to Nero, and sent to him a
deputation; headed by Ismael, the high priest, and Hilkiah, the
treasurer. They obtained an order for the wall to be allowed to
stand, but Ismael and Hilkiah were detained at Rome. Agrippa
thereupon appointed another high priest–Joseph–but, soon
afterwards, nominated Annas in his place.

“When Festus–the Roman governor–was away, Annas put to death
many of the sect called Christians, to gratify the Sadducees. The
people were indignant, for these men had done no harm; and Agrippa
deprived him of the priesthood and appointed Jesus, son of Damnai.
Then, unhappily, Festus–who was a just and good governor–died,
and Albinus succeeded him. He was a man greedy of money, and ready
to do anything for gain. He took bribes from robbers, and
encouraged, rather than repressed, evil doers. There was open war,
in the streets, between the followers of various chief robbers.
Albinus opened the prisons, and filled the city with malefactors;
and, at the completion of the works at the Temple, eighteen
thousand workmen were discharged, and thus the city was filled with
men ready to sell their services to the highest bidders.

“Albinus was succeeded by Gessius Florus, who was even worse
than Albinus. This man was a great friend of Cestius Gallus, who
commanded the Roman troops in Syria; and who, therefore, scoffed at
the complaints of the people against Florus.

“At this time, strange prodigies appeared in Rome. A sword of
fire hung above the city, for a whole year. The inner gate of the
Temple–which required twenty men to move it–opened by itself;
chariots and armed squadrons were seen in the heavens and, worse
than all, the priests in the Temple heard a great movement, and a
sound of many voices, which said:

“‘Let us depart hence!’

“So things went on, in Jerusalem, until the old feud at Caesarea
broke out afresh. The trouble, this time, began about one of our
synagogues. The land around it belonged to a Greek and, for this,
our people offered a high price. The heathen who owned it refused
and, to annoy us, raised mean houses round the synagogue. The
Jewish youths interrupted the workmen; and the wealthier of the
community–headed by John, a publican–subscribed eight talents,
and sent them to Florus as a bribe, that he might order the
building to be stopped.

“Florus took the money, and made many promises; but the evil man
desired that a revolt should take place, in order that he might
gain great plunder. So he went away from Caesarea, and did nothing;
and a great tumult arose between the heathen and our people. In
this we were worsted, and went away from the city; while John, with
twelve of the highest rank, went to Samaria to lay the matter
before Florus; who threw them into prison–doubtless the more to
excite the people–and at the same time sent to Jerusalem, and
demanded seventeen talents from the treasury of the Temple.

“The people burst into loud outcries, and Florus advanced upon
the city with all his force. But we knew that we could not oppose
the Romans; and so received Florus, on his arrival, with
acclamations. But this did not suit the tyrant. The next morning he
ordered his troops to plunder the upper market, and to put to death
all they met. The soldiers obeyed, and slew three thousand six
hundred men, women, and children.

“You may imagine, John, the feelings of grief and rage which
filled every heart. The next day the multitude assembled in the
marketplace, wailing for the dead and cursing Florus. But the
principal men of the city, with the priests, tore their robes and
went among them, praying them to disperse and not to provoke the
anger of the governor. The people obeyed their voices, and went
quietly home.

“But Florus was not content that matters should end so. He sent
for the priests and leaders, and commanded them to go forth and
receive, with acclamations of welcome, two cohorts of troops who
were advancing from Caesarea. The priests called the people
together in the Temple and, with difficulty, persuaded them to obey
the order. The troops, having orders from Florus, fell upon the
people and trampled them down and, driving the multitude before
them, entered the city; and at the same time Florus sallied out
from his palace, with his troops, and both parties pressed forward
to gain the Castle of Antonia, whose possession would lay the
Temple open to them, and enable Florus to gain the sacred treasures
deposited there.

“But, as soon as the people perceived their object, they ran
together in such vast crowds that the Roman soldiers could not cut
their way through the mass which blocked up the streets; while the
more active men, going up on to the roofs, hurled down stones and
missiles upon the troops.

“What a scene was that, John! I was on the portico near Antonia,
and saw it all. It was terrible to hear the shouts of the soldiers,
as they strove to hew their way through the defenseless people; the
war cries of our own youths, the shrieks and wailings of the women.
While the Romans were still striving, our people broke down the
galleries connecting Antonia with the Temple; and Florus, seeing
that he could not carry out his object, ordered his troops to
retire to their quarters and, calling the chief priests and the
rulers, proposed to leave the city, leaving behind him one cohort
to preserve the peace.

“As soon as he had done so, he sent to Cestius Gallus lying
accounts of the tumults, laying all the blame upon us; while we and
Bernice, the sister of King Agrippa–who had tried, in vain, to
obtain mercy for the people from Florus–sent complaints against
him. Cestius was moving to Jerusalem–to inquire into the matter,
as he said, but really to restore Florus–when, fortunately, King
Agrippa arrived from Egypt.

“While he was yet seven miles from the city, a procession of the
people met him, headed by the women whose husbands had been slain.
These, with cries and wailings, called on Agrippa for protection;
and related to a centurion, whom Cestius had sent forward, and who
met Agrippa on the way, the cruelty of Florus. When the king and
the centurion arrived in the city, they were taken to the
marketplace and shown the houses where the inhabitants had been
massacred.

“Agrippa called the people together and, taking his seat on a
lofty dais, with Bernice by his side, harangued them. He assured
them that, when the emperor heard what had been done, he would send
a better governor to them, in the place of Florus. He told them
that it was vain to hope for independence, for that the Romans had
conquered all the nations in the world; and that the Jews could not
contend against them, and that war would bring about the
destruction of the city, and the Temple. The people exclaimed they
had taken up arms, not against the Romans, but against Florus.

“Agrippa urged us to pay our tribute, and repair the galleries.
This was willingly done. We sent out leading men to collect the
arrears of tribute, and these soon brought in forty talents. All
was going on well, until Agrippa tried to persuade us to receive
Florus, till the emperor should send another governor. At the
thought of the return of Florus, a mad rage seized the people. They
poured abuse upon Agrippa, threw stones at him, and ordered him to
leave the city. This he did, and retired to his own kingdom.

“The upper class, and all those who possessed wisdom enough to
know how great was the power of Rome, still strove for peace. But
the people were beyond control. They seized the fortress of
Masada–a very strong place near the Dead Sea–and put the Roman
garrison to the sword. But what was even worse, Eleazar–son of
Ananias, the chief priest–persuaded the priests to reject the
offerings regularly made, in the name of the emperor, to the God of
the Hebrews; and to make a regulation that, from that time, no
foreigner should be allowed to sacrifice in the Temple.

“The chief priests, with the heads of the Pharisees, addressed
the people in the quadrangle of the Temple, before the eastern
gate. I, myself, was one of those who spoke. We told them that the
Temple had long benefited by the splendid gifts of strangers; and
that it was not only inhospitable, but impious, to preclude them
from offering victims, and worshiping God, there. We, who were
learned in the law, showed them that it was an ancient and
immemorial usage to receive the offerings of strangers; and that
this refusal to accept the Roman gifts was nothing short of a
declaration of war.

“But all we could do, or say, availed nothing. The influence of
Eleazar was too great. A madness had seized the people, and they
rejected all our words; but the party of peace made one more
effort. They sent a deputation–headed by Simon, son of Ananias–to
Florus, and another to Agrippa, praying them to march upon
Jerusalem, and reassert their authority, before it was too late.
Florus made no reply, for things were going just as he wished; but
Agrippa, anxious to preserve the city, sent three thousand
horsemen, commanded by Darius and Philip. When these troops
arrived, the party of peace took possession of the upper city;
while Eleazar and the war party held the Temple.

“For a week, fighting went on between the two parties. Then, at
the festival of the Wood Carrying, great numbers of the poorer
people were allowed by the party of the chief priest to pass
through their lines; and go, as usual, to the Temple. When there,
these joined the party of Eleazar, and a great attack was made on
the upper city. The troops of Darius and Philip gave way. The house
of Ananias–the high priest–and the palaces of Agrippa and Bernice
were burned, and also the public archives. Here all the bonds of
the debtors were registered and, thus, at one blow the power of the
rich over the poor was destroyed. Ananias himself, and a few
others, escaped into the upper towers of the palace, which they
held.

“The next day, Eleazar’s party attacked the fortress of Antonia,
which was feebly garrisoned and, after two days’ fighting, captured
it, and slew the garrison. Manahem, the son of Judas the Zealot,
arrived two days later, while the people were besieging the palace.
He was accepted as general, by them; and took charge of the siege.
Having mined under one of the towers, they brought it to the
ground, and the garrison asked for terms. Free passage was granted
to the troops of Agrippa, and the Jews; but none was granted to the
Roman soldiers, who were few in number and retreated to the three
great towers, Hippicus, Phasaelus, and Mariamne.

“The palace was entered, and Ananias and Hezekiah–his
brother–were found in hiding, and put to death. Manahem now
assumed the state of a king; but Eleazar, unwilling that, after
having led the enterprise, the fruits should be gathered by
another, stirred up the people against him, and he was slain. The
three towers were now besieged; and Metilius–the Roman
commander–finding he could no longer hold out, agreed to
surrender, on the condition that his men should deliver up their
arms, and be allowed to march away, unharmed.

“The terms were accepted and ratified but, as soon as the Roman
soldiers marched out, and laid down their arms, Eleazar and his
followers fell upon them and slew them; Metilius himself being,
alone, spared. After this terrible massacre, a sadness fell on the
city. All felt that there was no longer any hope of making
conditions with Rome. We had placed ourselves beyond the pale of
forgiveness. It was war, to the death, with Rome.

“Up to this time, as I have told you, I was one of those who had
labored to maintain peace. I had fought in the palace, by the side
of Ananias; and had left it only when the troops, and we of their
party, were permitted to march out when it surrendered. But, from
this time, I took another part. All hope of peace, of concessions,
or of conditions was at an end. There remained nothing now but to
fight and, as the vengeance of Rome would fall on the whole Jewish
people, it was for the whole Jewish people to unite in the struggle
for existence.

“On the very day and hour in which the Romans were put to death,
retribution began to fall upon the nation; for the Greeks of
Caesarea rose suddenly, and massacred the Jews. Twenty thousand
were slain, in a single day. The news of these two massacres drove
the whole people to madness. They rose throughout the land, laid
waste the country all round the cities of Syria–Philadelphia,
Sebonitis, Gerasa, Pella, and Scythopolis–and burned and destroyed
many places.

“The Syrians, in turn, fell upon the Jewish inhabitants of all
their towns; and a frightful carnage, everywhere, took place. Then,
our people made an inroad into the domains of Scythopolis but,
though the Jewish inhabitants there joined the Syrians in defending
their territory, the Syrians doubted their fidelity and, falling
upon them in the night, slew them all, and seized their property.
Thirteen thousand perished here. In many other cities, the same
things were done; in Ascalon, two thousand five hundred were put to
the sword; in Ptolemais, two thousand were killed. The land was
deluged with blood, and despair fell upon all.

“Even in Alexandria, our countrymen suffered. Breaking out into
a quarrel with the Greeks, a tumult arose; and Tiberias Alexander,
the governor–by faith a Jew–tried to pacify matters; but the
madness which had seized the people, here, had fallen also upon the
Jews of Alexandria. They heaped abuse upon Alexander, who was
forced to send the troops against them. The Jews fought, but
vainly; and fifty thousand men, women, and children fell.

“While blood was flowing over the land, Cestius Gallus–the
prefect–was preparing for invasion. He had with him the Twelfth
Legion, forty-two hundred strong; two thousand picked men, taken
from the other legions; six cohorts of foot, about twenty-five
hundred; and four troops of horse, twelve hundred. Of allies he
had, from Antiochus, two thousand horse and three thousand foot;
from Agrippa, one thousand horse and three thousand foot; Sohemus
joined him with four thousand men–a third of whom were horse, the
rest archers. Thus he had ten thousand Roman troops, and thirteen
thousand allies; besides many volunteers, who joined him from the
Syrian cities.

“After burning and pillaging Zebulon, and wasting the district,
Cestius returned to Ptolemais, and then advanced to Caesarea. He
sent forward a part of his army to Joppa. The city was open, and no
resistance was offered; nevertheless, the Romans slew all, to the
number of eight thousand five hundred. The cities of Galilee opened
their gates, without resistance, and Cestius advanced against
Jerusalem.

“When he arrived within six miles of the town, the Jews poured
out; and fell upon them with such fury that, if the horse and light
troops had not made a circuit, and fallen upon us in the rear, I
believe we should have destroyed the whole army. But we were forced
to fall back, having killed over five hundred. As the Romans moved
forward, Simon–son of Gioras–with a band, pressed them closely in
rear; and slew many, and carried off numbers of their beasts of
burden.

“Agrippa now tried, once more, to make peace, and sent a
deputation to persuade us to surrender–offering, in the name of
Cestius, pardon for all that had passed–but Eleazar’s party,
fearing the people might listen to him, fell upon the deputation,
slew some, and drove the others back.

“Cestius advanced within a mile of Jerusalem and–after waiting
three days, in hopes that the Jews would surrender, and knowing
that many of the chief persons were friendly to him–he advanced to
the attack, took the suburb of Bezetha, and encamped opposite the
palace in the upper city. The people discovered that Ananias and
his friends had agreed to open the gates; and so slew them, and
threw the bodies over the wall. The Romans for five days attacked
and, on the sixth, Cestius, with the flower of his army made an
assault; but the people fought bravely and, disregarding the
flights of arrows which the archers shot against them, held the
walls, and poured missiles of all kinds upon the enemy; until at
last, just as it seemed to all that the Romans would succeed in
mining the walls, and firing the gates, Cestius called off his
troops.

“Had he not done so, he would speedily have taken the city; for
the peace party were on the point of seizing one of the gates, and
opening it. I no longer belonged to this party; for it seemed to me
that it was altogether too late, now, to make terms; nor could we
expect that the Romans would keep to their conditions, after we had
set them the example of breaking faith.

“Cestius fell back to his camp, a mile distant, but he had no
rest there. Exultant at seeing a retreat from their walls, all the
people poured out, and fell upon the Romans with fury.

“The next morning Cestius began to retreat; but we swarmed
around him, pressing upon his rear, and dashing down from the hills
upon his flanks, giving him no rest. The heavy-armed Romans could
do nothing against us; but marched steadily on–leaving numbers of
dead behind them–till they reached their former camp at Gabao, six
miles away. Here Cestius waited two days but, seeing how the hills
around him swarmed with our people, who flocked in from all
quarters, he gave the word for a further retreat; killing all the
beasts of burden, and leaving all the baggage behind, and taking on
only those animals which bore the arrows and engines of war. Then
he marched down the valley, towards Bethoron.

“The multitude felt now that their enemy was delivered into
their hands. Was it not in Bethoron that Joshua had defeated the
Canaanites, while the sun stayed his course? Was it not here that
Judas, the Maccabean, had routed the host of Nicanor? As soon as
the Romans entered the defile, the Jews rushed down upon them, sure
of their prey.

“The Roman horse were powerless to act. The men of the legions
could not climb the rocky sides and, from every point, javelins,
stones, and arrows were poured down upon them; and all would have
been slain, had not night come on and hidden them from us, and
enabled them to reach Bethoron.

“What rejoicings were there not, on the hills that night, as we
looked down on their camp there; and thought that, in the morning,
they would be ours! Fires burned on every crest. Hymns of praise,
and exulting cries, arose everywhere in the darkness; but the watch
was not kept strictly enough. Cestius left four hundred of his
bravest men to mount guard, and keep the fires alight–so that we
might think that all his army was there–and then, with the rest,
he stole away.

“In the morning, we saw that the camp was well-nigh deserted
and, furious at the escape of our foes, rushed down, slew the four
hundred whom Cestius had left behind, and then set out in pursuit.
But Cestius had many hours’ start and, though we followed as far as
Antipatris, we could not overtake him; and so returned, with much
rich spoil, and all the Roman engines of war, to Jerusalem–having,
with scarcely any loss, defeated a great Roman army, and slain five
thousand three hundred foot, and three hundred and eighty
horse.

“Such is the history of events which have brought about the
present state of things. As you see, there is no hope of pardon, or
mercy, from Rome. We have offended beyond forgiveness. But the
madness against which I fought so hard, at first, is still upon the
people. They provoked the power of Rome; and then, by breaking the
terms, and massacring the Roman garrison, they went far beyond the
first offense of insurrection. By the destruction of the army of
Cestius, they struck a heavy blow against the pride of the Romans.
For generations, no such misfortune had fallen upon their arms.

“What, then, would a sane people have done since? Surely they
would have spent every moment in preparing themselves for the
struggle. Every man should have been called to arms. The passes
should have been all fortified, for it is among the hills that we
can best cope with the heavy Roman troops. The cities best
calculated for defense should have been strongly walled;
preparations made for places of refuge, among the mountains, for
the women and children; large depots of provisions gathered up, in
readiness for the strife. That we could ever, in the long run, hope
to resist, successfully, the might of Rome was out of the question;
but we might so sternly, and valiantly, have resisted as to be able
to obtain fair terms, on our submission.

“Instead of this, men go on as if Rome had no existence; and we
only show an energy in quarreling among ourselves. At bottom, it
would seem that the people rely upon our God doing great things for
us, as he did when he smote the Assyrian army of Sennacherib; and
such is my hope, also, seeing that, so far, a wonderful success has
attended us. And yet, how can one expect the Divine assistance, in
a war so begun and so conducted–for a people who turn their swords
against each other, who spend their strength in civil feuds, who
neither humble themselves, nor repent of the wickedness of their
ways?

“Alas, my son, though I speak brave words to the people, my
heart is very sad; and I fear that troubles, like those which fell
upon us when we were carried captive into Babylon, await us
now!”

There was silence, as the rabbi finished. John had, of course,
heard something of the events which had been taking place but, as
he now heard them, in sequence, the gravity and danger of the
situation came freshly upon him.

“What can be done?” he asked, after a long pause.

“Nothing, save to pray to the Lord,” the rabbi said,
sorrowfully. “Josephus is doing what he can, towards building walls
to the towns; but it is not walls, but soldiers that are wanted
and, so long as the people remain blind and indifferent to the
danger, thinking of naught save tilling their ground, and laying up
money, nothing can be done.”

“Then will destruction come upon all?” John asked, looking round
in a bewildered and hopeless way.

“We may hope not,” the rabbi said. “Here in Galilee, we have had
no share in the events in Jerusalem; and many towns, even now, are
faithful to the Romans. Therefore it may be that, in this province,
all will not be involved in the lot of Jerusalem. There can be,
unless a mighty change takes place, no general resistance to the
Romans; and it may be, therefore, that no general destruction will
fall upon the people. As to this, none can say.

“Vespasian–the Roman general who has been charged, by Nero,
with the command of the army which is gathering against us–is said
to be a merciful man, as well as a great commander. The Roman
mercies are not tender, but it may be that the very worst may not
fall upon this province. The men of spirit and courage will,
doubtless, proceed to Jerusalem to share in the defense of the Holy
City. If we cannot fight with success, here, it is far better that
the men should fight at Jerusalem; leaving their wives and families
here, and doing naught to call down the vengeance of the Romans
upon this province.

“In Galilee there have, as elsewhere, been risings against the
Romans; but these will count for little, in their eyes, in
comparison to the terrible deeds at Jerusalem; and I pray, for the
sake of all my friends here, that the Romans may march through the
land, on their way to Jerusalem, without burning and wasting the
country. Here, on the eastern shore of Galilee, there is much more
hope of escape than there is across the lake. Not only are we out
of the line of the march of the army, but there are few important
cities on this side; and the disposition of the people has not been
so hostile to the Romans.

“My own opinion is that, when the Romans advance, it will be the
duty of every Jew who can bear arms to go down to the defense of
the Holy City. Its position is one of vast strength. We shall have
numbers, and courage, though neither order nor discipline; and it
may be that, at the last, the Lord will defend his sanctuary, and
save it from destruction at the hands of the heathen. Should it not
be so, we can but die; and how could a Jew better die than in
defense of God’s Temple?”

“It would have been better,” Simon said, “had we not, by our
evil doings, have brought God’s Temple into danger.”

“He has suffered it,” the rabbi said, “and his ways are not the
ways of man. It may be that He has suffered such madness to fall
upon, us in order that His name may, at last, be glorified.”

“May it be so!” Simon said piously; “and now, let us to bed, for
the hour is growing late.”

The following morning Simon, his wife, and the whole household
accompanied John to the shore; as Simon had arranged with one of
the boatmen to take the lad to Hippos. The distance was but short;
but Simon, when his wife had expressed surprise at his sending John
in a boat, said:

“It is not the distance, Martha. A half-hour’s walk is naught to
the lad; but I had reasons, altogether apart from the question of
distance. John is going out to play a man’s part. He is young but,
since my lord Josephus has chosen to place him among those who form
his bodyguard, he has a right to claim to be regarded as a man.
That being so, I would not accompany him to Hippos; for it would
seem like one leading a child, and it were best to let him go by
himself.

“Again, it were better to have but one parting. Here he will
receive my blessing, and say goodbye to us all. Doubtless he will
often be with us, for Tiberias lies within sight and, so long as
Josephus remains in Galilee, he will never be more than a long
day’s journey from home. The lad loves us, and will come as often
as he can but, surrounded as Josephus is by dangers, the boy will
not be able to get away on his own business. He must take the
duties, as well as the honor of the office; and we must not blind
ourselves to the fact that, in one of these popular tumults, great
danger and even death may come upon him.

“This seems to you terrible,” he went on, in answer to an
exclamation of alarm from Martha; “but it does not seem so terrible
to me. We go on planting, and gathering in, as if no danger
threatened us, and the evil day were far off; but it is not so. The
Roman hosts are gathering, and we are wasting our strength, in
party strife, and are doing naught to prepare against the storm. We
have gone to war, without counting the cost. We have affronted and
put to shame Rome, before whom all nations bow and, assuredly, she
will take a terrible vengeance. Another year, and who can say who
will be alive, and who dead–who will be wandering over the wasted
fields of our people, or who will be a slave, in Rome!

“In the times that are at hand, no man’s life will be worth
anything; and therefore I say, wife, that though there be danger
and peril around the lad, let us not trouble overmuch; for he is,
like all of us, in God’s hands.”

Therefore, the parting took place on the shore. Simon solemnly
blessed John, and his mother cried over him. Mary was a little
surprised at these demonstrations, at what she regarded as a very
temporary separation; but her merry spirits were subdued at the
sight of her aunt’s tears, although she, herself, saw nothing to
cry about.

She brightened up, however, when John whispered, as he said
goodbye to her:

“I shall come across the lake, as often as I can, to see how you
are getting on, Mary.”

Then he took his place in the stern of the boat. The fishermen
dipped their oars in the water, and the boat drew away from the
little group, who stood watching it as it made its way across the
sparkling water to Hippos.

Upon landing, John at once went to the house where Josephus was
lodging. The latter gave him in charge to the leader of the little
group of men who had attached themselves to him, as his
bodyguard.

“Joab,” he said, “this youth will, henceforth, make one of your
party. He is brave and, I think, ready and quick witted. Give him
arms and see that he has all that is needful. Being young, he will
be able to mingle unsuspected among the crowds; and may obtain
tidings of evil intended me, when men would not speak, maybe,
before others whom they might judge my friends. He will be able to
bear messages, unsuspected; and may prove of great service to the
cause.”

John found, at once, that there was nothing like discipline, or
regular duties, among the little band who constituted the bodyguard
of Josephus. They were simply men who, from affection for the
governor, and a hatred for those who, by their plots and
conspiracies, would undo the good work he was accomplishing, had
left their farms and occupations to follow and guard him.

Every Jewish boy received a certain training in the use of
weapons, in order to be prepared to fight in the national army,
when the day of deliverance should arrive; but beyond that, the
Jews had no military training, whatever. Their army would be simply
a gathering of the men capable of bearing arms, throughout the
land–each ready to give his life, for his faith and his country;
relying, like their forefathers, on the sword of the Lord and
Israel, but without the slightest idea of military drill,
discipline, or tactics. Such an army might fight bravely, might die
nobly, but it could have little chance of victory over the
well-trained legions of imperial Rome.

At noon, Josephus embarked in a galley with his little band of
followers–eight in number–and sailed across the lake to Tiberias.
Here they landed, and went up to the house in which Josephus always
dwelt, when in that city. His stay there was generally short,
Tarichea being his general abode–for there he felt in safety, the
inhabitants being devoted to him; while those of Tiberias were ever
ready to follow the advice of the disaffected, and a section were
eager for the return of the Romans, and the renewal of the business
and trade which had brought wealth to the city, before the troubles
began.

That evening, Josephus sent for John, and said:

“I purpose, in two days, to go to Tarichea, where I shall spend
the Sabbath. I hear that there is a rumor that many of the citizens
have, privately, sent to King Agrippa asking him to send hither
Roman troops, and promising them a good reception. The men with me
are known, to many in the city, and would be shunned by my enemies,
and so would hear naught of what is going on; therefore, I purpose
to leave you here.

“In the morning, go early to the house of Samuel, the son of
Gideon. He dwells in the street called that of Tarichea, for it
leadeth in the direction of that town. He is a tanner, by trade;
and you will have no difficulty in finding it. He has been here,
this evening, and I have spoken to him about you and, when you
present yourself to him, he will take you in. Thus, no one will
know that you are of my company.

“Pass your time in the streets and, when you see groups of
people assemble, join yourself to them and gather what they are
saying. If it is ought that is important for me to know, come here
and tell me or, if it be after I have departed for Tarichea, bring
me the news there. It is but thirty furlongs distant.”

John followed up the instructions given him, and was hospitably
received by Samuel the tanner.

In the course of the day, a number of the citizens called upon
Josephus and begged him, at once, to set about building walls for
the town, as he had already built them for Tarichea. When he
assured them that he had already made preparations for doing so,
and that the builders should set to work, forthwith, they appeared
satisfied; and the city remained perfectly tranquil until Josephus
left, the next morning, for Tarichea.

Chapter 4: The Lull Before The
Storm.

The galley which carried Josephus from Tiberias was scarcely out
of sight when John, who was standing in the marketplace watching
the busy scene with amusement, heard the shout raised:

“The Romans are coming!”

At once, people left their business, and all ran to the
outskirts of the city. John ran with them and, on arriving there,
saw a party of Roman horsemen riding along, at no great distance.
The people began to shout loudly to them to come into the town,
calling out that all the citizens were loyal to King Agrippa and
the Romans, and that they hated the traitor Josephus.

The Romans halted, but made no sign of entering the town;
fearing that treachery was intended, and remembering the fate of
their comrades, who had trusted to Jewish faith when they
surrendered the towers of Hippicus, Phasaelus, and Mariamne. The
movement, however, spread through the city. The people assembled in
crowds, shouting “Death to Josephus!” and exclaiming for the
Romans, and King Agrippa. Such as were loyal to Josephus did not
venture to raise their voices, so numerous and furious were the
multitude; and the whole city was soon in open revolt, the citizens
arming themselves in readiness for war.

As soon as he saw the course which affairs were taking, John
made his way out of the town, and ran at the top of his speed to
Tarichea, where he arrived in a little over half an hour. He was
directed at once to the house of Josephus, who rose in surprise, at
the table at which he was seated, writing, at John’s entry.

“Scarcely had you left, my lord, than some Roman horsemen
approached near the town; whereupon the whole city rose in revolt,
shouting to them to enter and take possession, in the name of the
king, and breathing out threats against yourself. The Romans had
not entered, as I came away; but the populace were all in arms, and
your friends did not venture to lift up a voice. Tiberias has
wholly revolted to the Romans.”

“This is bad news, indeed,” Josephus said, gravely. “I have but
the seven armed men who accompanied me from Tiberias, here. All
those who were assembled in the city I bade disperse, so soon as I
arrived; in order that they might go to their towns, or villages,
for the Sabbath. Were I to send round the country, I could speedily
get a great force together but, in a few hours, the Sabbath will
begin; and it is contrary to the law to fight upon the Sabbath,
even though the necessity be great.

“And yet, if the people of Tiberias march hither, we can hardly
hope to resist successfully; for the men of the town are too few to
man the full extent of the walls. It is most necessary to put down
this rising, before King Agrippa can send large numbers of troops
into Tiberias; and yet, we can do nothing until the Sabbath is
past.

“Nor would I shed blood, if it can be avoided. Hitherto I have
put down every rising, and caused Sepphoris, Tiberias, and other
cities to expel the evildoers, and return to obedience, by
tact–and by the great force which I could bring against them–and
without any need of bloodshed. But this time, I fear, great trouble
will come of it; since I cannot take prompt measures, and the enemy
will have time to organize their forces, and to receive help from
John of Gischala and other robbers–to say nothing of the
Romans.”

Josephus walked up and down the room, in agitation, and then
stood looking out into the harbor.

“Ah!” he exclaimed suddenly, “we may yet frighten them into
submission. Call in Joab.”

When Joab entered Josephus explained to him, in a few words, the
condition of things at Tiberias; and then proceeded:

“Send quickly to the principal men of the town, and bid them put
trusty men at each of the gates, and let none pass out. Order the
fighting men to man the walls, in case those of Tiberias should
come hither, at once. Then let one or two able fellows embark on
board each of the boats and vessels in the port, taking with them
two or three of the infirm and aged men. Send a fast galley across
to Hippos; and bid the fishermen set out, at once, with all their
boats, and join us off Tiberias. We will not approach close enough
to the city for the people to see how feebly we are manned but,
when they perceive all these ships making towards them, they will
think that I have with me a great army, with which I purpose to
destroy their city.”

The orders were very quickly carried out. Josephus embarked,
with his eight companions, in one ship and, followed by two hundred
and thirty vessels, of various sizes, sailed towards Tiberias.

As they approached the town, they saw a great movement among the
population. Men and women were seen, crowding down to the
shore–the men holding up their hands, to show that they were
unarmed; the women wailing, and uttering loud cries of
lamentation.

Josephus waited for an hour, until the ships from Hippos also
came up, and then caused them all to anchor off the town–but at
such a distance that the numbers of those on board could not be
seen. Then he advanced, in his own ship, to within speaking
distance of the land. The people cried out to him to spare the
city, and their wives and children; saying that they had been
misled by evil men, and regretted bitterly what they had done.

Josephus told them that, assuredly, they deserved that the city
should be wholly destroyed; for that now, when there was so much
that had to be done to prepare for the war which Rome would make
against the country, they troubled the country with their
seditions. The people set up a doleful cry for mercy; and Josephus
then said that, this time, he would spare them; but that their
principal men must be handed over to him.

To this the people joyfully agreed; and a boat, with ten of
their senate, came out to the vessel. Josephus had them bound, and
sent them on board one of the other ships. Another and another boat
load came off; until all the members of the senate, and many of the
principal inhabitants, were prisoners. Some of the men had been
drawn from the other ships, and put on board those with the
prisoners; and these then sailed away to Tarichea.

The people of Tiberias–terrified at seeing so many taken away,
and not knowing how many more might be demanded–now denounced a
young man, named Clitus, as being the leader of the revolt. Seven
of the bodyguard of Josephus had gone down the lake, with the
prisoners; and one Levi, alone, remained. Josephus told him to go
ashore, and to cut off one of the hands of Clitus.

Levi was, however, afraid to land, alone, among such a number of
enemies; whereupon Josephus addressed Clitus, and told him that he
was worthy of death, but that he would spare his life, if his two
hands were sent on board a ship. Clitus begged that he might be
permitted to keep one hand, to which Josephus agreed. Clitus then
drew his sword, and struck off his left hand. Josephus now
professed to be satisfied and, after warning the people against
again listening to evil advisers, sailed away with the whole fleet.
Josephus, that evening, entertained the principal persons among the
prisoners and, in the morning, allowed all to return to
Tiberias.

The people there had already learned that they had been duped;
but with time had come reflection and, knowing that in a day or two
Josephus could have assembled the whole population of Galilee
against them, and have destroyed them before any help could come,
there were few who were not well content that their revolt had been
so easily, and bloodlessly, repressed; and Josephus rose, in their
estimation, by the quickness and boldness of the stratagem by which
he had, without bloodshed save in the punishment of Clitus,
restored tranquillity.

Through the winter, Josephus was incessantly active. He
endeavored to organize an army, enrolled a hundred thousand men,
appointed commanders and captains, and strove to establish
something like military drill and order. But the people were averse
to leaving their farms and occupations, and but little progress was
made. Moreover, a great part of the time of Josephus was occupied
in suppressing the revolts, which were continually breaking out in
Sepphoris, Tiberias, and Gamala; and in thwarting the attempts of
John of Gischala, and his other enemies, who strove by means of
bribery, at Jerusalem, to have him recalled–and would have
succeeded, had it not been that the Galileans, save those of the
great cities, were always ready to turn out, in all their force, to
defend him and, by sending deputations to Jerusalem, counteracted
the efforts, there, of his enemies.

John was incessantly engaged, as he accompanied Josephus in his
rapid journeys through the province, either to suppress the risings
or to see to the work of organization; and only once or twice was
he able to pay a short visit to his family.

“You look worn and fagged, John,” his cousin said, on the
occasion of his last visit, when spring was close at hand.

“I am well in health, Mary; but it does try one, to see how all
the efforts of Josephus are marred by the turbulence of the people
of Tiberias and Sepphoris. All his thoughts and time are occupied
in keeping order, and the work of organizing the army makes but
little progress.

“Vespasian is gathering a great force, at Antioch. His son Titus
will soon join him, with another legion; and they will, together,
advance against us.”

“But I hear that the walling of the cities is well-nigh
finished.”

“That is so, Mary, and doubtless many of them will be able to
make a long defense but, after all, the taking of a city is a mere
question of time. The Romans have great siege engines, which
nothing can withstand but, even if the walls were so strong that
they could not be battered down, each city could, in time, be
reduced by famine. It is not for me, who am but a boy, to judge the
doings of my elders; but it seems to me that this walling of cities
is altogether wrong. They can give no aid to each other and, one by
one, must fall; and all within perish, or be made slaves, for the
Romans give no quarter when they capture a city by storm.

“It seems to me that it would be far better to hold Jerusalem,
only, with a strong force of fighting men; and for all the rest of
the men capable of carrying arms to gather among the hills, and
there to fight the Romans. When the legion of Cestius was destroyed
we showed that, among defiles and on rocky ground, our active,
lightly-armed men were a match for the Roman soldiers, in their
heavy armor; and in this way I think that we might check even the
legions of Vespasian. The women and the old men and children could
gather in the cities, and admit the Romans when they approached. In
that case they would suffer no harm; for the Romans are clement,
when not opposed.

“As it is, it seems to me that, in the end, destruction will
fall on all alike. Here in Galilee we have a leader, but he is
hampered by dissensions and jealousies. Samaria stands neutral.
Jerusalem, which ought to take the lead, is torn by faction. There
is war in her streets. She thinks only of herself, and naught of
the country; although she must know that, when the Romans have
crushed down all opposition elsewhere she must, sooner or later,
fall. The country seems possessed with madness, and I see no hope
in the future.”

“Save in the God of Israel,” Mary said, gently; “that is what
Simon and Martha say.”

“Save in him,” John assented; “but, dear, He suffered us to be
carried away into Babylon; and how are we to expect His aid
now–when the people do naught for themselves, when His city is
divided in itself, when its streets are wet with blood, and its
very altars defiled by conflict? When evil men are made high
priests, and all rule and authority is at an end, what right have
we to expect aid at the hands of Jehovah?

“My greatest comfort, Mary, is that we lie here on the east of
the lake, and that we are within the jurisdiction of King Agrippa.
On this side, his authority has never been altogether thrown off;
though some of the cities have made common cause with those of the
other side. Still, we may hope that, on this side of Jordan, we may
escape the horrors of war.”

“You are out of spirits, John, and take a gloomy view of things;
but I know that Simon, too, thinks that everything will end badly,
and I have heard him say that he, too, is glad that his farm lies
on this side of the lake; and that he wishes Gamala had not thrown
off the authority of the king, so that there might be naught to
bring the Romans across Jordan.

“Our mother is more hopeful. She trusts in God for, as she says,
though the wealthy and powerful may have forsaken Him, the people
still cling to Him; and He will not let us fall into the hands of
our enemies.”

“I hope it will be so, Mary; and I own I am out of spirits, and
look at matters in the worst light. However, I will have a talk
with father, tonight.”

That evening, John had a long conversation with Simon, and
repeated the forebodings he had expressed to Mary.

“At any rate, father, I hope that when the Romans approach you
will at least send away my mother, Mary, and the women to a place
of safety. We are but a few miles from Gamala and, if the Romans
come there and besiege it, they will spread through the country;
and will pillage, even if they do not slay, in all the villages.
If, as we trust, God will give victory to our arms, they can return
in peace; if not, let them at least be free from the dangers which
are threatening us.”

“I have been thinking of it, John. A fortnight since, I sent old
Isaac to your mother’s brother–whose farm, as you know, lies upon
the slopes of Mount Hermon, a few miles from Neve, and very near
the boundary of Manasseh–to ask him if he will receive Martha, and
Mary, and the women, until the troubles are over. He will gladly do
so; and I purpose sending them away, as soon as I hear that the
Romans have crossed the frontier.”

“I am, indeed, rejoiced to hear it, father; but do not let them
tarry for that, let them go as soon as the snows have melted on
Mount Hermon, for the Roman cavalry will spread quickly over the
land. Let them go as soon as the roads are fit for travel. I shall
feel a weight off my mind, when I know that they are safe.

“And does my mother know what you have decided?”

“She knows, John, but in truth she is reluctant to go. She says,
at present, that if I stay she also will stay.”

“I trust, father, that you will overrule my mother; and that you
will either go with her or, if you stay, you will insist upon her
going. Should you not overcome her opposition, and finally suffer
her, with Miriam and the older women, to remain with you, I hope
that you will send Mary and the young ones to my uncle. The danger,
with them, is vastly greater. The Romans, unless their blood is
heated by opposition, may not interfere with the old people–who
are valueless as slaves–but the young ones–” and he stopped.

“I have thought it over, my son, and even if your mother remains
here with me, I will assuredly send off Mary, and the young
maidens, to the mountain. Make your mind easy, on that score. We
old people have taken root on the land which was our fathers’. I
shall not leave, whatever may befall–and it may be that your
mother will tarry here, with me–but the young women shall
assuredly be sent away, until the danger is over.

“Not that I think the peril is as great as it seems, to you. Our
people have ever shown themselves courageous, in great danger. They
know the fate that awaits them, after provoking the anger of Rome.
They know they are fighting for faith, for country, and their
families, and will fight desperately. They greatly outnumber the
Romans–at least, the army by which we shall first be attacked–and
maybe, if we can resist that, we may make terms with Rome for,
assuredly, in the long run she must overpower us.”

“I should think with you, father,” John said, shaking his head,
“if I saw anything like union among the people; but I lose all
heart, when I see how divided they are, how blind to the storm that
is coming against us, how careless as to anything but the trouble
of the day, how intent upon the work of their farms and businesses,
how disinclined to submit to discipline, and to prepare themselves
for the day of battle.”

“You are young, my son, and full of enthusiasm; but it is hard
to stir men, whose lives have traveled in one groove, from their
ordinary course. In all our history, although we have been ready to
assemble and meet the foe, we have ever been ready to lay by the
sword, when the danger is past, and to return to our homes and
families. We have been a nation of fighting men, but never a nation
with an army.”

“Yes, father, because we trusted in God to give us victory, on
the day of battle. He was our army. When He fought with us, we
conquered; when He abstained, we were beaten. He suffered us to
fall into the hands of the Romans and, instead of repenting of our
sins, we have sinned more and more.

“The news from Jerusalem is worse and worse. There is civil war
in its streets. Robbers are its masters. The worst of the people
sit in high places.”

“That is so, my son. God’s anger still burns fiercely, and the
people perish; yet it may be that He will be merciful, in the
end.”

“I hope so, father, for assuredly our hope is only in Him.”

Early in the spring, Vespasian was joined by King Agrippa, with
all his forces; and they advanced to Ptolemais and, here, Titus
joined his father, having brought his troops from Alexandria by
sea. The force of Vespasian now consisted of the Fifth, Tenth, and
Fifteenth Legions. Besides these he had twenty-three cohorts; ten
of which numbered a thousand footmen, the rest, each, six hundred
footmen and a hundred and fifty horse. The allied force,
contributed by Agrippa and others, consisted of two thousand
archers, and a thousand horse; while Malchus, King of Arabia, sent
a thousand horse, and five thousand archers. The total force
amounted to sixty thousand regular troops, besides great numbers of
camp followers–who were all trained to military service, and could
fight, in case of need.

Vespasian had encountered no resistance, on his march down to
Ptolemais. The inhabitants of the country through which he passed
forsook the villages and farms; and retired, according to the
orders they had received, to the fortified towns. There was no army
to meet the Romans in the field. The efforts at organization which
Josephus had made bore no fruit, whatever. No sooner had the
invader entered the country, than it lay at his mercy; save only
the walled cities into which the people had crowded.

In the range of mountains stretching across Upper Galilee were
three places of great strength: Gabara, Gischala, and Jotapata. The
last named had been very strongly fortified, by Josephus himself;
and here he intended to take up his own position.

“It is a pitiful sight, truly,” Joab remarked to John, as they
saw the long line of fugitives–men, women, and children–with such
belongings as they could carry on their own backs, and those of
their beasts of burden. “It is a pitiful sight, is it not?”

“It is a pitiful sight, Joab, and one that fills me with
foreboding, as well as with pity. What agonies may not these poor
people be doomed to suffer, when the Romans lay siege to
Jotapata?”

“They can never take it,” Joab said, scornfully.

“I wish I could think so, Joab. When did the Romans ever lay
siege to a place, and fail to capture it? Once, twice, three times
they may fail but, in the end, they assuredly will take it.”

“Look at its position. See how wild is the country through which
they will have to march.”

“They have made roads over all the world, Joab. They will make
very short work of the difficulties here. It may take the Romans
weeks, or months, to besiege each of these strong places; but they
will assuredly carry them, in the end–and then, better a thousand
times that the men had, in the first place, slain the women, and
rushed to die on the Roman swords.”

“It seems to me, John,” Joab said stiffly, “that you are over
bold, in thus criticising the plans of our general.”

“It may be so,” John said, recklessly, “but methinks, when we
are all risking our lives, each man may have a right to his
opinions. I am ready, like the rest, to die when the time comes;
but that does not prevent me having my opinions. Besides, it seems
to me that there is no heresy in questioning the plans of our
general. I love Josephus, and would willingly give my life for him.
He has shown himself a wise ruler, firm to carry out what is right,
and to suppress all evildoers but, after all, he has not served in
war. He is full of resources, and will, I doubt not, devise every
means to check the Romans but, even so, he may not be able to cope,
in war, with such generals as theirs, who have won their experience
all over the world. Nor may the general’s plan of defense, which he
has adopted, be the best suited for the occasion.

“Would you have us fight the Romans in the open?” Joab said,
scornfully. “What has been done in the south? See how our people
marched out from Jerusalem–under John the Essene, Niger of Peraea,
and Silas the Babylonian–to attack Ascalon, held by but one cohort
of Roman foot, and one troop of horse. What happened? Antoninus,
the Roman commander, charged the army without fear, rode through
and through them, broke them up into fragments, and slew till night
time–when ten thousand men, with John and Silas, lay dead.

“Not satisfied with this defeat, in a short time Niger advanced
again against Ascalon; when Antoninus sallied out again, and slew
eight thousand of them. Thus, eighteen thousand men were killed, by
one weak cohort of foot and a troop of horse; and yet you say we
ought not to hide behind our walls, but to meet them in the
open!”

“I would not meet them in the open, where the Roman cavalry
could charge–at any rate, not until our people have learned
discipline. I would harass them, and attack them in defiles, as
Cestius was attacked; harassing them night and day, giving them no
peace or rest, never allowing them to meet us in the plains, but
moving rapidly hither and thither among the mountains–leaving the
women in the cities, which should offer no resistance, so that the
Romans would have no point to strike at–until at length, when we
have gained confidence and discipline and order, we should be able
to take bolder measures, gradually, and fight them hand to
hand.”

“Maybe you are right, lad,” Joab said, thoughtfully. “I like not
being cooped up in a stronghold, myself; and methinks that a
mountain warfare, such as you speak of, would suit the genius of
the people. We are light limbed and active–inured to fatigue, for
we are a nation of cultivators–brave, assuredly, and ready to give
our lives.

“They say that, in the fight near Ascalon, not a Jew fled. Fight
they could not, they were powerless against the rush of the heavy
Roman horse; but they died as they stood, destroyed but not
defeated. Gabara and Gischala and Jotapata may fall but, lad, it
will be only after a defense so desperate that the haughty Romans
may well hesitate; for if such be the resistance of these little
mountain towns, what will not be the task of conquering Jerusalem,
garrisoned by the whole nation?”

“That is true,” John said, “and if our deaths here be for the
safety of Jerusalem, we shall not have died in vain. But I doubt
whether such men as those who have power in Jerusalem will agree to
any terms, however favorable, that may be offered.

“It may be that it is God’s will that it should be so. Two days
ago, as I journeyed hither, after going down to Sepphoris with a
message from the general to some of the principal inhabitants
there, I met an old man, traveling with his wife and family. I
asked him whether he was on his way hither, but he said ‘No,’ he
was going across Jordan, and through Manasseh, and over Mount
Hermon into Trachonitis. He said that he was a follower of that
Christ who was put to death, in Jerusalem, some thirty-five years
since, and whom many people still believe was the Messiah. He says
that he foretold the destruction of Jerusalem, by the Romans; and
warned his followers not to stay in the walled cities, but to fly
to the deserts when the time came.”

“The Messiah was to save Israel,” Joab said, scornfully. “Christ
could not save even himself.”

“I know not,” John said, simply. “I have heard of him from
others; and my father heard him preach, several times, near the
lake. He says that he was a man of wondrous power, and that he
preached a new doctrine. He says that he did not talk about
himself, or claim to be the Messiah; but that he simply told the
people to be kind and good to each other, and to love God and do
his will. My father said that he thought he was a good and holy
man, and full of the Spirit of God. He did works of great power,
too; but bore himself meekly, like any other man. My father always
regards him as a prophet; and said that he grieved, when he heard
that he had been put to death at Jerusalem. If he were a prophet,
what he said about the destruction of Jerusalem should have weight
with us.”

“All who heard him agreed that he was a good man,” Joab
assented. “I have never known one of those who heard him say
otherwise, and maybe he was a prophet. Certainly, he called upon
the people to repent and turn from their sins and, had they done as
he taught them, these evils might not have fallen upon us, and God
would doubtless have been ready to aid his people, as of old.

“However, it is too late to think about it, now. We want all our
thoughts for the matter we have in hand. We have done all that we
can to put this town into a state of defense and, methinks, if the
Romans ever penetrate through these mountains and forests, they
will see that they have a task which will tax all their powers,
before they take Jotapata.”

The position of the town was, indeed, immensely strong. It stood
on the summit of a lofty mass of rock which, on three sides, fell
abruptly down into the deep and almost impassable ravines which
surrounded it. On the north side, alone, where the ridge sloped
more gradually down, it could be approached. The town extended part
of the way down this declivity and, at its foot, Josephus had built
a strong wall. On all sides were lofty mountains, covered with
thick forests; and the town could not be seen by an enemy, until
they were close at hand.

As soon as Vespasian had arrived at Ptolemais (on the site of
which city stands the modern Acre) he was met by a deputation from
Sepphoris. That city had only been prevented from declaring for the
Romans by the exertions of Josephus, and the knowledge that all
Galilee would follow him to attack it, should it revolt. But as
soon as Vespasian arrived at Ptolemais, which was scarce twenty
miles away, they sent deputies with their submission to him;
begging that a force might be sent, to defend them against any
attack by the Jews.

Vespasian received them with courtesy; and sent Placidus, with a
thousand horse and six thousand foot, to the city. The infantry
took up their quarters in the town; but the horsemen made raids
over the plains, burning the villages, slaying all the men capable
of bearing arms, and carrying off the rest of the population as
slaves.

The day after the conversation between Joab and John, a man
brought the news to Jotapata that Placidus was marching against it.
Josephus at once ordered the fighting men to assemble and, marching
out, placed them in ambuscade, in the mountains, on the road by
which the Romans would approach.

As soon as the latter had fairly entered the pass, the Jews
sprang to their feet, and hurled their javelins and shot their
arrows among them. The Romans, in vain, endeavored to reach their
assailants; and numbers were wounded, as they tried to climb the
heights, but few were killed–for they were so completely covered,
by their armor and shields, that the Jewish missiles, thrown from a
distance, seldom inflicted mortal wounds. They were, however,
unable to make their way further; and Placidus was obliged to
retire to Sepphoris, having failed, signally, in gaining the credit
he had hoped for, from the capture of the strongest of the Jewish
strongholds in Upper Galilee.

The Jews, on their part, were greatly inspirited by the success
of their first encounter with the Romans; and returned, rejoicing,
to their stronghold.

All being ready at Jotapata, Josephus–with a considerable
number of the fighting men–proceeded to Garis, not far from
Sepphoris, where the army had assembled. But no sooner had the news
arrived, that the great army of Vespasian was in movement, than
they dispersed in all directions; and Josephus was left with a mere
handful of followers, with whom he fled to Tiberias. Thence he
wrote earnest letters to Jerusalem; saying that, unless a strong
army was fitted out and put in the field, it was useless to attempt
to fight the Romans; and that it would be wiser to come to terms
with them, than to maintain a useless resistance, which would bring
destruction upon the nation. He remained a short time, only, at
Tiberias; and thence hurried up with his followers to Jotapata,
which he reached on the 14th of May.

Vespasian marched first to Gadara–which was undefended, the
fighting men having all gone to Jotapata–but, although no
resistance was offered, Vespasian put all the males to the sword;
and burned the town and all the villages in the neighborhood, and
then advanced against Jotapata. For four days, the pioneers of the
Roman army had labored incessantly–cutting a road through the
forests, filling up ravines, and clearing away obstacles–and, on
the fifth day, the road was constructed close up to Jotapata.

On the 14th of May, Placidus and Ebutius were sent forward by
Vespasian, with a thousand horse, to surround the town and cut off
all possibility of escape. On the following day Vespasian himself,
with his whole army, arrived there. The defenders of Jotapata could
scarcely believe their eyes when they saw the long, heavy
column–with all its baggage, and siege engines–marching along a
straight and level road, where they had believed that it would be
next to impossible for even the infantry of the enemy to make their
way. If this marvel had been accomplished in five days, what hope
was there that the city would be able to withstand this force,
which had so readily triumphed over the defenses of nature?

Chapter 5: The Siege Of
Jotapata.

“Well, Joab, what do you think, now?” John said, as he stood on
the wall with his older companion, watching the seemingly endless
column of the enemy. “It seems to me that we are caught here, like
rats in a trap, and that we should have done better, a thousand
times, in maintaining our freedom of movement among the mountains.
It is one thing to cut a road; it would be another to clear off all
the forests from the Anti-Libanus and, so long as there was a
forest to shelter us, the Romans could never have overtaken us.
Here, there is nothing to do but to die.”

“That is so, John. I own that the counsel you urged would have
been wiser than this. Here are all the best fighting men in
Galilee, shut up without hope of succor, or of mercy. Well, lad, we
can at least teach the Romans the lesson that the Jews know how to
die; and the capture of this mountain town will cost them as much
as they reckoned would suffice for the conquest of the whole
country. Jotapata may save Jerusalem, yet.”

John was no coward, and was prepared to fight to the last; but
he was young, and the love of life was strong within. He thought of
his old father and mother, who had no children but him; of his
pretty Mary–far away now, he hoped, on the slopes of Mount
Hermon–and of the grief that his death would cause to them; and he
resolved that, although he would do his duty, he would strain every
nerve to preserve the life so dear to them.

He had no longer any duties to perform, other than those common
to all able to bear arms. When the Romans attacked, his place would
be near Josephus or, were a sally ordered, he would issue out with
the general; but until then, his time was his own. There was no
mission to be performed, now, no fear of plots against the life of
the general; therefore, he was free to wander where he liked. Save
the newly erected wall, across the neck of rock below the town,
there were no defenses; for it was deemed impossible for man to
climb the cliffs that fell, sheer down, at every other point.

John strolled quietly round the town; stopping, now and then, to
look over the low wall that bordered the precipice–erected solely
to prevent children from falling over. The depth was very great;
and it seemed to him that there could be no escape, anywhere, save
on that side which was now blocked by the wall–and which would,
ere long, be trebly blocked by the Romans.

The town was crowded. At ordinary times, it might contain near
three or four thousand inhabitants; now, over twenty-five thousand
had gathered there. Of these, more than half were men; but many had
brought their wives and children with them. Every vacant foot of
ground was taken up. The inhabitants shared their homes with the
strangers, but the accommodation was altogether insufficient; and
the greater part of the newcomers had erected little tents, and
shelters, of cloths or blankets.

In the upper part of the town there were, at present,
comparatively few people about; for the greater part had gone to
the slope, whence they watched, with terror and dismay, the great
Roman column as it poured down, in an unbroken line, hour after
hour. The news of the destruction which had fallen on Gadara had
been brought in, by fugitives; and all knew that, although no
resistance had been offered there, every male had been put to
death, and the women taken captives.

There was naught, then, to be gained by surrender; even had
anyone dared to propose it. As for victory, over such a host as
that which was marching to the assault, none could hope for it.
For, hold out as they might, and repel every assault on the wall,
there was an enemy within which would conquer them.

For Jotapata possessed no wells. The water had, daily, to be
fetched by the women from the stream in the ravine and, although
stores of grain had been collected, sufficient to last for many
months, the supply of water stored up in cisterns would scarce
suffice to supply the multitudes gathered on the rock for a
fortnight.

Death, then, certain and inevitable, awaited them; and yet, an
occasional wail from some woman, as she pressed her children to her
breast, alone told of the despair which reigned in every heart. The
greater portion looked out, silent, and as if stupefied. They had
relied, absolutely, on the mountains and forests to block the
progress of the invader. They had thought that, at the worst, they
would have had to deal with a few companies of infantry, only.
Thus, the sight of the sixty thousand Roman troops–swelled to nigh
a hundred thousand, by the camp followers and artificers–with its
cavalry and machines of war, seemed like some terrible
nightmare.

After making the circuit of the rock, and wandering for some
time among the impromptu camps in the streets, John returned to a
group of boys whom he had noticed, leaning against the low wall
with a carelessness, as to the danger of a fall over the precipice,
which proved that they must be natives of the place.

“If there be any possible way of descending these precipices,”
he said to himself, “it will be the boys who will know of it. Where
a goat could climb, these boys, born among the mountains, would try
to follow; if only to excel each other in daring, and to risk
breaking their necks.”

Thus thinking, he walked up to the group, who were from twelve
to fifteen years old.

“I suppose you belong to the town?” he began.

There was a general assent from the five boys, who looked with
considerable respect at John–who, although but two years the
senior of the eldest among them, wore a man’s garb, and carried
sword and buckler.

“I am one of the bodyguard of the governor,” John went on, “and
I dare say you can tell me all sorts of things, about this country,
that may be useful for him to know. Is it quite certain that no one
could climb up these rocks from below; and that there is no fear of
the Romans making a surprise, in that way?”

The boys looked at each other, but no one volunteered to give
information.

“Come!” John went on, “I have only just left off being a boy,
myself, and I was always climbing into all sorts of places, when I
got a chance; and I have no doubt it’s the same, with you. When you
have been down below, there, you have tried how far you can get
up.

“Did you ever get up far, or did you ever hear of anyone getting
up far?”

“I expect I have been up as far as anyone,” the eldest of the
boys said. “I went up after a young kid that had strayed away from
its mother. I got up a long way–half way up, I should say–but I
couldn’t get any further. I was barefooted, too.

“I am sure no one with armor on could have got up anything like
so far. I don’t believe he could get up fifty feet.”

“And have any of you ever tried to get down from above?”

They shook their heads.

“Jonas the son of James did, once,” one of the smaller boys
said. “He had a pet hawk he had tamed, and it flew away and
perched, a good way down; and he clambered down to fetch it. He had
a rope tied round him, and some of the others held it, in case he
should slip. I know he went down a good way, and he got the hawk;
and his father beat him for doing it, I know.”

“Is he here, now?” John asked.

“Yes, he is here,” the boy said. “That’s his father’s house, the
one close to the edge of the rock. I don’t know whether you will
find him there, now. He ain’t indoors more than he can help. His
own mother’s dead, and his father’s got another wife, and they
don’t get on well together.”

“Well, I will have a chat with him, one of these days. And you
are all quite sure that there is no possible path up, from
below?”

“I won’t say there isn’t any possible path,” the eldest boy
said; “but I feel quite sure there is not. I have looked, hundreds
of times, when I have been down below; and I feel pretty sure that,
if there had been any place where a goat could have got up, I
should have noticed it. But you see, the rock goes down almost
straight, in most places. Anyhow, I have never heard of anyone who
ever got up and, if anyone had done it, it would have been talked
about, for years and years.”

“No doubt it would,” John agreed. “So I shall tell the governor
that he need not be in the least uneasy about an attack, except in
front.”

So saying, he nodded to the boys, and walked away again.

In the evening, the whole of the Roman army had arrived; and
Vespasian drew up his troops on a hill, less than a mile to the
north of the city, and there encamped them. The next morning, a
triple line of embankments was thrown up, by the Romans, around the
foot of the hill where, alone, escape or issue was possible; and
this entirely cut off those within the town from any possibility of
flight.

The Jews looked on at these preparations as wild animals might
regard a line of hunters surrounding them. But the dull despair of
the previous day had now been succeeded by a fierce rage. Hope
there was none. They must die, doubtless; but they would die
fighting fiercely, till the last. Disdaining to be pent up within
the walls, many of the fighting men encamped outside, and boldly
went forward to meet the enemy.

Vespasian called up his slingers and archers, and these poured
their missiles upon the Jews; while he himself, with his heavy
infantry, began to mount the slope towards the part of the wall
which appeared the weakest. Josephus at once summoned the fighting
men in the town and, sallying at their head through the gate,
rushed down and flung himself upon the Romans. Both sides fought
bravely; the Romans strong in their discipline, their skill with
their weapons, and their defensive armor; the Jews fighting with
the valor of despair, heightened by the thought of their wives and
children in the town, above.

The Romans were pushed down the hill, and the fight continued at
its foot until darkness came on, when both parties drew off. The
number of killed on either side was small, for the bucklers and
helmets defended the vital points. The Romans had thirteen killed
and very many wounded, the Jews seventeen killed and six hundred
wounded.

John had fought bravely by the side of Josephus. Joab and two
others of the little band were killed. All the others were wounded,
more or less severely; for Josephus was always in the front, and
his chosen followers kept close to him. In the heat of the fight,
John felt his spirits rise higher than they had done since the
troubles had begun. He had fought, at first, so recklessly that
Josephus had checked him, with the words:

“Steady, my brave lad. He fights best who fights most coolly.
The more you guard yourself, the more you will kill.”

More than once, when Josephus–whose commanding figure, and
evident leadership, attracted the attention of the Roman
soldiers–was surrounded and cut off, John, with three or four
others, made their way through to him, and brought him off.

When it became dark, both parties drew off; the Romans sullenly,
for they felt it a disgrace to have been thus driven back, by foes
they despised; the Jews with shouts of triumph, for they had proved
themselves a match for the first soldiers in the world, and the
dread with which the glittering column had inspired them had passed
away.

The following day, the Jews again sallied out and attacked the
Romans as they advanced and, for five days in succession, the
combat raged–the Jews fighting with desperate valor, the Romans
with steady resolution. At the end of that time, the Jews had been
forced back behind their wall, and the Romans established
themselves in front of it.

Vespasian, seeing that the wall could not be carried by assault,
as he had expected, called a council of war; and it was determined
to proceed by the regular process of a siege, and to erect a bank
against that part of the wall which offered the greatest facility
for attack. Accordingly the whole army, with the exception of the
troops who guarded the banks of circumvallation, went into the
mountains to get materials. Stone and timber, in vast quantities,
were brought down and, when these were in readiness, the work
commenced.

A sort of penthouse roofing, constructed of wattles covered with
earth, was first raised, to protect the workers from the missiles
of the enemy upon the wall; and here the working parties labored
securely, while the rest of the troops brought up earth, stone, and
wood for their use. The Jews did their best to interfere with the
work, hurling down huge stones upon the penthouse; sometimes
breaking down the supports of the roof and causing gaps, through
which they poured a storm of arrows and javelins, until the damage
had been repaired.

To protect his workmen, Vespasian brought up his siege
engines–of which he had a hundred and sixty–and, from these, vast
quantities of missiles were discharged at the Jews upon the walls.
The catapults threw javelins, balls of fire, and blazing arrows;
while the ballistae hurled huge stones, which swept lanes through
the ranks of the defenders. At the same time the light-armed
troops, the Arab archers, and those of Agrippa and Antiochus kept
up a rain of arrows, so that it became impossible for the Jews to
remain on the walls.

But they were not inactive. Sallying out in small parties, they
fell with fury upon the working parties who, having stripped off
their heavy armor, were unable to resist their sudden onslaughts.
Driving out and slaying all before them, the Jews so often applied
fire to the wattles and timbers of the bank that Vespasian was
obliged to make his work continuous, along the whole extent of the
wall, to keep out the assailants.

But, in spite of all the efforts of the Jews, the embankment
rose steadily, until it almost equaled the height of the wall; and
the struggle now went on between the combatants on even terms, they
being separated only by the short interval between the wall and
bank. Josephus found that in such a conflict the Romans–with their
crowd of archers and slingers, and their formidable machines–had
all the advantage; and that it was absolutely necessary to raise
the walls still higher.

He called together a number of the principal men, and pointed
out the necessity for this. They agreed with him, but urged that it
was impossible for men to work, exposed to such a storm of
missiles. Josephus replied that he had thought of that. A number of
strong posts were prepared and, at night, these were fixed
securely, standing on the wall. Along the top of these, a strong
rope was stretched; and on this were hung, touching each other, the
hides of newly-killed oxen. These formed a complete screen, hiding
the workers from the sight of those on the embankment.

The hides, when struck with the stones from the ballistae, gave
way and deadened the force of the missiles; while the arrows and
javelins glanced off from the slippery surface. Behind this
shelter, the garrison worked night and day, raising the posts and
screens as their work proceeded, until they had heightened the wall
no less than thirty-five feet; with a number of towers on its
summit, and a strong battlement facing the Romans.

The besiegers were much discouraged at their want of success,
and enraged at finding the efforts of so large an army completely
baffled by a small town, which they had expected to carry at the
first assault; while the Jews proportionately rejoiced. Becoming
more and more confident, they continually sallied out in small
parties, through the gateway or by ladders from the walls, attacked
the Romans upon their embankment, or set fire to it. And it was the
desperation with which these men fought, even more than their
success in defending the wall, that discouraged the Romans; for the
Jews were utterly careless of their lives, and were well content to
die, when they saw that they had achieved their object of setting
fire to the Roman works.

Vespasian, at length, determined to turn the siege into a
blockade; and to starve out the town which he could not capture. He
accordingly contented himself by posting a strong force to defend
the embankment, and withdrew the main body of the army to their
encampment. He had been informed of the shortness of the supply of
water; and had anticipated that, in a very short time, thirst would
compel the inhabitants to yield.

John had taken his full share in the fighting, and had
frequently earned the warm commendation of Josephus. His spirits
had risen with the conflict; but he could not shut his eyes to the
fact that, sooner or later, the Romans must become masters of the
place. One evening, therefore, when he had done his share of duty
on the walls, he went up to the house which had been pointed out to
him as that in which lived the boy who had descended the face of
the rocks, for some distance.

At a short distance from the door, a lad of some fifteen years
old, with no covering but a piece of ragged sackcloth round the
loins, was crouched up in a corner, seemingly asleep. At the sound
of John’s footsteps, he opened his eyes in a quick, watchful way,
that showed that he had not been really asleep.

“Are you Jonas, the son of James?” John asked.

“Yes I am,” the boy said, rising to his feet. “What do you want
with me?”

“I want to have a talk with you,” John said. “I am one of the
governor’s bodyguard; and I think, perhaps, you may be able to give
us some useful information.”

“Well, come away from here,” the boy said, “else we shall be
having her–” and he nodded to the house, “–coming out with a
stick.”

“You have rather a hard time of it, from what I hear,” John
began, when they stopped at the wall, a short distance away from
the house.

“I have that,” the boy said. “I look like it, don’t I?”

“You do,” John agreed, looking at the boy’s thin, half-starved
figure; “and yet, there is plenty to eat in the town.”

“There may be,” the boy said; “anyhow, I don’t get my share.
Father is away fighting on the wall, and so she’s worse than ever.
She is always beating me, and I dare not go back, now. I told her,
this morning, the sooner the Romans came in, the better I should be
pleased. They could only kill me, and there would be an end of it;
but they would send her to Rome for a slave, and then she would see
how she liked being cuffed and beaten, all day.”

“And you are hungry, now?” John asked.

“I am pretty near always hungry,” the boy said.

“Well, come along with me, then. I have got a little room to
myself, and you shall have as much to eat as you like.”

The room John occupied had formerly been a loft over a stable,
in the rear of the house in which Josephus now lodged; and it was
reached by a ladder from the outside. He had shared it, at first,
with two of his comrades; but these had both fallen, during the
siege. After seeing the boy up into it, John went to the house and
procured him an abundant meal; and took it, with a small horn of
water, back to his quarters.

“Here’s plenty for you to eat, Jonas, but not much to drink. We
are all on short allowance, the same as the rest of the people; and
I am afraid that won’t last long.”

There was a twinkle of amusement in the boy’s face but, without
a word, he set to work at the food, eating ravenously all that John
had brought him. The latter was surprised to see that he did not
touch the water; for he thought that if his stepmother deprived him
of food, of which there was abundance, she would all the more
deprive him of water, of which the ration to each person was so
scanty.

“Now,” John said, “you had better throw away that bit of
sackcloth, and take this garment. It belonged to a comrade of mine,
who has been killed.”

“There’s too much of it,” the boy said. “If you don’t mind my
tearing it in half, I will take it.”

“Do as you like with it,” John replied; and the boy tore the
long strip of cotton in two, and wrapped half of it round his
loins.

“Now,” he said, “what do you want to ask me?”

“They tell me, Jonas, that you are a first-rate climber, and can
go anywhere?”

The boy nodded.

“I can get about, I can. I have been tending goats, pretty well
ever since I could walk and, where they can go, I can.”

“I want to know, in the first place, whether there is any
possible way by which one can get up and down from this place,
except by the road through the wall?”

The boy was silent.

“Now look here, Jonas,” John went on, feeling sure that the lad
could tell something, if he would, “if you could point out a way
down, the governor would be very pleased; and as long as the siege
lasts you can live here with me, and have as much food as you want,
and not go near that stepmother of yours, at all.”

“And nobody will beat me, for telling you?” the boy asked.

“Certainly not, Jonas.”

“It wouldn’t take you beyond the Romans. They have got guards,
all round.”

“No, but it might enable us to get down to the water,” John
urged, the sight of the unemptied horn causing the thought to flash
through his mind that the boy had been in the habit of going down,
and getting water.

“Well, I will tell you,” the boy said. “I don’t like to tell,
because I don’t think there’s anyone here knows it, but me. I found
it out, and I never said a word about it, because I was able to
slip away when I liked; and no one knows anything about it. But it
doesn’t make much difference, now, because the Romans are going to
kill us all. So I will tell you.

“At the end of the rock, you have to climb down about fifty
feet. It’s very steep there, and it’s as much as you can do to get
down; but when you have got down that far, you get to the head of a
sort of dried-up water course, and it ain’t very difficult to go
down there and, that way, you can get right down to the stream. It
don’t look, from below, as if you could do it; and the Romans
haven’t put any guards on the stream, just there. I know, because I
go down every morning, as soon as it gets light. I never tried to
get through the Roman sentries; but I expect one could, if one
tried.

“But I don’t see how you are to bring water up here, if that’s
what you want. I tell you, it is as much as you can do to get up
and down, and you want both your hands and your feet; but I could
go down and bring up a little water for you, in a skin hanging
round my neck, if you like.”

“I am afraid that wouldn’t be much good, Jonas,” John said; “but
it might be very useful to send messages out, that way.”

“Yes,” the boy said; “but you see I have always intended, when
the Romans took the place, to make off that way. If other people
go, it’s pretty sure to be found out, before long; and then the
Romans will keep watch. But it don’t much matter. I know another
place where you and I could lie hidden, any time, if we had got
enough to eat and drink. I will show you but, mind, you must
promise not to tell anyone else. There’s no room for more than two;
and I don’t mean to tell you, unless you promise.”

“I will promise, Jonas. I promise you, faithfully, not to tell
anyone.”

“Well, the way down ain’t far from the other one. I will show it
you, one of these days. I went down there, once, to get a hawk I
had taken from the nest, and tamed. I went down, first, with a rope
tied round me; but I found I could have done it without that–but I
didn’t tell any of the others, as I wanted to keep the place to
myself.

“You climb down about fifty feet, and then you get on a sort of
ledge, about three feet wide and six or seven feet long. You can’t
see it from above, because it’s a hollow, as if a bit of rock had
fallen out. Of course, if you stood up you might be seen by someone
below, or on the hill opposite; but it’s so high it is not likely
anyone would notice you. Anyhow, if you lie down there, no one
would see you. I have been down there, often and often, since. When
she gets too bad to bear, I go down there and take a sleep; or lie
there and laugh, when I think how she is hunting about for me to
carry down the pails to the stream, for water.”

“I will say nothing about it, Jonas, you may be quite sure. That
place may save both our lives. But the other path I will tell
Josephus about. He may find it of great use.”

Josephus was indeed greatly pleased, when he heard that a way
existed by which he could send out messages. Two or three active
men were chosen for the work; but they would not venture to descend
the steep precipice, by which Jonas made his way down to the top of
the water course, but were lowered by ropes to that point. Before
starting they were sewn up in skins so that, if a Roman sentry
caught sight of them making their way down the water course, on
their hands and feet, he would take them for dogs, or some other
animals. Once at the bottom, they lay still till night, and then
crawled through the line of sentries.

In this way Josephus was able to send out dispatches to his
friends outside, and to Jerusalem; imploring them to send an army,
at once, to harass the rear of the Romans, and to afford an
opportunity for the garrison of Jotapata to cut their way out.
Messages came back by return and, for three weeks, communications
were thus kept up; until one of the messengers slipped while
descending the ravine and, as he rolled down, attracted the
attention of the Romans who, after that, placed a strong guard at
the foot of the water course.

Until this discovery was made, Jonas had gone down regularly,
every morning, and drank his fill; and had brought up a small skin
of water to John, who had divided it among the children whom he saw
most in want of it–for the pressure of thirst was now heavy. The
Romans, from rising ground at a distance, had noticed the women
going daily with jugs to the cistern, whence the water was doled
out; and the besiegers directed their missiles to that point, and
many were killed, daily, while fetching water.

A dull despair now seized the Jews. So long as they were
fighting, they had had little time to think of their situation; but
now that the enemy no longer attacked, and there was nothing to do
but to sit down and suffer, the hopelessness of their position
stared them in the face. But there was no thought of surrender.
They knew too well the fate that awaited them, at the hands of the
Romans.

They were therefore seized with rage, and indignation, when they
heard that Josephus and some of the principal men were thinking of
making an endeavor to escape. John, who had hitherto regarded his
leader with a passionate devotion–although he thought that he had
been wrong in taking to the fortified towns, instead of fighting
among the mountains–shared in the general indignation at the
proposed desertion.

“It is he who has brought us all here,” he said to Jonas–who
had attached himself to him with dog-like fidelity–“and now he
proposes to go away, and leave everyone here to be massacred! I
cannot believe it.”

The news was, however, well founded for, when the inhabitants
crowded down to the house–the women weeping and wailing, the men
sullen and fierce–to beg Josephus to abandon his intention, the
governor attempted to argue that it was for the public good that he
should leave them. He might, he said, hurry to Jerusalem, and bring
an army to the rescue. The people, however, were in no way
convinced.

“If you go,” they said, “the Romans will speedily capture the
city. We are ready to die, all together–to share one common
fate–but do not leave us.”

As Josephus saw that, if he did not accede to the prayers of the
women, the men would interfere by force to prevent his carrying out
his intentions, he told them he would remain with them; and
tranquillity was at once restored. The men, however, came again and
again to him, asking to be led out to attack the Romans.

“Let us die fighting,” was the cry. “Let us die among our foes,
and not with the agonies of thirst.”

“We must make them come up to attack us, again,” Josephus said.
“We shall fight to far greater advantage, so, than if we sallied
out to attack them in their own intrenchments–when we should be
shot down by their archers and slingers, before ever we should
reach them.”

“But how are we to make them attack us? We want nothing
better.”

“I will think it over,” Josephus said, “and tell you in the
morning.”

In the morning, to the surprise of the men, they were ordered to
dip large numbers of garments into the precious supply of water,
and to hang them on the walls. Loud were the outcries of the women,
as they saw the scanty store of water, upon which their lives
depended, so wasted; but the orders were obeyed, and the Romans
were astonished at seeing the long line of dripping garments on the
wall.

The stratagem had its effect. Vespasian thought that the news he
had received, that the place was ill supplied with water, must be
erroneous; and ordered the troops again to take their station on
the walls, and renew the attack. Great was the exultation among the
Jews, when they saw the movement among the troops; and Josephus,
ordering the fighting men together, said that now was their
opportunity. There was no hope of safety, in passive resistance;
therefore they had best sally out and, if they must die, leave at
least a glorious example to posterity.

The proposal was joyfully received, and he placed himself at
their head. The gates were suddenly opened, and they poured out to
the attack. So furious was their onslaught that the Romans were
driven from the embankment. The Jews pursued them, crossed the
lines of circumvallation, and attacked the Romans in their camp;
tearing up the hides and penthouses behind which the Romans
defended themselves, and setting fire to the lines in many
places.

The fight raged all day. The Jews then retired to the city, only
to sally out again, the following morning. For three days the
attacks were continued; the Jews driving in the Romans, each day,
and retiring when Vespasian brought up heavy columns–who were
unable, from the weight of their armor, to follow their
lightly-armed assailants. Vespasian then ordered the regular troops
to remain in camp, the assaults being repelled by the archers and
slingers.

Finding that the courage of the Jews was unabated, and that his
troops were losing heavily in this irregular fighting, he
determined to renew the siege, at all hazards, and bring the matter
to a close. The heavy-armed troops were ordered to be in readiness,
and to advance against the walls with the battering ram. This was
pushed forward by a great number of men; being covered, as it
advanced, with a great shield constructed of wattles and hides. As
it was brought forward, the archers and slingers covered its
advance by a shower of missiles against the defenders of the wall;
while all the war machines poured in their terrible shower.

The Jews, unable to show themselves above the battlements, or to
oppose the advance of the terrible machine, crouched in shelter
until the battering ram was placed in position.

Then the ropes by which it swung from the framework overhead
were seized, by a number of soldiers, and the first blow was
delivered at the wall. It quivered beneath the terrible shock, and
a cry of dismay arose from the defenders. Again and again the heavy
ram struck, in the same place. The wall tottered beneath the blows;
and would soon have fallen, had not Josephus ordered a number of
sacks to be filled with straw, and let down by ropes from the
walls, so as to deaden the blows of the ram.

For a time the Romans ceased work; and then, fastening scythes
to the ends of long poles, cut the ropes. The Jews were unable to
show themselves above the walls, or to interfere with the men at
work. In a few minutes the sacks were cut down, and the ram
recommenced its work of destruction.

Chapter 6: The Fall Of The
City.

The Roman soldiers–seeing the wall of Jotapata tremble beneath
the blows of the battering ram, whose iron head pounded to powder
the stones against which it struck–redoubled their efforts when,
suddenly, from three sally ports which they had prepared, the Jews
burst out; carrying their weapons in their right hands, and blazing
torches in their left. As on previous occasions, their onslaught
was irresistible. They swept the Romans before them; and set fire
to the engines, the wattles, and the palisades, and even to the
woodwork of the embankment. The timber had by this time dried and,
as bitumen and pitch had been used as cement in the construction of
the works, the flames spread with great rapidity; and the work of
many days was destroyed, in an hour. All the engines and
breastworks of the Fifth and Tenth Legions were entirely
consumed.

Just as the attack began, Eleazar–the son of Sameas, a
Galilean–with an immense stone from the wall, struck the iron head
of the battering ram, and knocked it off. He then leaped down from
the wall, seized the iron head, and carried it back into the city.
He was pierced by five arrows. Still, he pressed on and regained
the walls; and held up the iron head in the sight of all, and then
fell down dead.

Such was the spirit with which the Jews were animated; and the
Roman soldiers, trained as they were to conflict among many
peoples, were yet astounded by the valor displayed by the race that
they had considered as unwarlike peasants. But the Romans were not
discouraged. Heavy masses of troops were brought up, the Jews were
driven within their walls and, towards evening, the ram was again
in position.

While Vespasian was directing the attack, he was struck by a
javelin in the heel. The Romans ceased from the attack and crowded
round their general but, as soon as they ascertained that his wound
was not serious, they returned to the attack with redoubled
fury.

All that night, the contest raged unceasingly. The Roman engines
swept the walls with missiles. The towers came crashing down, under
the blows of the huge stones; while the javelins, arrows, and the
stones from the slings created terrible havoc among the defenders
of the wall. But, as fast as these fell, fresh combatants took
their places; and they continued hurling down stones, and blazing
brands, upon the freshly-erected wattles round the battering ram.
The Romans had the advantage in this strife for, while the fires on
the walls–at which the Jews lighted their brands, and boiled the
pitch and sulphur in which these were dipped–enabled them to aim
accurately, they themselves worked in deep shadow, at the foot of
the wall.

The night was a terrible one. The bolts, stones, and arrows
which passed over the wall spread ruin and death over the town. The
din was unceasing. The thundering noise of the great stones; the
dull, deep sound as the ram struck the wall; the fierce shouts of
the combatants, as they fought hand to hand–for the corpses were,
in places, piled so thick that the assailants could mount upon them
to the top of the walls–the shrieks of the women, and the screams
of the children, combined in one terrible and confused noise; which
was echoed back, and multiplied, by the surrounding mountains.

Morning was just breaking when the shaken wall gave way, and
fell, with a crash. Vespasian called off his weary troops, and
allowed them a short time for refreshment; then he prepared to
storm the breach. He brought up, first, a number of his bravest
horsemen; dismounted, and clad in complete armor. They were provided
with long pikes, and were to charge forward, the instant the
machines for mounting the breach were fixed. Behind these were the
best of his infantry, while in their rear were the archers and
slingers. Other parties, with scaling ladders, were to attack the
uninjured part of the wall, and to draw off the attention of the
besiegers. The rest of the horse extended all over the hills round
the town, so that none might make their escape.

Josephus prepared to receive the attack. He placed the old,
infirm, and wounded to repel the attack on the uninjured parts of
the wall. He then chose the five strongest and bravest men and,
with them, took his place to form the front line of the defenders
of the breach. He told them to kneel down and cover their heads
with their bucklers, until the enemy’s archers had emptied their
quivers and, when the Romans had fixed the machines for mounting,
they were to leap down among the enemy and fight to the last;
remembering that there was now no hope of safety, naught but to
revenge the fate which was impending over them, their wives and
children.

As the Romans mounted to the assault, a terrible cry broke out
from the women. They saw the Romans still manning the lines which
cut off all escape, and they believed that the end was now at hand.
Josephus, fearing that their cries would dispirit the men, ordered
them all to be locked up in their houses, and then calmly awaited
the assault.

The trumpet of the legion sounded, and the whole Roman host set
up a terrible shout while, at the same moment, the air was darkened
by the arrows of their bowmen. Kneeling beneath their bucklers, the
Jews remained calm and immovable; and then, before the Romans had
time to set foot upon the breach, with a yell of fury they rushed
upon them, and threw themselves into the midst of their assailants.
For a time, the Romans could make no way against the desperate
courage of the Jews but, as fast as the leading files fell, fresh
troops took their places; while the Jews, who were vastly reduced
by their losses, had no fresh men to take the place of those who
died.

At last, the solid phalanx of the Romans drove back the
defenders, and entered the breach. But as they did so, from the
walls above and from the breach in front, vessels filled with
boiling oil were hurled down upon them. The Roman ranks were
broken; and the men, in agony, rolled on the ground, unable to
escape the burning fluid which penetrated through the joints of
their armor. Those who turned to fly were pierced by the javelins of
the Jews; for the Romans carried no defensive armor on their backs,
which were never supposed to be turned towards an enemy.

Fresh troops poured up the breach, to take the place of their
agonized comrades; but the Jews threw down, upon the planks,
vessels filled with a sort of vegetable slime. Unable to retain
their footing upon the slippery surface, the Romans fell upon each
other, in heaps. Those rolling down carried others with them, and a
terrible confusion ensued, the Jews never ceasing to pour their
missiles upon them.

When evening came, Vespasian called off his men. He saw that, to
overcome the desperate resistance of the defenders, fresh steps
must be taken before the assault was repeated; and he accordingly
gave orders that the embankment should be raised, much higher than
before; and that upon it three towers, each fifty feet high and
strongly girded with iron, should be built.

This great work was carried out, in spite of the efforts of the
besieged. In the towers, Vespasian placed his javelin men, archers,
and light machines and, as these now looked down upon the wall,
they were enabled to keep up such a fire upon it that the Jews
could no longer maintain their footing; but contented themselves
with lying behind it, and making desperate sallies whenever they
saw any parties of Romans approaching the breach.

In the meantime, a terrible calamity had befallen the
neighboring town of Japha. Emboldened by the vigorous defense of
Jotapata, it had closed its gates to the Romans. Vespasian sent
Trajan, with two thousand foot and a thousand horse, against
it.

The city was strongly situated, and surrounded by a double wall.
Instead of waiting to be attacked, the people sallied out and fell
upon the Romans. They were, however, beaten back; and the Romans,
pressing on their heels, entered with them through the gates of the
outside walls. The defenders of the gates through the inner walls,
fearing that these, too, would be carried by the mob, closed them;
and all those who had sallied out were butchered by the Romans.

Trajan, seeing that the garrison must now be weak, sent to
Vespasian, and asked him to send his son to complete the victory.
Titus soon arrived, with a thousand foot and five hundred horse
and, at once, assaulted the inner walls. The defense was feeble.
The Romans effected their entry but, inside the town, a desperate
conflict took place; the inhabitants defending every street, with
the energy of despair, while the women aided their efforts by
hurling down stones, and missiles, from the roofs. The battle
lasted six hours, when all who could bear arms were slain. The rest
of the male population were put to death, the women taken as
slaves. In all, fifteen thousand were killed, two thousand one
hundred and thirty taken prisoners.

In another direction, a heavy blow had also been struck by the
Romans. The Samaritans had not openly joined the revolt, but had
gathered in great force on Mount Gerizim. Cerealis was sent by
Vespasian, with three thousand infantry and six hundred horse,
against them. He surrounded the foot of the mountain, and abstained
from an assault until the Samaritans were weakened by thirst–many
dying from want of water. Cerealis then mounted the hill, and sent
to them to throw down their arms. On their refusal, he charged them
from all sides, and put every soul–in number, eleven thousand six
hundred–to the sword.

The situation of the defenders of Jotapata was now pitiable,
indeed. Scarce a man but had received wounds, more or less severe,
in the desperate combats. All were utterly worn out with fatigue;
for they were under arms, day and night, in readiness to repel the
expected attack. Numbers of the women and children had died of
thirst, and terror. Save the armed men lying in groups near the
foot of the wall, in readiness to repel an assault, scarce a soul
was to be seen in the lately-crowded streets.

The houses were now ample to contain the vastly diminished
number. Here the women and children crouched, in utter prostration.
The power of suffering was almost gone. Few cared how soon the end
came.

The siege had now continued for forty-seven days; and the Roman
army, strong in numbers, in discipline, and in arms, and commanded
by one of its best generals, had yet failed to capture the little
town–which they had expected to take within a few hours of their
appearance before it–and so fierce was the valor of the besieged,
that Vespasian did not venture to order his legions forward to
renew the assault. But now, a deserter informed him that the
garrison was greatly exhausted, that the men on guard could not
keep awake; and that the breach could be carried, at night, by a
sudden assault.

Vespasian prepared for the assault, which was to take place at
daybreak. A thick mist enveloped the town, and the sleeping
sentries were not aroused by the silent steps of the approaching
Romans. Titus was the first to enter the breach, followed by a
small number of troops. These killed the sleeping guards, and the
main body of the Romans then poured in. Before the Jews were
conscious of their danger, the whole of the Roman army was upon
them.

Then the slaughter commenced. Many of the Jews killed each
other, rather than fall into the hands of the Romans. Many threw
themselves over the precipices, numbers took refuge in the deep
caverns under the city. That day, all in the streets or houses were
killed; the next, the Romans searched the caverns and underground
passages, slaughtering all the men and boys, and sparing none but
infants and women. During the siege and capture, forty thousand men
fell. Only twelve hundred women and children were spared. So
complete was the surprise, and so unresistingly did the Jews submit
to slaughter, that only one Roman was killed.

This was Antoninus, a centurion. He came upon a Jew in a deep
cavern, and told him he would spare his life, if he would
surrender. The Jew asked him to give him his hand, as a pledge of
his faith, and to help him out of the cave. Antoninus did so, and
the Jew at once ran him through with a spear.

John was asleep when the Romans entered. He was aroused by Jonas
rushing into the room. The boy was at all times restless, and
suffered less than most of those within the walls; for there was an
abundance of grain up to the end of the siege and, until the Romans
had discovered the way down to the water, he had not suffered in
any way from thirst. He was considered too young to take part in
the actual fighting; but had labored with the rest in repairing the
defenses, carrying food to men on the walls, and carrying away the
dead and wounded.

“Get up, John!” he exclaimed. “In the mist I have just run upon
a mass of Roman soldiers, ranged in order. The town is taken.
Quick, before they scatter and begin to slay!”

John caught up his sword, and ran out. Just as he did so, a
terrible shout was heard, followed by shrieks and cries. The work
of butchery had begun.

John’s plans had been laid for some time. At night Jonas had
frequently descended to the ledge, taking with him food, and jars
of the water he brought up from below; and once or twice John had
descended, Jonas fastening a rope round his body, and lowering it
gradually for, active as he was, John could not get down without
such assistance. Indeed, to any one who looked casually over the
top, the descent appeared absolutely impossible.

At the top of their speed, the lads ran to the spot at which the
descent had to be made. The rope was hidden close at hand. John
slipped the noose at the end over his shoulders. Jonas twisted the
rope once round a stunted tree, which grew close by, and allowed it
to go out gradually. As soon as the strain upon it ceased, and he
knew John was upon the ledge, he loosened the rope and dropped the
end over; and then began, himself, to descend, his bare feet and
hands clinging to every inequality, however slight, in the
rock.

He presently stood by the side of John. The latter had coiled up
the rope, and laid it by him; and had then thrown himself down, and
was sobbing bitterly. Jonas sat down quietly beside him, till he
had recovered his composure.

“It is no use fretting,” he said, philosophically. “There’s no
one you care about, particularly, up there; and I am sure there’s
no one I care about–only I should like to have peeped in, and have
seen her face, when the Romans burst open the door. I don’t suppose
she was very sorry, though, for it will be better to be a Roman
slave than to be going through what they have been, for the last
month.”

“It is horrible!” John said, “Horrible! However, Jonas, let us
thank God for having thus preserved our lives, when all besides are
in such terrible danger of death.”

For a time, the two lads sat silent. John was the first to
speak.

“I am thankful,” he said, “that, owing to our being down the
face of the rock, the sound is carried away above our heads, and we
can hear but little of what is going on there. It seems a confusion
of sounds, and comes to us rather as an echo from the hills,
yonder, than directly from above.”

Sometimes, indeed, thrilling screams and shouts were heard but,
for the most part, the sounds were so blended together that they
could not be distinguished one from another. As soon as the mist
cleared off, the lads lay down, as far back from the ledge as they
could get.

“We must not lift up a head, today,” John said. “The guards
below, and on the hills, will have their eyes fixed on the rock, on
the lookout for fugitives and, until nighttime, we must not venture
to sit up. Fortunately, that outer edge of the shelf is a good deal
higher than it is, back here; and I don’t think that even those on
the mountain, opposite, could see us as we lie.”

“I should think a good many may escape, like us,” Jonas said,
presently. “There are numbers of caverns and passages, from which
they have dug the stone for the building of the houses. A lot of
the people are sure to hide away, there.”

“I daresay they will,” John agreed; “but I fear the Romans will
hunt them all out.”

“How long do you think we shall have to stay here, John?”

“Till the Romans go, whether it is one week or two; but I do not
think they will stay here many days. The town is so full of dead
that, in this hot weather, it will be unbearable before long. At
any rate, we shall be able to pass a good deal of time in sleep. We
have not had much of it, lately. Till last night, I have not been
in the house, at night, for over a fortnight. But I felt, last
night, as if I must have a sleep, whatever came of it. I suppose
the guards at the breach must have felt the same, or the Romans
could never have got in without the alarm being given.”

For a few minutes, John lay thinking of the terrible scenes that
must be passing, on the rock above; then his drowsiness overcame
him, and he was soon fast asleep.

It was dark when he woke. As he moved, Jonas spoke.

“Are you awake, John? Because if you are, let us have something
to eat. I have been awake the last four hours, and I have been
wishing you would stir.”

“There was no occasion to wait for my waking, Jonas. There are
the grain and the water, close at hand; and no cooking is
required.”

“I wasn’t going to eat till you woke, if it had been all night,”
Jonas said. “Still, I am glad you are awake; they are quiet now, up
above, and I have heard the Roman trumpets sounding. I expect that
most of them have marched back to their camp.”

The next day passed like the first. Occasionally cries of agony
were heard. Sometimes bodies were hurled from the top of the rock,
but a short distance from where they were lying.

The next two days passed more quietly, but upon that following a
murmur, as of a multitude of men working, was heard. From time to
time there were heavy crashes, as masses of stones, hurled down the
precipice, struck against its face as they fell; and then bounded,
far out beyond the stream, at its foot. All these sounds were
echoed back by the surrounding hills, until it seemed as if a storm
was raging, far away in the heart of the mountains.

“They are destroying the town,” John said, in answer to his
companion’s question as to the cause of the uproar. “That is the
best thing possible for us. Had it remained standing, they might
have left a garrison here, to prevent our people reoccupying it. If
they destroy it, it is a sign that they intend to march away,
altogether.”

Several times Jonas wished to climb up, at night, to ascertain
what was going on; but John would not hear of it.

“There is nothing to find out, Jonas. We know what they did at
Gadara, where they slew all the males and carried off all the
women, although no resistance was offered. We may be sure that
there will be no more mercy shown at Jotapata, which has affronted
the Roman power by keeping their great army at bay, for nearly
seven weeks, and whose capture has cost them thousands of men. We
know what has happened–they have slain every soul, save a few
young women, who were worth money as slaves. Now they are leveling
the town to its foundations. The place that defied them will cease
to exist.

“And yet, they talk of Roman magnanimity! Would we had five
thousand fighting men, hidden here with us. We would climb then,
Jonas, and fall upon them in the night, and take a mighty vengeance
for the woes they have inflicted. But, being alone, we will remain
here till we have reason to believe that the last Roman has left.
Did one of them catch sight of you, our fate would be sealed. They
have no boys among them, and the slightest glimpse of your figure
would be enough to tell them that you were a Jew who had been in
hiding and, in their fear that one man should escape their
vengeance, they would hunt you down, as a pack of wolves might hunt
down a solitary lamb.”

“They could never get down here, John.”

“Not by the way you came; but they would lower a cage full of
armed men, from above, and slay us without pity.”

“But if I were found out, John, I would not lead them here. I
would throw myself over the precipice, rather than that risk should
come to you!”

“But I don’t want you to throw yourself over the precipice,
Jonas. I want to keep you with me: in the first place because we
are great friends now; in the second because, if you were killed, I
might as well throw myself over, at once–for I do not think I
could ever climb up this rock, without your assistance.”

“It is much easier going up than coming down, John.”

“That may be and, indeed, I have no doubt it is so; but I would
rather not put the matter to the test. No; we have provision and
water here, enough to last us for ten days and, until they are
consumed, it were best not to stir from here.”

Four days later, however, they heard the sound of the Roman
trumpets and, on raising their heads carefully a few inches, saw
that the guards on the opposite hills had all been withdrawn.
Having now less fear of being seen, they raised their heads still
further, and looked up the valley to the great camp on the hillside
where, at night, they had seen the fires of the Romans, blazing
high.

“They are going!” Jonas exclaimed, joyously. “Look at the sun
sparkling on the long lines of arms and armor. Not a sound is to be
heard, above–the work is done. They are about to march away.”

“Do not let us expose ourselves further,” John said. “It may be
that they have left a few watchers, to see if any who have eluded
their search may show themselves, believing that they have gone. I
have no doubt they are going and, by tomorrow, it will be safe for
us to move.”

All day they heard the sound of trumpets, for the great host
took a long time getting into motion but, gradually, the sound grew
fainter and fainter, as the rear guard of the army took the road
which they had cut through the mountains, eight weeks before.

That night, when darkness fell, and the two lads sat up on their
ledge and looked round, not a light was to be seen; and not a sound
broke the silence of the night.

“At daybreak tomorrow, Jonas, as soon as it becomes light enough
for you to see your way, you shall go up and look round. They may
have left a guard behind, but I should hardly think so. After the
wholesale slaughter at Gadara, and here, the hatred of the Romans
will be so intense that, confident as they are in their arms and
discipline, they would hardly venture to leave a small body of men,
in the heart of these mountains.”

As soon as it was daylight, Jonas prepared to climb up to the
plateau above. He took with him the rope; arranging that, if he
found that the place was absolutely deserted, he would lower one
end to John and fasten the other to the tree above; and that he
would then aid John, as much as his strength would permit, in
making his way up the rock.

John watched his companion making his way up, and observed
exactly where he placed his feet and hands, until he was out of
sight. Then he waited. In about a quarter of an hour, the end of
the rope fell in front of him. He fastened it securely under his
arms and then, taking off his sandals, began the ascent. It was not
so difficult as it had looked; and the steady strain which Jonas
kept on the rope, from above, aided him and gave him confidence. In
three or four minutes, he gained the top of the rock.

“There is not a soul to be seen,” Jonas said. “The town has
gone, and the people, and the Romans. All is desolation!”

The scene was indeed changed, since John had last looked upon
it. Not a wall, in the so-lately busy little town, had been left
standing. The whole area was covered, three or four feet deep with
a chaos of stones, mortar, and beams; forming a great grave, below
which lay the bodies of forty thousand of the defenders of the
place. The walls so bravely defended had disappeared; and the
embankment, whose erection had cost the Romans so much labor and
bloodshed, had been destroyed by fire. A dead silence hung over the
place, and the air was tainted with a terrible odor of
corruption.

The desolation and solitude of the scene overpowered John, and
he sat down on a fragment of masonry and wept, unrestrainedly, for
some time. He roused himself, at last, as Jonas touched him.

“I shall go down again, and get what grain there is left,” the
boy said. “There is no chance of finding anything to eat within a
day’s march of here. The Roman horse will have destroyed every
village within a wide circuit.”

“But I cannot let you go down again, Jonas. The danger is too
great.”

“But I have been up and down, lots of times,” Jonas said.

“That may be, Jonas, but you might be dashed to pieces, this
time.”

“Well, if you like I will fasten the rope round me; then, if I
should slip, I shall be safe.”

John consented with some reluctance, but he was so nervous and
shaken that he walked some distance away, and did not turn round
until he heard Jonas’ footsteps again approaching him.

“Now we can start,” the boy said. “We have got grain here,
enough for three days; and tonight we will crush it, and cook it. I
have had enough of eating raw grain, for a long time to come.”

The boy’s cheerfulness restored the tone of John’s nerves
and–making their way with some difficulty over the chaos of stone
and timber, until they arrived at the pile of charred timber, which
marked the spot where the Roman embankment had stood–they stepped
out briskly, descended the hill, crossed the deserted lines of
circumvallation; and then began to ascend the mountains, which had,
for some distance, been stripped of their timber for the purposes
of the siege. In another hour’s walking they reached the forest,
and pressed on until the afternoon. Not that there was any need for
speed, now, but John felt a longing to place as wide a gap as
possible between himself and the great charnel ground which, alone,
marked the spot where Jotapata had stood.

At length, Jonas urged the necessity for a halt, for rest and
food. They chose a spot at the foot of a great tree, and then set
to work to collect a store of firewood. John took out the box of
tinder which, in those days, everyone carried about with him, and a
fire was soon lighted. Jonas then looked for two large flat stones,
and set to work to grind some grain.

The halting place had been chosen from the vicinity of a little
spring, which rose a few yards distant. With this the pounded grain
was moistened and, after kneading it up, Jonas rolled it in balls
and placed them in the hot ashes of the fire. In half an hour they
were cooked, and the meal was eaten with something like
cheerfulness.

Another day’s walking brought them to a little village, nestled
in the forest. Here they were kindly received, though the people
scarce believed them when they said that they were survivors of the
garrison of Jotapata. The news of the capture of the town, and the
destruction of its defenders, had already spread through the
country; and John now learned, for the first time, the fate which
had befallen Japha and the Samaritans on Mount Gerizim–events
which filled him with consternation.

The folly of the tactics which had been pursued–of cooping all
the fighting men up in the walled cities, to be destroyed one after
the other by the Romans–was more than ever apparent. He had never,
from the first, been very hopeful of the result of the struggle;
but it seemed, now, as if it could end in nothing but the total
destruction of the Jewish race of Palestine.

John stayed for two days in the little mountain village and
then, with a store of provisions sufficient to last him for some
days, pursued his way; following the lines of the Anti-Libanus,
until that range of hills joined the range of Mount Hermon, north
of the sources of the Jordan.

He had stopped for a day at Dan, high up among the hills. Here
the people had no fear of Roman vengeance; for the insurrection had
not extended so far north, and the Roman garrison of Caesarea
Philippi overawed the plains near the upper waters of the Jordan.
Determined, however, to run no unnecessary risks, John and his
companion pursued their way on the lower slopes of the hills until,
after six days’ walking, they arrived at Neve.

Here they learned where the farm of John’s kinsman was situated,
and made their way thither. As they came up to the house a woman
came out, gazed intently at John and, with a scream of terror, ran
back into the house. It was one of Martha’s maids. John stood
irresolute, fearing that his sudden appearance might startle the
other inmates when, suddenly, Mary appeared at the door, looking
pale but resolute. She, too, gazed fixedly at John; and her lips
moved, but no sound came from them.

“Don’t you know me, Mary?” John said.

The girl gave a scream of joy, and threw herself into his arms.
A moment later Martha, followed by Miriam and the other servants,
came out.

“It is no spirit, mother, it is John, himself,” Mary exclaimed
and, the next moment, John was clasped in his mother’s arms.

It was not surprising that the first who saw John had thought
that he was a spirit. The news had already been received that the
whole of the garrison of Jotapata had been put to the sword; and
John’s appearance was changed so greatly, within the last three
months, that he would scarce have been known. Fatigue, anxiety, and
the loss of blood–from several wounds which he had received, in
the course of the siege–had so pulled him down that he was but a
shadow of his former self. His clothes were in rags. He had washed
them at the village where he had first stopped for, before that,
they had been stiffened with blood; and even now, stained and
ragged as they were, they gave him the appearance of a
mendicant.

Jonas had held back a little, while the first joyful greeting
was going on, but John soon turned to him.

“Mother,” he said, “this must be as another son to you for, next
to the protection of God, it is to him I owe my life.”

Martha welcomed the young stranger affectionately.

“Before you tell us aught that has befallen you, John, go and
change your garments, and wash, while we prepare a meal for you.
The clothes of your uncle’s son Silas, who is about your age, will
fit you; and those of his younger brother will do for your
friend.”

“Was the last news of my father good?” John asked.

“Yes, the Lord be praised, he was well when we heard of him, a
week since!”

The travelers were at once conducted to a room, and supplied
with water and clean garments. By the time they had changed, and
returned to the general room, John’s uncle and cousin had been
fetched in from the farm, and he received another hearty
welcome.

It almost seemed to him, as he sat down to a comfortable meal,
with Mary and his mother waiting upon him, that the events of the
past two months had been a hideous dream; and that he had never
left his comfortable home on the shore of the Lake of Galilee. As
to Jonas, unaccustomed to kind treatment, or to luxury of any kind,
he was too confused to utter a word. When the meal was over, John
was asked to tell his news; and he related all the stirring
incidents of the siege, and the manner in which he and his
companion had effected his escape.

“We are, no doubt,” he concluded, “the sole male survivors of
the siege.”

“Not so, my son,” Martha said. “There is a report that Josephus
has survived the siege; and that he is a prisoner, in the hands of
the Romans.”

“It may be that they have spared him, to grace Vespasian’s
triumph, at Rome,” John said. “It is their custom, I believe, to
carry the generals they may take in war to Rome, to be slain
there.”

It was not until some time afterwards that John learned the
particulars of the capture of Josephus. When he saw that all was
lost, Josephus had leaped down the shaft of a dry well, from the
bottom of which a long cavern led off, entirely concealed from the
sight of those above. Here he found forty of the leading citizens,
who had laid in a store of food sufficient to last for many days.
Josephus, at least, who gives his account of all these
circumstances, says that he quite unexpectedly found these forty
citizens in hiding there; but this is improbable in the extreme,
and there can be little doubt that he had, long before, prepared
this refuge with them, when he found that the people would not
allow them to attempt to make their escape from the city.

At night Josephus came up from the well and tried to make his
escape but, finding the Romans everywhere vigilant, he returned to
the place of concealment. On the third day a woman, who was aware
of the hiding place, informed the Romans of it–probably in return
for a promise of freedom, for the Romans were searching high and
low for Josephus; who could not, they were convinced, have escaped
through their lines. Vespasian immediately sent two tribunes,
Paulinus and Gallicanus, to induce him to surrender by promise of
his life.

Josephus refused to come out, and Vespasian sent another
tribune, Nicanor, a personal friend of Josephus, to assure him of
his safety, if he would surrender. In the account Josephus gives of
the transaction, he says that at this moment he suddenly remembered
a dream–in which it was revealed to him that all these calamities
should fall upon the Jews, that he himself should be saved, and
that Vespasian should become emperor–and that, therefore, if he
passed over to the Romans he would do so not as a renegade, but in
obedience to the voice of God.

It was certainly a happy coincidence that the dream should have
occurred to him, at this moment. He at once announced his readiness
to surrender; but his forty companions did not see the matter in
the same light. The moment Josephus left them, the Roman soldiers
would throw combustibles down the well, and suffocate them, if they
did not come out and submit to slaughter.

They urged upon Josephus that he was their leader; that they had
all followed his orders, and cast in their lot with his; and that
it would be treacherous and base, in the extreme, for him now to
save his life by going over to the Romans, when all the inferior
people had slain themselves, or had submitted to slaughter, rather
than beg their lives of the Romans. Josephus argued with them, at
length, but they were not convinced and, drawing their swords,
threatened to kill him, if he tried to leave them. They would all
die together, they said.

Josephus then proposed that, in order to avoid the sin of
suicide, they should draw lots which should kill each other. To
this they assented; and they continued to draw lots as to which
should slay the other, until only Josephus and one other remained
alive.

This is the story that Josephus tells. He was, of course,
endeavoring to put his own case in the best light, and to endeavor
to prove that he was not–as the Jews universally regarded him–a
traitor to his country. It need hardly be said that the story is
improbable, in the extreme; and that, had any one of the forty men
survived and written the history, he would probably have told a
very different tale.

The conduct of Josephus, from the first outbreak of the trouble,
showed that he was entirely adverse to the rising against the
Romans. He himself, having been to Rome, had seen her power and
might; and had been received with great favor by Poppaea, the wife
of Nero, and had made many friends there. He had, therefore, at the
outset, opposed as far as he was able, without going so far as to
throw suspicion on his patriotism, the rebellion against the
Romans. During the events in Galilee, he had shown himself anxious
to keep in favor with the Romans. He had rebuked those who had
attacked the soldiers traveling as an escort, with a large amount
of treasure belonging to King Agrippa; and would have sent back the
spoils taken, had not the people risen against it. He affected
great indignation at the plunder of Agrippa’s palace at Tiberias
and, gathering all he could of the spoils, had handed them over to
the care of the chief of Agrippa’s friends there. He had protected
the two officers of Agrippa, whom the Jews would have killed–had
released and sent them back to the king; and when John of Gischala
wished to carry off large quantities of grain, stored by the Romans
in Upper Galilee, Josephus refused to allow him to do so, saying
that it should be kept for its owners.

It is almost certain that Josephus must, in some way, have
entered into communication with the Romans; for how otherwise could
he, with the principal inhabitants, have proposed to make their
escape, when every avenue was closed? Josephus was a man of great
talent and energy, full of resources, and of great personal
bravery–at least, if his own account of his conduct during the
siege is to be believed. But no one can read his labored excuses
for his own conduct without feeling sure that he had, all along,
been in correspondence with the Romans; and that he had,
beforehand, been assured that his life should be spared.

He had, from the first, despaired of successful resistance to
the Romans; and his conduct in throwing himself, at the last
moment, into a town about to be besieged and, as he must have
known, captured–for the want of water, alone, rendered its fall a
mere question of time–when his presence and leadership was so
urgently required among the people to whose command he had been
appointed, seems to prove that he wished to fall into their
hands.

It would not be just to brand Josephus as a traitor. He had done
his best to induce the Galileans to form themselves into an army,
and to defend the province; and it was only when that army
dispersed, at the approach of the Romans, that he went to Jotapata.
It was his leadership that enabled that city to continue its heroic
defense It cannot, therefore, be said that Josephus in any way
betrayed the trust confided to him by the council at Jerusalem. But
the conclusion can hardly be avoided that, from the first,
foreseeing that utter ruin and destruction would fall upon the
Jews, he had set himself to work to prepare a way of pardon and
escape, for himself; and that he thought a position of honor, among
the Romans, vastly preferable to an unknown grave among the
mountains of Galilee.

Upon being taken out of the well, Josephus was taken to
Vespasian and, in the presence only of the general, his son Titus,
and two other officers, announced that he was endowed with
prophetic powers, and that he was commissioned by God to tell
Vespasian that he would become emperor, and that he would be
succeeded by his son Titus. The prophecy was one that required no
more penetration than for any person, in the present day, to
predict that the most rising man in a great political party would
one day become prime minister. The emperor was hated, and it was
morally certain that his fall would not long be delayed; and in
that case the most popular general in the Roman army would, almost
certainly, be chosen to succeed him.

Vespasian, himself, was not greatly affected by the prophecy.
But Josephus declared that he had, all along, predicted the success
of the Romans, the fall of the town after forty-six days’ siege,
and his own safety; and as some of the female captives were brought
up and, on Josephus appealing to them whether this was not so,
naturally replied in the affirmative, Josephus says that Vespasian
was then satisfied of his prisoner’s divine mission, and henceforth
treated him with great honor.

It is much more easy to believe that an agreement already
existed between Vespasian and Josephus; and that the latter only
got up this story to enable him to maintain that he was not a
traitor to his country, but acting in accordance with the orders of
God. Certain it is that no similar act of clemency was shown, by
Vespasian, to any other Jew; that no other thought of pity or mercy
entered his mind, during the campaign, that he spared no man who
fell alive into his hands, and that no more ruthless and wholesale
extermination than that which he inflicted upon the people of
Palestine was ever carried out, by the most barbarous of
conquerors.

To this day, the memory of Josephus is hated among the Jews.

Chapter 7: The Massacre On The
Lake.

John remained for three weeks at his uncle’s. A messenger, with
the news of his safe arrival there, had been sent off to his
father; who came up to see him, three days later. The formal act of
betrothal between John and his cousin took place. Simon and Martha
would have been willing that the full ceremony of marriage should
take place, and the latter even urged this upon her son.

“You are now more than seventeen, John, and have taken your
place among men; and may well take to yourself a wife. Mary is nigh
fifteen, and many maidens marry earlier. You love each other. Why,
then, should you not be married? It would cheer the old age of your
father, and myself, to see our grandchildren growing up around
us.”

“Had the times been different, mother, I would gladly have had
it so; but with the land torn by war, with our brethren being
slaughtered everywhere, with Jerusalem and the Temple in danger, it
is no time for marrying and giving in marriage. Besides, the law
says that, for a year after marriage, a man shall not go to the war
or journey upon business; but shall remain at home, quiet, with his
wife. I could not do that, now. Did the news come, tomorrow, that
the Romans were marching upon Jerusalem, assuredly I should do my
duty, and take up arms and go to the defense of the Holy City; and
maybe Mary would be left a widow, before the days of rejoicing for
the marriage were over.

“No, mother; the life of no man who can wield a weapon is his
own, at present. The defense of the Temple is the first, and
greatest, of duties. If I fall there, you will adopt Mary as your
child; and marry her to someone who will take my place, and be a
son to you. Mary will grieve for me, doubtless, for a time; but it
will be the grief of a sister for a brother, not that of a wife for
her husband and, in time, she will marry the man to whom you shall
give her, and will be happy. Even for myself, I would rather that
it were so left. I shall feel more free from cares and
responsibilities; and though, if you and my father lay your orders
upon me, I shall of course obey them, I pray you that, in this
matter, you will suffer me to have my way.”

Martha talked the matter over with her husband; and they agreed
that John’s wishes should be carried out, and that the marriage
should be postponed until the troubles were over. Neither of them
believed that John would fall in the struggle. They regarded his
escape from Jotapata as well-nigh miraculous, and felt assured that
God, having specially protected him through such great danger,
would continue to do so to the end.

Contrary to expectation, Vespasian had not followed up his
success at Jotapata by a march against Jerusalem. His army had
suffered very heavy losses in the siege; and the desperate valor
which the defenders of the town had shown had, doubtless, impressed
upon his mind the formidable nature of the task he had
undertaken.

If a little mountain town had cost him so dearly, what would not
be the loss which would be entailed by the capture of a city like
Jerusalem, with its position of vast natural strength, its solid
and massive fortifications; and defended, as it would be, by the
whole strength of the Jewish nation, fighting with the fury of
religious fanaticism and despair! His army, strong as it was, would
doubtless capture the city, but at such a cost that it might be
crippled for further action; and Vespasian was keeping one eye upon
Rome, and wished to have his army complete, and in perfect order,
in readiness for anything that might occur there.

Therefore, after the fall of Jotapata he marched first to
Caesarea and, after a short halt there, passed north to Caesarea
Philippi–where the climate, cooled by the breezes from the
mountains, was pleasant and healthful–and here he gave the army
twenty days to rest, and recover from their wounds and fatigues. He
then marched south again to Scythopolis, or Bethsan, lying just
within the borders of Samaria, and not far from the Jordan. Here
Titus, with a detached force, joined him; and they prepared to
reduce the cities near the lake.

Simon had by this time returned home, accompanied by John and
Jonas. Simon tried to persuade his son to remain with his mother,
but John had entreated that he might accompany him.

“The war may last for a long time, father; and the land must be
tilled, else why should you yourself return home? We are in the
province of King Agrippa and, after what has befallen Jotapata and
Japha, it is not likely that the people of Hippos, or of other
towns, will venture to show disaffection–therefore there is no
reason why the Romans should carry fire and sword through Agrippa’s
country, east of Jordan. It is well that my mother and Mary should
not return for, if evil days should come, they could not save
themselves by rapid flight; besides we risk but death, and death
were a thousand times better than slavery among the Romans. If we
find that they are approaching, and are wasting the land, we can
fly. The boats are close by; and we can take to the lake, and land
where we will, and make our way back here.”

“And you will not seek, John, when the Romans approach, to enter
Tiberias or Gamala, or any other cities that may hold out against
the Romans?”

“No, father. I have had my share of defending a walled city and,
save for Jerusalem, I will fight no more in cities. All these
places must fall, sooner or later, if the Romans sit down before
them. I will not be cooped up again. If any leader arises, and
draws together a band in the mountains to harass and attack the
Romans, I will join him–for it has always seemed to me that in
that way, only, can we successfully fight against them–but if not,
I will aid you in the labors of the farm, until the Romans march
against Jerusalem.”

Simon yielded to his son’s wishes, for the events of the last
year had aged him much, and he felt the need of assistance on the
farm. The men who had worked for him had–save Isaac, and one or
two of the older men–gone away to Jerusalem, or to Gamala, or one
or other of the fortified towns. The time for the harvest was at
hand, and there would be few to gather it in.

Martha would fain have accompanied them, but Simon would not
hear of this.

“You are in a safe refuge here, wife, and rather than that you
should leave it, I would abandon our farm, altogether. If you come,
Mary and the women must come also and, even for us men, the danger
would be greater than were we alone.”

Mary also tried her power of persuasion, but Simon was not to be
moved; and the three set off together–for Jonas, as a matter of
course, accompanied John wherever he went.

The three weeks’ kindness, rest, and good feeding had done
wonders for him. The wild, reckless expression, which John had
noticed when he had first met him, had well-nigh disappeared; his
bones had become better covered, and his cheeks filled out and,
comfortably clothed as he now was, few would have recognized in him
the wild goatherd of Jotapata.

Simon was mounted on a donkey, the others walked.

“It is well that I am off again,” Jonas said. “Another month
there, and I should have got fat and lazy, and should have almost
forgotten how to run and climb, and should have grown like the
dwellers on the plains.”

“There will be plenty of work for you, on the farm, Jonas,”
Simon said. “You need not be afraid of growing fat and lazy,
there.”

“I don’t think I am fond of work,” Jonas said, thoughtfully,
“not of steady work, but I will work hard now, Simon; you have all
been so good to me that I would work till I dropped for you. I
wouldn’t have worked before, not if they had beaten me ever so
much; because they were always unkind to me, and why should one
work, for those who do nothing for you but beat and ill-use
you?”

“You should always do your duty, Jonas,” Simon said. “If others
do not do their duty to you, so much the worse for them; but that
is no excuse for your not doing your duty, as far as you can.”

Jonas, being a little behind Simon, made a little face
expressive of his disagreement with this opinion; but he said
nothing.

They followed the course of the river Hieromax down to
Capitolias; where they slept, that night, in the house of some
friends of Simon and, on the following evening, arrived at the
farm. John received a hearty greeting, from Isaac and the other
men; and several of the fishermen, when they heard of his return,
came in to see him.

For the next fortnight, John and Jonas worked from daylight till
dark and, by the end of that time, the greater part of the corn was
gathered in the granary. A portion was stored away in a deep pit,
straw being laid over it when the hole was nearly full, and earth
being thrown in level to the surface; so that, should the Romans
come and sack the granary, there should still remain a store which
would carry them on until the next harvest.

Then the news came, from across the lake, that the Romans were
breaking up their camp at Scythopolis, and were moving towards
Tiberias. No resistance was expected to be offered there. The
greater part of the inhabitants had, all along, been well affected
to the Romans; and had only been compelled, by a small faction in
the city and by the fear of the country people of Galilee, to join
in the insurrection. It was, too, the richest city in the dominions
of King Agrippa for, although these lay for the most part east of
Jordan, the towns of Tiberias and Tarichea were included in
them.

Tiberias was, in fact, his chief city. Here he had his richest
palace; and the city, which greatly benefited by being the seat of
his government, was Roman rather than Jewish in its hopes and
feelings. So confident was Vespasian that no resistance would be
offered that, when he arrived within half a mile of the town, he
sent forward an officer, with fifty horse, to exhort the people to
open their gates.

When he got near the town, the officer dismounted and went
forward to speak; when a party of the war faction, headed by Jesus
the son of Shaphat, charged out upon him. The officer, having had
no orders to fight the Jews, fled on foot; with five of his men,
who had also dismounted. Their assailants seized the horses, and
carried them in triumph into the city.

The senate of Tiberias at once issued out from the city, and
hurried to the camp of Vespasian; and implored him not to visit the
crime of a small body of desperate men upon the whole city, whose
inhabitants had always been favorably disposed towards Rome.
Agrippa added his entreaties to theirs; and Vespasian, who had just
given orders for the troops to advance to storm and sack the city,
recalled them. The insurgents under Jesus fled to Tarichea and, the
gates being opened, the Romans entered Tiberias; Vespasian issuing
strict orders against plundering, and the ill treatment of the
inhabitants.

At Tarichea were assembled not only the insurgents from
Tiberias, but fighting men from all the towns on the lake, and from
the country on the east. The city had been carefully fortified by
Josephus and, as the inhabitants had a very large number of vessels
in the port, they relied upon these for escape, in case the town
should be reduced to extremities. No sooner did the Romans appear
before their walls, and begin to lay out their siege works, than
the Tiberians and others, under the command of Jesus, sallied out
and dispersed the workmen.

When the Roman troops advanced, in regular order, some of the
Jews retired into the city. Others made for their boats, which were
ranged along on the shore; and in these, putting out a little
distance, they cast anchor, and opened fire with their missiles
upon the Romans.

In the meantime, a large number of Jews had just arrived from
the farther side of Jordan. Vespasian sent Titus, with six hundred
chosen horse, to disperse them. The number of the Jews was so large
that Titus sent for further succor, and was reinforced by Trajan,
with four hundred horse; while Antonius Silo, with two thousand
archers, was sent by Vespasian to the side of a hill opposite the
city, to open fire thence upon the defenders of the walls, and thus
prevent them from harassing the Roman horsemen as they
advanced.

The Jews resisted the first charge of the cavalry; but they
could not long withstand the long spears, and the weight and
impetus of the horses, and fled in disorder towards the town. The
cavalry pursued and tried to cut them off from it but, although
great numbers were slaughtered, the rest–by pure weight of
numbers–broke through, and reached the city.

A great dissension arose within the walls. The inhabitants of
the town–dismayed by the defeat inflicted, by a small number of
Romans, upon the multitude in the field–were unwilling to draw
upon themselves the terrible fate which had befallen the towns
which had resisted the Romans, and therefore clamored for instant
surrender. The strangers–great numbers of whom were mountaineers
from Peraea, Ammonitis, and the broken country of Mount Galaad and
the slopes of Hermon, who knew little of what had been passing in
Galilee–were for resistance, and a fray arose in the town.

The noise of the tumult reached Titus; who called upon his men
to seize the moment, while the enemy were engaged in civil discord,
to attack. Then, leading his men, he dashed on horseback into the
lake, passed round the end of the wall, and entered the city.

Consternation seized the besieged. The inhabitants attempted no
resistance, still hoping that their peaceful character would save
them from ill treatment; and many allowed themselves to be
slaughtered, unresistingly. Jesus and his followers, however,
fought gallantly; striving, but in vain, to make their way down to
the ships in the port. Jesus himself, and many of his men, were
killed.

Titus opened the gates, and sent word to his father that the
city was captured; and the Roman army at once entered. Vespasian
placed a number of his troops in the large vessels in the port, and
sent them off to attack those who had first fled to the boats.
These were, for the most part, fishermen from the various towns on
the lake. The cavalry were sent all round the lake, to cut off and
slay those who sought to gain the land.

The battle–or rather the slaughter–went on for some time. The
fishermen, in their light boats, could do nothing against the
soldiers in the large vessels. These slew them with arrows or
javelins, from a distance; or ran them down, and killed them as
they struggled in the water. Many of the boats were run ashore; but
the occupants were slain, there, by the soldiers on the lookout for
them. Altogether, six thousand perished in the slaughter.

In the meantime, Vespasian had set up a tribunal in Tarichea.
The inhabitants of the town were separated from the strangers.
Vespasian himself was, as Josephus said, unwilling to shed more
blood–as he had promised, when he had entered the city, to spare
the lives of all–but he yielded to the arguments of those who said
that the strangers were mountain robbers, the foes of every man.
Accordingly, they were ordered to leave the city, by the road to
Tiberias.

As soon as they had left the town, the troops surrounded them,
headed by Vespasian in person. Twelve hundred of the aged and
helpless he ordered to be slain, at once; six thousand of the most
able-bodied he sent to Nero, to be employed on the canal he was
digging across the isthmus of Corinth; thirty thousand four hundred
were sold as slaves; and a large number were bestowed upon Agrippa,
who also sold them as slaves. This act, after the formal promise of
pardon, disgraces the memory of Vespasian even more than the
wholesale massacres of the garrisons of the towns which resisted to
the last.

The news of this act of wholesale vengeance spread such terror
through the land that the whole of the cities of Galilee at once
opened their gates; and sent deputations to Vespasian to offer
their submission, and ask for pardon. Gamala, Gischala, and
Itabyrium–a town on Mount Tabor, which had been strongly fortified
by Josephus–alone held out. Itabyrium lay some ten miles to the
west of Tiberias.

Standing back among the trees, at a short distance from the
lake, Simon, John, and the workers on the farm watched with horror
the slaughter of the fishermen on the lake. None of their neighbors
were among those who had gone out to aid in the defense of
Tarichea; for Simon had gone among them, to dissuade them from
launching their boats and joining the flotilla, as it proceeded
down the lake in the morning. He urged upon them that, if they took
part in the affair, they would only bring down vengeance upon
themselves and their families.

“There is no lack of men,” he said, “in Tiberias and Tarichea.
Such aid as you can give would be useless and, whether the cities
fall at once, or whether they resist, the vengeance of the Romans
will fall upon you. In a few hours, their horsemen can ride round
the shores of the lake, and cut off all who are absent from
returning to their homes, and give the villages to fire and sword.
Those who can point to their boats, drawn up at the side of the
lake, will be able to give proof to the Romans that they have not
taken part against them. So far, we have escaped the horrors of war
on this side of Jordan.

“If the strong cities of Galilee cannot resist the Roman arms,
what hope should we have on this side, where the population is
comparatively scanty, and where there are few strong places? Do not
let us provoke the Romans, my friends. If they go up against
Jerusalem, let those who will, go, and die in defense of the
Temple; but it would be worse than folly to provoke the wrath of
the Romans, by thrusting yourselves into the quarrel here.”

Warmly did the fishermen congratulate themselves, when they saw
the combat proceeding on the lake, and when a strong body of Roman
horse rode along the shore, leaving parties at regular intervals to
cut off those who might try and land. A body of twenty were posted
down by the boats, and two came into the village and demanded food
for the party. Simon, when he saw them coming, ordered all the
able-bodied men to retire, and remain in the olive groves on the
slopes, at a distance from the lake, until the Romans had gone;
while he, and Isaac, and some other old men, went down and met the
soldiers.

“Are any of the people of this place out there on the lake?” the
officer in command of the twenty men asked; as Simon and his party,
bringing bread, fruit, and wine, came down to the waterside.

“No, sir,” Simon replied. “We have but eight boats belonging to
the village, and they are all there. We are peaceable people, who
till the soil and fish the lake, and take no part in the doings of
the great towns. We are subjects of King Agrippa, and have no cause
for discontent with him.”

“A great many other people have no cause for discontent, old
man,” the officer said; “but they have, nevertheless, risen in
rebellion. However, as your boats are here, and your people seem to
have taken no part in this matter, I have naught to say against
you; especially as your wine is good, and you have brought down
plenty of it.”

Simon and his companions withdrew and, with aching hearts,
watched from a distance the massacre upon the lake. The fury,
however, produced among the men in the towns and villages on the
shore, at the sight of the numerous corpses washed ashore, was so
great that many of the young men left their avocations and started
for Gamala; which, relying upon the strength of its position–which
was even stronger than that of Jotapata–was resolved to resist to
the last.

Several of the young men of the village, and many from the
villages near, were determined to take this course, maddened by the
slaughter of many friends and relations. John himself was as
furious as any, especially when the news came of the violation of
faith at Tarichea, and of the selling of nigh forty thousand men
into slavery.

“Father,” he said, that evening, “I had thought to stay quietly
with you, until the Romans advanced against Jerusalem; but I find I
cannot do so. The massacre at Jotapata was bad enough, but the
slaughter of defenseless men, on the lake, is worse. I pray you,
let me go.”

“Would you go into Gamala, and die there, John?” Simon asked.
“Better to die at the Temple, than to throw away your life
here.”

“I do not intend to go into Gamala, father, nor to throw away my
life–though I care little for it, except for the sake of you and
my mother and Mary–but I would do something; and I would save the
sons of our neighbors, and others, from the fate that assuredly
waits them if they enter Gamala. They know not, as I do, how surely
the walls will go down before the Roman engines; but even did they
know it, so determined are they to fight these slayers of our
countrymen that they would still go.

“What I propose to do is to carry out what I have always
believed to be the true way of fighting the Romans. I will collect
a band, and take to the mountains, and harass them whenever we may
find opportunity. I know the young men from our village will follow
me, if I will lead them; and they will be able to get their friends
along the shore to do the like. In that way the danger will not be
so great for, in the mountains, the Romans would have no chance of
overtaking us while, if we are successful, many will gather round
us, and we may do good service.”

“I will not stay you, John, if you feel that the Lord has called
upon you to go; and indeed, you may save, as you say, the lives of
many of our neighbors, by persuading them to take to the hills with
you, instead of shutting themselves up in Gamala. Go down, then, to
the village, and talk to them; and see what they say to your
plan.”

John had little doubt as to his proposal being accepted by the
younger men of the village. The fact that he had been chosen as one
of the bodyguard of Josephus had, at once, given him importance in
the eyes of his neighbors; and that he should have passed through
the siege of Jotapata, and had escaped, had caused them to regard
him not only as a valiant fighter, but as one under the special
protection of God. Since his return, scarce an evening had passed
without parties coming, from one or other of the villages along the
shore, to hear from his lips the story of the siege.

As soon, then, as he went down to the fishing village, and told
the young men who had determined to leave for Gamala that he
thought badly of such action–but that he intended to raise a band,
and take to the mountains and harass the Romans–they eagerly
agreed to follow him, and to obey his orders. There were eight of
them, and John at once made them take an oath of obedience and
fellowship; swearing in all things to obey his orders, to be true
to each other to death, to be ready to give their lives, when
called upon, for the destruction of the Romans; and never, if they
fell into the hands of the enemy, to betray the secrets of the
band, whatever might be the tortures to which they were
exposed.

John could have obtained more than eight men in the village, but
he would only take quite young men.

“I want only men who can undergo fatigue and watching; who can
climb mountains, and run as fast as the Roman horse can gallop.
Besides, for work like this it is necessary that there should be
one leader, and that he should be promptly obeyed. If I take older
men, they will naturally wish to have a voice in the ordering of
things. I have seen enough of military matters to know that, for
prompt decision and swift execution, one head–and one head
only–is necessary. Besides, we may find difficulties in the way of
getting food and, at first, I wish for only a small band. If
success attends us, we shall increase rapidly. Twenty will be quite
enough, to begin with.”

As soon as the eight young men–of whom all but two were under
twenty years old–had taken the oath, they started at once to the
villages round.

“Do each of you gather in two, but no more,” John said; “and let
them be those whom you know to be strong and active. Do not bring
more; and if four of you bring but one, so much the better. If you
find many more eager to join, you can tell them that we will send
for them, when the time comes, to increase our numbers; and pray
them to abide here, and not to go into Gamala.

“Let each bring his arms and a bag of meal; and meet me,
tomorrow evening at sundown, on the Hieromax River, three miles
below Capitolias–that will be opposite to Abila, which lies on the
mountain side. Let all travel singly, for the Roman horse may be
about. However, as we shall be walking east, while Gamala lies to
the west of south, they will not take us–should we come upon
them–for men going thither to aid in the defense of the town.”

The young men started at once on their missions, full of
confidence in John; and feeling certain that, under his leadership,
they should soon come to blows with the Romans; being also, in
their hearts, well satisfied that their warfare would be in the
open country, and they should not be called upon to fight pent up
in walls from which there was no escape.

Having seen his followers off, John returned home, and told
Simon the progress he had made. The old man sighed.

“I do not seek to keep you, John; for your duty to your country
stands, now, in the first rank of all; and it may be that the Lord
preserved you, at Jotapata, because he intends you to do great
deeds for him, here. I do not say spare yourself, or avoid danger,
for our sakes. I only say, do not throw away your life by rashness.
Remember that, young as you are, you are a leader, and be prudent
as well as brave.

“After Gamala has fallen–as fall I fear it will–and the Romans
have moved away from these parts–as they will then do, for there
is no resistance to them, on this side of Jordan, save at that
town–I shall bring your mother and Mary back again; and you will
find us waiting here to welcome you, if you return. If not, my son,
I shall mourn for you, as Jacob mourned for Joseph–and more,
seeing that you are the only prop of my old age–but I shall have
the consolation of knowing that you died for your country.”

“You will find in Mary a daughter, father; and you must find a
husband for her, who will take my place. But it may be that if the
Romans march not direct upon Jerusalem–and they say that Vespasian
has arranged that two of the legions shall winter on the sea coast,
at Caesarea, and the third at Scythopolis–it is probable that he
will not move against Jerusalem till the spring. In that case I may
be often here, during the winter. For I will not go down to
Jerusalem until the last thing; for there all is turmoil and
disturbance and, until the time comes when they must lay aside
their private feuds and unite to repel the invader, I will not go
down.”

Father and son talked until late in the night. In the morning
John made his preparations for departure. He had told Jonas of his
intentions. The boy listened silently, only saying, “Wherever you
go, John, I am ready to go with you; it makes no difference to me;”
and afterwards went down to the lake side, where he filled his
pouch with smooth pebbles, each of which he selected with great
care for, when herding his goats among the mountains, Jonas had
been always practicing with a sling, and many a cony had fallen
before his unerring aim.

All the lads in the mountains were accustomed to the use of the
sling, but none in Jotapata had approached Jonas in their skill
with this weapon. During the siege he had often astonished John by
the accuracy of his aim; and had several times compelled the Romans
to cease working one of their machines, which specially harassed
the defenders of the wall, by striking down one after another of
those who directed it–his stones seldom failing to strike them
full in the face, the only spot unprotected by their armor.

In the morning, John prepared to start. He and Jonas each
carried a small sack, supported by a strap passing over the
shoulders, and containing some eight pounds of meal and a gourd of
water. Jonas carried no weapon, save a long knife hidden under his
garment, and his sling and pouch of stones. John carried a sword
and buckler, and a horn. Before they started, John knelt before his
father and received his blessing; and Simon, as he bade him adieu,
gave him a small bag of money.

“You will need to buy things in the mountains, lad; and I would
not that you should be driven, like the robber bands, to take food
by force. It is true that they who go not to the war should support
those who risk their lives for their country; but there are many
aged men who, like myself, cannot fight, there are many women whose
husbands are away in Gamala or Jerusalem, and these may not be able
to afford to assist others. Therefore, it is well that you should
have means of paying for what you require; otherwise the curse of
the widow and fatherless may fall upon you.

“And now, farewell, my son! May God have you in his keeping, and
send you home safe to your mother and me!”

Chapter 8: Among The Mountains.

Jonas was in high spirits as they started from the farm. He was
leaving no friends behind and, so long as he had John with him, he
was perfectly contented. He was delighted to be on the move again
for, although he had worked steadily in getting in the harvest,
regular labor was distasteful to him and, accustomed as he had been
to wander, for weeks, free and unchecked with his goats among the
mountains, the regular life and order of the farm were irksome to
him.

John, on the other hand, was silent; replying briefly to the
boy’s questions. He felt the danger of the enterprise upon which he
had embarked, and his responsibility as leader; and the thought of
the grief which his father and mother would feel, did ought befall
him, weighed on his mind. Presently, however, he roused
himself.

“Now, Jonas, you must keep a sharp lookout round for, if we see
any Roman soldiers in the distance, I must hide my sword and
buckler before they discover us, and you must stow away your sling
and pouch; then we will walk quietly on. If they question us, we
are going to stay with friends at Capitolias and, as there will be
nothing suspicious about us, they will not interfere with us. After
they have passed on, we will go back for our arms. We are not
traveling in the direction of Gamala, and they will have no reason
to doubt our story.”

They did not, however, meet any of the parties of Roman horse
who were scouring the country, carrying off grain and cattle for
the use of the army; and they arrived, in the afternoon, on the
bank of the Hieromax. Upon the other side of the river rose the
steep slopes of Mount Galaad, high up on whose side was perched the
little town of Abila.

“Here we can wait, Jonas. We are nearly opposite the town. The
others will, doubtless, soon be here.”

It was not long before the band made their appearance, coming
along in twos and threes as they had met on the river bank. By
sunset the last had arrived, and John found that each of his first
recruits had brought two others.

He looked with satisfaction at the band. The greater part of
them had been fishermen. All were strong and active; and John saw
that his order that young men, only, should be taken had been
obeyed, for not one of them was over the age of twenty-three and,
as he had laid it down, as an absolute rule, all were unmarried.
All were, like himself, armed with sword and buckler; and several
had brought with them bags with javelin heads, to be fitted to
staves, later on. All their faces bore a look of determination and,
at the same time, of gladness.

The massacre on the lake had excited the inhabitants of the
shore to fury, and even those who had hitherto held back from the
national cause were now eager to fight against the Romans; but many
shrunk from going to Gamala–which was, indeed, already as full of
fighting men as it could hold–and John’s proposal to form a band,
for warfare in the mountains, had exactly suited the more
adventurous spirits.

All present were known to John, personally. Many of them were
sons of friends of Simon; and the others he had met at village
gatherings, or when fishing on the lake. There were warm greetings,
as each accession to the party arrived; and each member of the band
felt his spirits rise higher, at finding that so many of those he
knew, personally, were to be his comrades in the enterprise.

When the last comer had arrived, John said:

“We will now be moving forward. We had best get well up the
mountain, before night falls. It matters not much where we camp,
tonight; tomorrow we can choose a good spot for our
headquarters.”

It being now the height of the dry season, the river was low,
and they had no difficulty in wading across. Then they struck up
the hill, to the right of Abila, until they had fairly entered the
forests which clothed the lower slopes of the mountains. Then John
gave the word for a halt.

Dead wood was soon collected, and a fire made. Cakes of meal
were baked in the ashes and, after these had been eaten, the party
lay round the fire and, a few minutes later, John rose to his
feet.

“You all know the reason for which we are gathered together
here. We all long for vengeance on the oppressors of our country,
the murderers of our kinsmen and friends, the men who carry off our
women to shame and slavery in Rome. We are all ready to die, for
our country and our God; but we would fain die doing as much harm
to the Romans as we can, fighting like freemen in the open, instead
of rats slaughtered in a cage. That is why, instead of going into
Gamala, we have gathered here.

“I am the youngest among you; but I have so far assumed the
leadership because, in the first place, I have been much with
Josephus, who–although he may now, most unworthily, have gone over
to the Romans to save his life–was yet a wise governor, and a
great leader. From him, I have learned much of the Romans. In the
second place, I have seen more of their warfare than any of you,
having passed through the terrible siege of Jotapata. Lastly, I
believe that God, having saved me almost alone of all the host that
defended the town, has intended me as an instrument for his
service.

“Therefore have I taken upon myself the command, in the first
place, of this band; but at the same time, if you think that I am
too young, and would rather place another at your head, I will
stand aside, and release from their oath those who have already
sworn. I am not self seeking. I crave not the leadership over you,
and will obey whomsoever you may choose for your chief. But to
whomsoever is the leader, prompt obedience must be given; for there
must, even in a band like this, be order and discipline. We work
for a common good, but we must yield to the direction of one will,
and one head.

“Now, what say you? I will walk away, to leave you free to
consult one with another; and will abide by your decision, whatever
it be. Only the decision, once made, must be adhered to. There must
be no after grumbling, no hesitation or drawing back. You must have
absolute confidence, and give absolute obedience, to him whom you
choose. For only so can we hope to succeed in our enterprises.”

John had gone but a short way among the trees, when he was
called back again. All had come prepared to follow him. His father
had always been a man of weight and position among the villagers on
the shore and, democratic as were the Jewish institutions, there
was yet a certain respect paid to those of position above their
fellows. John’s experience and, especially, his escape from
Jotapata, seemed specially to mark him as one destined to play an
important part. And his quiet resolute bearing, now–the feeling
that he knew what was to be done, and how to do it; that he was, in
fact, their natural leader–came home to all, and it was with
sincerity that they assured him that they accepted him as their
leader.

“Very well,” John said, quietly. “Then let those who have not
already taken the oath stand up, and do so.”

This was done, and John then said:

“Now, I will tell you more of my plans; although these, of
course, cannot be in any way settled until we see how things turn
out. It is by watching for opportunities and seizing the right
moment, only, that we can hope for success. We are all ready to
give our lives for our country, but we do not wish to throw them
away. We want each of us to do as much as possible. We want to
live, so as to share in the defense of the Temple; therefore, we
have to combine prudence with daring.

“As for an attack upon any strong body of Roman troops, it would
be impossible–unless they attempt to follow us among the
mountains. One of our first duties will be to learn the country
well, so that we may know where to defend ourselves, should they
come up after us; where, from eminences, we can cast down rocks
upon them; where there are crags which we can climb, but up which
their heavy-armed soldiers cannot follow us. This is our first task
for, as yet, they have not commenced the siege of Gamala. When they
do so, we must draw down near them and hide ourselves, mark the
position of their camp, see how their tents are arranged, and where
their sentries are placed.

“Then we can begin work: sometimes falling upon their guards; at
other times creeping in past their sentries, scattering through the
camp and, at a given signal, firing their tents with the brands
from their fires; slaying those who first rush out, and then making
off again to the hills.

“Then, too, they will be sending great numbers of men up the
hills, to cut timber and branches for their embankments, their
breastworks, and the construction of the wattles to protect their
machines. We shall be in hiding and, when a party of men separates
from the rest, we will fall upon these; we will harass their
workers from a distance, always avoiding a regular combat, but
hindering their work, and wearing them out. Thus we may do better
service, to the defenders of Gamala, than if we were within the
walls.

“At present we have only swords, but we must get bows and
arrows. It would not have been safe to have carried them across the
plains; but we can procure them at Abila, or Jabez Galaad. I fear
that we shall not be able to interfere with the provisioning of the
army–for upon the plains we shall have no chance with their
cavalry–but, here in these mountains, stretching away over Peraea
into Arabia and Moab, we can laugh at pursuit by the Romans; and
even Agrippa’s light-armed Arabs will have difficulty in following
us, and of them we need have little fear. At Jotapata we proved
ourselves a match for the Romans; and their light-armed troops will
not care to venture against us, alone, as they will not know our
numbers, and will fear being led into ambushes.

“There is one question which we have to consider, and that is
food; as to flesh, we shall have it in abundance. There will be
many flocks of goats, belonging to those in Gamala, straying among
the mountains without an owner; therefore of goats’ milk and flesh
we can take abundance, but there will be a scarcity of grain. I
have some money with me, with which we can purchase it at Abila,
and the villages. As for Jabez Galaad, it is too close to Gamala;
and the Romans will probably ascend the hill and destroy it, or
place a guard there. At any rate, the money will be sufficient to
purchase meal for us, for some time–much longer, probably, than
Gamala will be able to hold out–and when that has fallen, it will
be time to arrange about the future. Only let us take nothing
without payment; let us not be like the robber bands, which prey
upon the people, until they long for the Romans as masters.

“Only we must remember that, while we desire now to do the
Romans as much harm as possible, this is but the beginning of our
work; and that we must save ourselves for the future. Gamala is but
one town; and we shall have plenty of opportunities for striking at
the enemy, in the future. We have put our hands to the plow now
and, so long as the war lasts, we will not look back. It may be
that our example may lead others to follow it and, in that case,
the Romans’ difficulties will thicken, every day. Were there scores
of bands of determined men, like us, hanging around them; ready to
attack small bodies, whenever they venture away from their camps to
gather in provisions and forage, and to harass them, at night, by
constant alarms, we could wear them out.

“Only, we must always avoid a pitched battle. In irregular
fighting we are as good as they–better, for we can move more
quickly–but when it comes to fighting in order of battle, we have
no chance with them, whatever. Their cavalry, the other day outside
Tarichea, were like wolves among a flock of sheep. Nothing but
disaster can come of fighting in the plain. Every people should
fight in the way that suits them best, and an attempt to meet an
enemy in their own way of fighting is sure to lead to disaster. Let
the Roman keep the plain, with his cavalry and his heavy infantry;
let the Jew, light footed and swift, keep to the hills. He is as
much superior, there, as is the Roman in the plains.

“And now, we must establish signals. We will get horns, at
Abila; and I will fix upon signals. One long note will mean, gather
to me; two, fall back gradually; three, retire at once with all
speed, to the spot agreed upon, before setting out in the morning.
Two short notes will mean, advance and attack in the manner
arranged; one short note, oft repeated, will tell you the Romans
are advancing, sound your horns–for it were well that each
provided himself with a cow’s horn, so that the signals can be
repeated. If we are scattered over a hillside among the trees, and
the Romans hear horns sounded in many quarters, they will think
that there must be a large body of men assembled. This will make
them slow and cautious in all their movements; will force many to
stand prepared, with their arms, to guard those at work; and will
altogether confuse and puzzle them.

“And now, we will lie down and sleep; as soon as it is dawn, we
will be on foot again.”

The next two days were spent in exploring that part of the
mountains: examining the direction, and extent, of each valley and
ravine; seeing where steep precipices afforded an opportunity for
rolling down rocks upon an enemy passing along the valley, or
trying to storm the height; in searching for pools in dried
watercourses; and in deciding upon a spot favorable for the camp.
They fixed upon a spot high up on the mountains, two miles east of
Abila, as their headquarters. It was in a pass between two peaks,
and gave them the option of descending either to the north or
south, or of skirting along the mountains towards the sources of
the Jabbok river, and thence crossing the Hermon range beyond the
limits of Peraea.

Jonas was sent, the first thing, to discover whether the Romans
had taken possession of Jabez Galaad; which lay but five miles from
Gamala, and on the southern side of the range of hills on whose
western spur Gamala was built. He returned, in a short time, saying
that he had found the inhabitants in a state of great alarm; for
that a Roman force could be seen, coming up the road from the
plain. Most of the fighting men of the town were in Gamala; the
rest, with the young women, were leaving, so that only old people
and children would be found in the town when the Romans arrived.
Jonas also brought word that Vespasian’s whole army was moving
against Gamala.

John had given Jonas money, before he started, to purchase bows
and arrows. He had brought back bows for the whole party, and as
many arrows as he could carry.

“I paid nothing for them,” he said, as he threw them down. “The
man who sold them was praying those who were leaving the town to
take them–for he thought that, if the Romans found them in his
house, they would destroy it–but no one listened. All were too
busy, in carrying off such of their household goods as they could
take, to burden themselves further; so he gladly gave me as many as
I could take. I carried off nearly all his bows; and I left him
breaking up the rest, and his store of arrows, in order to burn
them before the Romans arrived.

“A boy, carrying a bag of arrowheads, came with me some little
distance. I paid the man for them, and they are now hidden in the
forest. You can fetch them when you will, but I could not carry
more with me than I have got.”

“You have done well, Jonas,” John said, as the men seized each a
bow, and divided the arrows among them; and then stood waiting,
expecting orders from John to proceed, at once, to harass the Roman
column as it ascended the hill.

John said, in answer to their looks:

“We will not meddle with them, today. Did we shoot at them, they
would suppose that we belonged to Jabez Galaad; and would, in
revenge, destroy the town and all those they may find within it;
and our first essay against them would bring destruction upon
thousands of our countrymen.”

The others saw the justness of his reasoning, and their faith in
him as their leader was strengthened by his calmness, and readiness
of decision.

“Is the bag of arrowheads heavy, Jonas?”

“It is as much as the boy, who was about my own age, could
carry,” Jonas replied.

“Then do you, Phineas, and you, Simeon, go with Jonas to the
place where the bag is hidden, and carry it to the place we have
fixed upon for our camp. If, on the way, you come across a herd of
goats, shoot two or three of them and take them with you, and get
fires ready. The day is getting on, but we will go across the
mountains, and see where the Romans are pitching their camp and, by
sunset, we will be with you.”

Making their way along the mountain the band came, after an
hour’s walking, to a point where they could obtain a view of
Gamala. The city stood on the western extremity of the hill which,
after sloping gradually down, rose suddenly in a sharp ridge like
the hump of a camel–from which the town had its name, Gamala. On
both sides, this rock ended abruptly in a precipitous chasm; in
which ran the two branches of the Hieromax, which met at the lower
end of the ridge, and ran together into the end of the lake at
Tarichea, three miles away.

Thus, Gamala was only accessible from behind, where the ridge
joined the mountains. Across this neck of land a deep fosse had
been dug, so as to cut off all approach. The houses were crowded
thickly on the steep slope of the ridge, which was so abrupt that
the houses seemed to overhang one another. On the southern crag,
which was of immense height, was the citadel of the town. There was
a spring, supplying abundance of water, within the walls. Had it
been defended by a garrison as brave and numerous as that of
Jotapata, it would have been well-nigh impregnable; but Cheres and
Joseph, who commanded, had none of the genius of Josephus, although
they were brave and determined.

The city was crowded with fugitives from all parts; and had
already, for seven months, resisted a besieging force which Agrippa
had sent against it. It was impossible to blockade the whole
circuit of the town; but Vespasian took possession of all the
neighboring heights, and established his camp, with that of the
Fifteenth Legion, on the hill facing the city to the east. The
Fifth Legion threw up works, opposite the center of the city; while
the Tenth set to work to fill up ditches and ravines, in order to
facilitate the approaches.

Agrippa approached the wall, to persuade the inhabitants to
surrender; but was struck on the right elbow by a stone from a
sling, and forced to retire. This insult to the native king, who
came in the character of an ambassador, enraged the Romans; and
they set about the operations for the siege with great vigor. In
spite of the efforts of the Jews, the fosse which protected the
wall on the east was speedily filled up; and the Romans then began,
as at Jotapata, to raise an embankment facing the wall.

The day after the Romans had established their camp, John and
his followers advanced along the mountain until they could look
down upon it and, for a long time, watched the Romans at work, and
learned all the details of the camp.

“You must fix them in your minds,” John said, “in order that,
even on a dark night, you may be able to make your way about it
without difficulty; so that you may be able, after striking a blow,
to fly directly to the mountain–for any who get confused, and miss
their way, will assuredly be killed. You see, the enemy have placed
a strong guard, halfway up the hillside, in order to protect
themselves from surprise; but it will be possible, by moving down
to the streams, and then mounting again, to reach the camp without
passing through them. And by the same way we must make our retreat
for, if we succeed in setting the camp on fire, the flames will
enable the guard on the mountains to see us approaching them.

“I had hoped that we might be able to penetrate, unobserved, to
the tent of Vespasian, and to slay him and some of his generals
but, by the bustle that we see round that tower on the hillside,
and by the strong force of cavalry picketed round it, it is evident
that he has taken up his quarters there and, indeed, from the top
of the tower he can look down upon the town, and on all that is
passing there, and issue his directions to his troops accordingly;
so we must give up that idea. Another time, we may be more
fortunate.

“But see, a great number of troops are ascending the hill
towards us, doubtless to cut timber for their works. As soon as
they are at work, we will attack them.”

The party retired into the forest and, as soon as they heard the
sound of the Roman axes, they crept quietly forward; moving
noiselessly, with their sandaled feet, among the trees. When within
a short distance of the Romans, John ordered them to halt; and
crept forward, with Jonas, to reconnoiter. There was little fear of
their being heard, for several hundred men were at work, felling
trees; a line of sentries, at ten paces apart, standing under arms
to prevent a surprise. The Romans were working too thickly to
permit of any successful action, by so small a party; and John saw
that the idea of an attack must be abandoned, and that he must
confine himself, for the present, to harassing the sentries.

Rejoining his men, he told them what he had discovered; and bade
them scatter along the line and, crawling up under the protection
of the trees, to approach as near as they could to the line of
sentries; and then to shoot at them–or at the workmen, many of
whom, having thrown off their heavy armor to enable them the better
to work, offered more favorable marks for the arrows than the
sentries–whose faces, only, were exposed.

They were on no account to come to close quarters with the
Romans. If the latter advanced, they were instantly to retire,
approaching again as soon as the Romans recommenced their work; and
so to continue, until he blew the signal for them to draw off,
altogether. They were not to begin until they heard his signal for
attack.

After allowing some little time to elapse for the men to get
into position, John blew his horn. A moment, and cries and shouts
were heard along the whole Roman line. The sound of chopping
instantly ceased, and the Roman trumpets blew to arms.

John had advanced sufficiently near to see the Roman workmen
before he gave the signal. Jonas was a little in advance of him
and, as the horn sounded, he saw him step out from behind a tree,
whirl his sling round his head and discharge a stone and, almost
simultaneously, a Roman sentinel, some forty paces away, fell with
a crash upon the ground.

The Roman soldiers who had retained their armor ran instantly
forward, to support their sentries. The others hastily buckled on
their breastplates, caught up their bucklers and helmets, and
joined their comrades. Arrows continued to fall among them from
their invisible foes and, although most of these fell harmless from
their armor, several soldiers fell, in addition to the seven or
eight who had been killed by the first volley.

The centurion in command soon saw that the number of his
assailants was small but, afraid of being drawn into an ambush, he
hesitated to give orders for an advance; but dispatched a messenger
instantly to camp, contenting himself with throwing out strong
parties a hundred yards in advance of his line. These now became
the objects of attack, while arrows ceased to fall among the main
body of the troops.

John moved round the flank, till he gained a position whence he
could observe the camp. The trumpets above had been heard there,
and the troops had already taken up their position under arms. As
he looked on, he saw the messenger run up to a party of mounted
officers. A minute later a trumpet sounded, and a strong body of
Arabian archers advanced, at a run, up the slope. John at once
withdrew to his first position, and sounded the order for instant
retreat; and then, hurrying back half a mile, sounded the note for
his followers to assemble at the spot where he was standing.

In a few minutes, all had joined him. They were in high spirits
at the success of this first skirmish; and wondered why they had
been so suddenly called off, when the Romans had shown no signs of
advancing against them.

“There are fully a thousand Arab archers in the forest, by this
time,” John said. “They are as fleet of foot as we are, and it
would be madness to remain. We have stopped their work, for a time;
and have killed many, without a scratch to ourselves. That is well
enough, for today. Tomorrow we will beat them up, again.”

At daybreak, two of the party were sent forward to the edge of
the wood, to see with what force the Romans went out to work. They
brought back the report that they were accompanied by a strong body
of archers; and that, as soon as they reached the forest, the
archers were scattered in front of them for a long distance, and
that it would be impossible to approach them, unobserved.

On the previous afternoon, John had dispatched Jonas to Abila,
and he had returned with a number of cows’ horns. Round the fire in
the evening, the men had set to work to pierce the points with
heated arrowheads, and had converted them into instruments capable
of giving a deep, prolonged sound. On the return of the scouts,
John set his men in motion.

“We cannot fight them, today, but we can hinder their work. We
will scatter through the forest and, as we approach them, each is
to sound his horn; and continue to do so, from time to time. The
Romans will think that a great force is advancing against
them.”

This was done, with the effect John had anticipated. Hearing the
sound of horns, all over the mountainside, the Romans concluded
that a great force was advancing to attack them; and the archers
were at once recalled. The troops all stood to arms and, for
several hours, remained waiting an attack. Then, after strong
bodies of heavy-armed troops–preceded by the archers, skirmishing
before them–had pushed some distance into the forest without
meeting with an enemy, the work recommenced; a considerable number
still standing to their arms, as protectors to the rest.

Although a certain amount of time had been gained, for the city,
by the interruption of the work of bringing in timber, John had
undertaken these sham attacks rather with the purpose of
accustoming his band to work together, and to give them confidence,
than with the view of troubling the Romans. In this he was
perfectly successful. The band, when they reached their camp, that
evening, were in high spirits. They had, for two days, puzzled and
baffled a large Roman force; had inflicted some loss upon them, and
forced them to desist from their work. They were pleased with
themselves, and their leader; and had lost much of the dread of the
Romans which the capture of Jotapata, Japha, and Tarichea, and the
tales of their cruelty and ferocity, had excited among the whole
population.

A reverse, at the commencement of their work, would have been
fatal; and John had felt that, however earnest the men were, in
their determination to die fighting for their country, the loss of
a few of their number at the outset would have so dispirited the
rest that the probability was that the band would disperse–or
would, at any rate, be unwilling to undertake any desperate
operation. But in their present mood they were ready for any
enterprise upon which he might lead them; and he, accordingly, told
them that he should abstain, next day, from a continuance of his
attacks upon the working party; but that, at night, he would carry
out the design of setting fire to their camp.

Accordingly, the following day, the Romans pursued their work
unmolested; although they still continued the precaution of keeping
a force of archers, and parties of heavy-armed troops, in advance
of those working in the wood. John did not move till the afternoon;
and then, descending the hill to the right, he skirted along in the
lower forest until within two miles of Gamala. Here he halted until
nightfall.

While waiting for the hour of action, he gave final instructions
to his men, and assigned to them the order in which they should
ascend from the river towards the rear of the camp. When they
approached the spot where they would probably find Roman sentries
posted, they were to advance singly, crawling along upon the
ground. Those who first went through were to keep straight on until
they reached the further end of the camp; stopping, as near as they
could judge, fifty paces apart. They were then to wait for half an
hour, so as to be sure that all would have gained their allotted
positions. Then, when they saw a certain star sink below the
horizon (a method of calculating time to which all were accustomed)
they were to creep forward into the Roman camp; and each to make
his way, as noiselessly as possible, until he came within a few
paces of one of the smoldering fires of the Romans, and to wait
until they heard a single note from John’s horn.

Each was at once to spring forward, seize a lighted brand and
fire the nearest tent; and then to crawl away–cutting, as they
went, the ropes of the tents, so as to bring them down, and create
as much confusion as possible. Then, either by crawling or, if
discovered, by leaping to their feet and making a sudden rush, all
were to make their way down to the river again; to follow its banks
for half a mile, and then wait in a body for an hour. At the end of
that time they were to make their way back to their camp in the
mountain; certain, by that time, that all who were alive would have
rejoined them. Should he himself not be with the party, they were
at once to proceed to the election of another leader.

At about ten o’clock they again moved forward and, descending to
the river, followed its banks until they arrived at the spot they
had fixed on; then, in single file, they began to climb the hill.
John placed himself in the middle of the line, in order to have a
central position when the attack began. As soon as they reached the
top of the slope, they lay down and, one by one, crawled forward
into the darkness; two or three minutes being allowed to elapse
between the departure of each man. They could hear the call of the
Roman sentries as they answered each other, every half hour; and
knew that the line was but a hundred yards or so in front of them.
The night was very dark, and no sudden shout proclaimed that those
ahead had been noticed.

When John’s turn came to advance, Jonas was to follow next
behind him. All had left their bows, arrows, bucklers, and swords
behind them, and carried only their knives; for they had not come
to fight, and the knives were required only for cutting the tent
ropes or, in case of discovery, to enable them to take a life or
two before they fell, fighting. Each had sworn to kill himself, if
he found escape impossible, in order to escape a death by torture
if he fell alive into the hands of the Romans.

John, on approaching the line of sentries, was guided by sound,
only, in trying to avoid them. He could not see their figures; but
could hear the sound of their footsteps, and the clash of their
arms, as they tramped a few yards backwards and forwards. He was,
like his comrades, stripped to the waist–having only on a short
garment, reaching halfway down the knee–as it was upon speed, and
activity, that his life would depend.

Without interruption, he crawled through the lines of sentries
and continued his course until he was, as near as he could tell,
opposite the center of the long line of tents; then he lay quiet,
watching the setting of the star. No sound was heard from the camp
in front; although from down the hillside beyond it came a confused
noise, as of a host of men at work; and the glare of many fires
reddened the skies for, there, five thousand men were at work
raising the embankment against the doomed city; while the archers
and slingers maintained a never-ceasing conflict, of missiles, with
the defenders on the walls.

The star seemed, to John, as if it hung on its course; so long
was it in sinking to the horizon. But at last it sank; and John,
crawling noiselessly forward, made his way into the Roman camp. It
was arranged with wide and regular streets, laid out with
mechanical accuracy. Here and there, in front of a tent of a
commanding officer, sentries paced to and fro; the sound of their
footsteps and the clash of their arms, each time they turned,
giving warning of their positions. In the center of the streets the
fires–round which the soldiers had, shortly before, been
gathered–still glowed and flickered for, although the days were
hot, the cold at night rendered fires desirable; and there was an
abundance of fuel to be obtained, from the hills.

John crawled along with the greatest care. He had no fear of
being seen, but had he come roughly against a tent-rope he might
have brought out some wakeful occupant of the tent to see who was
moving.

He continued his course until he found himself opposite a fire,
in which some of the brands were burning brightly; while there was
no sentry on guard, within a distance of fifty yards. So far,
everything had gone well; neither in passing through the lines of
the sentries, nor in making their way into the camp, had any of the
band been observed. It was certain now that some, at least, would
succeed in setting fire to the tents, before they were discovered;
and the wind, which was blowing briskly from the mountains, would
speedily spread the flames; and a heavy blow would be inflicted
upon the enemy.

Chapter 9: The Storming Of
Gamala.

At last, John made sure that all his followers must have taken
up a favorable position. Rising to his feet he sounded a short note
on his horn; then sprang forward and seized one of the blazing
brands, and applied it to a tent. The canvas, dried by the
scorching sun, lit in an instant and, as the flame leaped up, John
ran further among the tents, lighted another and, leaving the brand
there, sprang twenty yards away and then threw himself down.

By this time, although not twenty seconds had elapsed since he
had given the signal, a sudden uproar had succeeded the stillness
which had reigned in the camp. The sentries had started on their
posts, as they heard the note of the horn; but had stood a moment,
irresolute, not knowing what it meant. Then, as the first flash of
flame shot up, a simultaneous shout had arisen from every man on
guard; rising louder and louder as the first flame was followed,
almost instantly, by a score of others in different parts of the
camp.

It was but a few seconds later that the first trumpeter who
rushed from his tent blew the alarm. Before its notes ceased, it
was answered all over the camp and, with a start, the sleeping
soldiers sprang up, caught up their arms, and rushed out of their
tents. Startled, as they were, with the suddenness of the awaking,
and the sight of the blazing tents, there was none of that
confusion that would have occurred among troops less inured to
warfare. Each man did his duty and–buckling on their arms as best
they might, stumbling over the tent ropes in the darkness, amazed
by the sound of the fall of tents, here and there, expecting every
moment to be attacked by their unseen foe–the troops made their
way speedily to the wide streets, and there fell in together, in
military array, and waited for orders.

These were not long in coming. As soon as the generals reached
the spot, they told off a number of men to endeavor to extinguish
the flames; sent other parties to scour the camp, and search for
the enemy; while the rest, in solid order, awaited any attack that
might be made upon them.

But, short as was the time that had elapsed since the first
alarm, it had sufficed to give the flames such hold and power that
they were beyond control. With extraordinary rapidity the fire had
leaped from tent to tent, and threatened to overwhelm the whole
camp. The soldiers tried, in vain, to arrest the progress of the
flames; rushing among the blazing tents, cutting the ropes to bring
them to the ground, and trying to beat out the masses of fire as
they fell. Many were terribly burnt, in their endeavors, but in
vain; and the officers soon called them off, and set them to work
pulling down the tents which the fire had not yet reached. But even
this was useless: the flakes of fire, driven before the wind, fell
on the heaps of dried canvas; and the flames spread almost as
rapidly as they had done when the tents were standing.

Nor were the parties in search of the incendiaries more
successful. John had lain quiet, where he threw himself down, for a
minute or two; by which time the tents had emptied of their
occupants. Then, pausing only occasionally to circle a tent and cut
away its ropes, he made his way to the edge of the camp. By this
time the sheet of flame had extended well-nigh across the camp;
extending high above it, and lighting it almost as if by day. But
between him and the fire lay, still, a dark mass of tents; for the
wind was blowing in the opposite direction and, light as it was
elsewhere, in the black shadow of the tents it was still dark in
the extreme.

John made his way along, until he came to the end of the next
street, and then paused. Already, three or four active figures had
run past him at the top of their speed, and he wished to be the
last to retreat. He stayed till he heard the tramp of troops coming
down–driven out by the spreading flames–and then sprang across
the end of the road and dashed along at full speed, still keeping
close to the line of tents.

A shout, which rose from the leading files of the Roman column,
showed that he was seen. As he neared the end of the next opening,
the Roman soldiers were pouring out; and he turned in among the
tents again. Through these he made his way; dashing across the open
spaces and, once, rushing through the midst of a Roman
column–through which he passed before the troops had time to
strike at, or seize him.

At last, he reached the extremity of the camp. The slope down to
the river was but fifty yards away and, once over the brow, he
would be in darkness and safe from pursuit. But already the Romans
had drawn up a column of men along the edge of the plateau, to cut
off any who might try to pass. John paused among the last row of
the tents, hesitating what course to adopt. He could not make
directly up the mountain, for the space between it and the camp was
now covered by the Roman cavalry–the greater portion of their
infantry being still engaged in trying to save at least some
portion of the camp.

Suddenly he heard a footstep among the tents, close behind him.
He drew back into the tent by which he was standing, and peered
cautiously out. A Roman soldier came hastily along, and entered the
next tent–doubtless to fetch some article of value, which he had
left behind him as he rushed out, on the first alarm.

A sudden idea flashed across John’s brain. He waited till the
soldier came out, followed him with silent steps; and then sprang
upon him at a bound, hurling him to the ground, and burying his
knife again and again in his body.

Not a cry had escaped the Roman. The instant he was sure he was
dead, John rose to his feet, placed the helmet of the fallen man on
his head, secured the breastplate by a single buckle round his
neck, took up his buckler and sword; and then, emerging from one of
the tents, ran towards the Roman line, making for one of the narrow
openings between the different companies. Several other
soldiers–who had, like the man whom John had killed, gone back to
their tents to fetch armor, or arms, left there–were also hurrying
to take their places in the ranks. Therefore, no special attention
was paid to John until he was within a few yards of the
opening.

Then a centurion at the end of the line said sternly:

“You will be punished, tomorrow, for not being in your place.
What is your name?” for, as John was between him and the sheet of
flame rising from the camp, the Roman was unable to see his
face.

Instead of halting, as he expected, John sprang past him and,
throwing down his helmet and buckler, dashed through the space
between the companies.

“Seize him! Cut him down!” the centurion shouted; but John was
already descending the slope.

As he ran, he swung the loosely buckled breastplate round on to
his back; and it was well he did so for, a moment later, a Roman
javelin rang against it, the force of the blow almost throwing him
on his face. But, in a moment, he continued his course. He was in
total darkness now and, though the javelins were flying around him,
they were thrown at random. But the descent had now become so steep
he was obliged to pause in his course, and to make his way
cautiously.

He undid the buckle, and left the breastplate behind him; threw
down the sword; and climbed down until he stood by the side of the
river. He could hear shouts above him, and knew that the Romans
were searching the hillside, hoping that he had been killed or
wounded by their darts. But he had no fear of pursuit. He swam the
river–for he had struck upon a deep spot–and then, at full speed,
ran along on the bank–knowing that some of the Roman cavalry were
encamped upon the plain, and would soon be on the spot.

However, all was quiet, and he met no one until he arrived
opposite the place where it had been arranged that the party should
meet. Then he waded across.

“Is that you, John?” a voice exclaimed.

“It is I, Jonas. Thank God, you have got back safely! How many
are with you?”

There was a loud cry of satisfaction and, as he made his way up
the bank, a number of his followers crowded round him; all in the
highest state of delight at his return. Jonas threw his arms round
his neck, crying with joy.

“I thought you must have fallen, John. I have been here ten
minutes. Most of the others were here before me. Only three have
arrived since and, for the last five minutes, none have come.”

“I fear no more will come,” John said. “The Romans have cut off
all retreat.

“How many are missing?”

“We were nineteen, here, before you came,” one of the men
replied.

“Then there are six missing,” John said. “We will not give them
up. Some may have made their way straight up the mountain, fearing
to be seen as they passed the ends of the open spaces. Some may
have made their way, down the opposite slope, to the other arm of
the river. But, even if all are killed, we need not repine. They
have died as they wished–taking vengeance upon the Romans.

“It has been a glorious success. More than half the Roman camp
is assuredly destroyed; and they must have lost a prodigious
quantity of stores, of all kinds.

“Who are missing?”

He heard the names of those absent.

“I trust we may see some of them, yet,” he said; “but if not,
Jonas, tomorrow, shall carry to their friends the news of their
death. They will be wept; but their parents will be proud that
their sons have died in striking so heavy a blow upon our
oppressors. They will live, in the memory of their villages, as men
who died doing a great deed; and women will say:

“‘Had all done their duty, as they did, the Romans would never
have enslaved our nation.’

“We will wait another half hour, here; but I fear that no more
will join us, for the Romans are drawn up all along the line where,
alone, a descent could be made in the valley.”

“Then how did you escape, John,” Jonas asked; “and how is it
that you were not here, before? Several of those who were in the
line beyond you have returned.”

“I waited till I hoped that all had passed,” John said. “Each
one who ran past the open spaces added to the danger–for the
Romans beyond could not but notice them, as they passed the spaces
lighted by the flames–and it was my duty, as leader, to be the
last to go.”

“Six of those who were beyond you have joined us,” one of the
men said. “The other six are those that are missing.”

“That is what I feared,” John answered. “I felt sure that those
behind me would have got safely away, before the Romans recovered
from their first confusion. The danger was, of course, greater in
proportion to the distance from the edge of the slope.”

“But how did you get through, John, since you say that all
escape is cut off?”

John related how he had slain the Roman soldier, and escaped
with his armor; and the recital raised him still higher in the
estimation of his followers–for the modern feeling, that it is
right to kill even the bitterest enemy only in fair fight, was
wholly unknown in those days when, as was done by the Romans at
Jotapata, men would cut the throat of a sleeping foe, with no more
compunction than if they were slaughtering a fowl.

Perceiving, by John’s narration, that there was no chance of any
of their comrades getting through to join them, now, the party
struck off into the hills and, after three hours’ march, reached
their encampment. They gave a shout of joy, as they approached it;
for a fire was burning brightly, and they knew that some of their
comrades must have reached the spot before them.

Four men rose, as they approached, and joyful greetings were
exchanged. Their stories were soon told. As soon as they heard–by
the shouts of the Romans on the hillside, and of the outer
sentries–that they were discovered as they passed the spaces lit
up by flames, they had turned back. Two of them had made their way
up a deep watercourse, past the Roman guard on the hill–the
attention of the soldiers being fixed upon the camp. The other two
had climbed down the precipitous rocks on the other side of the
hill.

“It was terrible work, in the darkness,” one of them said. “I
fell, once, and thought I had broken my leg; but, fortunately, I
had caught on a ledge, and was able to go on after a time. I think
two of our party must have perished there; for twice, as I was
descending, I heard a sudden cry, and then a sound as of a body
falling from rock to rock.”

“Better so than to have fallen into the hands of the Romans,”
John said, “and to have been forced to slay themselves by their own
hands, as we agreed to do.

“Well, my friends, we have done a glorious deed. We have begun
well. Let us trust that we may strike many more such blows against
our tyrants. Now, let us thank God that he has fought by our hands,
and that He has brought so many of us back from so great a
danger!

“Simeon, you are the oldest of the party; do you lift up your
voice for us all.”

The party all stood listening reverently, while Simeon said a
prayer of thanksgiving. Then one of them broke out into one of the
psalms of triumph, and all joined at once. When this was done, they
gathered round the fire, prepared their cakes of meal, and put meat
on long skewers on the flames. Having eaten, they talked for hours,
each in turn giving his account of his share in the adventure.

They then talked of their missing friends; those from the same
village telling what they knew of them, and what relations they had
left behind. At last, just as morning was breaking, they retired
into the little bowers of boughs that had been erected to keep off
the cold–which was, at this elevation, sharp at nights. They were
soon fast asleep.

The first thing the next morning, Jonas set off to explore the
foot of the precipices on the south side of the Roman camp, and to
search for the bodies of their two missing comrades. He found one,
terribly crushed; of the other he could find no sign, whatever. On
his returning to the mountain camp, one of the young men was sent
off to bear, to the relatives of the man whose body had been found,
the certain news of his death; and to inquire, of the friends of
the other, whether he had any relations living near the mountains
to whom he might have made his way, if hurt or disabled by his
fall.

The messenger returned, on the following day, with the news that
their missing comrade had already arrived at his home. His fall had
not been a very deep one and, when he recovered consciousness, some
hours before daybreak, he found that one of his legs was useless,
and an arm broken. Thinking that, in the morning, the Romans might
search the foot of the precipices, he dragged himself with the
greatest difficulty a few hundred yards and, there, concealed
himself among some bushes.

A man came along, in search of an ass that had strayed. He
called to him and, on the man hearing that he was one of the party
who had caused the great fire in the Roman camp–the sight of whose
flames had caused such exultation in the heart of every Jew in the
plains around–he hurried away, and fetched another with a donkey.
Upon this the injured man was lifted, and carried down to the lake;
passing, on the way, several parties of Roman soldiers, to whom the
idea did not occur that the sick man was one of the party who had
inflicted such a terrible blow upon them on the previous night.
Once by the side of the lake, there was no difficulty in getting
him on board a boat, in which he was carried to his native
village.

The Romans were furious at the blow which had been struck them.
More than half their camp and camp equipage had been destroyed; a
great part of the baggage of the officers and soldiers had been
burned, and each man had to deplore losses of his own, as well as
the destruction of the public property. But, more than this, they
felt the blow to their pride. There was not a soldier but felt
humiliated at the thought that a number of the enemy–for, from the
fire breaking out simultaneously, it was certain at least a score
of men must have been engaged in the matter–should penetrate
unseen into the midst of their camp; and worse still that, after
effecting all this damage, all should have succeeded in making
their escape–for, so far as they knew, the whole of the Jews got
safely away.

But not for a moment did they relax their siege operations. The
troops engaged upon the embankment were relieved at the usual hour;
and half a legion went up into the mountains, as usual, to procure
timber; while four thousand archers, divided into parties two
hundred strong, extended themselves all over the hills, and
searched the forest for miles for some sign of their enemy–who
were, they were now convinced, comparatively few in numbers.

The news of the daring attack on the Roman camp spread far and
wide among the towns and villages of the plains; and aroused the
drooping spirits of the people, who had begun to think that it
would be worse than useless to offer any opposition to the Roman
power. Whence came the party which had accomplished the deed, or
who was its leader, none knew; and the inhabitants of the villages
near Hippos who, alone, could have enlightened them, were careful
to maintain an absolute silence; for they knew that if, by any
chance, a rumor reached the Romans of the locality from which their
assailants had come, they would have carried fire and sword among
all the villages by the lake.

Titus was away, being absent on a mission in Syria; and
Vespasian himself went among the troops, exhorting them not to be
downcast at the disaster that had befallen them, for that the
bravest men were subject to sudden misfortunes of this kind; and
exhorted them to push on the siege with all the more vigor, in
order that they might the sooner remove to camping grounds where
they would not be exposed to such attacks by a lurking foe.

The soldiers replied with cheers; and the next day, the
embankment being completed, they opened so terrible a fire from
their war engines upon the defenders of the walls that these were
forced to retire into the city. The Romans at once pushed forward
their battering rams to the walls and, setting to work with the
greatest vigor, speedily made three breaches; through which they
rushed, with exulting shouts. The Jews ran down to oppose them, and
a desperate conflict took place in the narrow streets; but the
Romans, pouring in in great numbers through the breaches, pressed
them step by step up the steep hill.

The Jews, animated by despair, again turned, and fell upon them
with such fury that the Romans could not withstand the assault, and
were driven down the steep lanes and paths, with great slaughter.
But those who fled were stopped by the crowd of their own men,
pressing up the hill from below; and the Roman soldiers–jammed, as
it were, between the Jews above, and their own countrymen
below–took refuge in the houses, in great numbers.

But these were not constructed to bear the weight of so many
men, in heavy armor. The floors fell in and, as many of the Romans
climbed up on to the flat roofs, these also fell, bringing the
walls down with them. Standing, as they did, almost one above
another, each house that fell brought down the one below it and,
thus, the ruin spread–as one house of cards brings down
another–until the whole of the town standing on the steep
declivity, on its eastern side, was a mass of ruins.

The confusion was tremendous. The dust of the falling houses so
thickened the air that men could not see a yard in front of them.
Hundreds of the Roman soldiers were buried among the ruins. Some
were killed, at once. Others, jammed between fallen timbers, strove
in vain to extricate themselves, and shouted to their comrades to
come to their assistance; but these–enveloped in darkness,
ignorant of the ground, half suffocated with dust–were powerless
to aid them.

In the confusion, Romans fell by the swords of Romans. Many who
could not extricate themselves slew themselves, with their own
swords; while the exulting Jews–seeing, in this terrible disaster,
a miracle effected in their favor–crowded down from above, slaying
with their swords, hurling masses of stone down on the foe, killing
those unable to retreat, and adding to the confusion and terror
with their yells of triumph, which rose high above the confused
shouts of the Romans.

Vespasian himself, who had entered the town with his soldiers,
and had pushed forward with them up the hill, was nearly involved
in the common destruction; but, as the houses came crashing down
around him, he shouted loudly to the soldiers near to gather round
him, and to lock their shields together to form a testudo.
Recognizing the voice of their beloved general, the soldiers near
rallied round him and, sheltered beneath their closely-packed
shields, resisted the storm of darts and stones from above and,
gradually and in good order, made their way down over the ruins and
issued safely from the walls.

The loss of the Romans was great. The soldiers were greatly
dispirited by their defeat, and especially by the thought that they
had deserted their general in their retreat. Vespasian, however,
was wise enough to see that this was no time for rebuke; and he
accordingly addressed them in language of approbation. He said that
their repulse was in no way due to want of valor on their part, but
to an accident such as none could foresee; and which had been
brought about, to some extent, by their too impetuous ardor, which
led them to fight rather with the desperate fury of the Jews than
with the steady discipline that distinguished Roman soldiers.

The defenders of the city were full of exultation at their
success and, setting to work with ardor, soon repaired the breaches
and strengthened the walls. But all knew that, in spite of their
momentary success, their position was desperate, for their
provisions were almost exhausted. The stores which had been laid up
were very large; but the siege had lasted for many months before
the arrival of the Romans, and the number of the people assembled
within the walls far exceeded the usual population.

The Romans, on their part, increased the height of their
embankment, and prepared for a second assault.

In the meantime, Itabyrium had fallen. The hill of Tabor was
inaccessible, except on the north side; and the level area, on the
top, was surrounded by a strong wall. Placidus had been sent, with
six hundred horse, against the place; but the hill was so steep,
and difficult, that he hesitated to attack it. Each party pretended
to be anxious to treat, each intending to take advantage of the
other. Placidus invited the garrison to descend the hill, and
discuss terms with him. The Itabyrians accepted the invitation,
with the design of assailing the Romans, unawares. Placidus, who
was on his guard, feigned a retreat. The Itabyrians boldly pursued
on to the plain; when the Roman horse, wheeling round, dashed among
them, inflicting terrible slaughter and cutting off their retreat
towards the city. Those who escaped the slaughter fled to
Jerusalem.

The town, weakened by the loss of so many fighting men, and
being much distressed by want of water, again opened negotiations;
and surrendered upon the promise that the lives of all within it
should be spared.

Hunger was now doing its work among the people of Gamala. The
inhabitants suffered terribly, for the provisions were all taken
for the use of the fighting men; and the rest had to subsist, as
best they could, on any little hoards they might have hidden away,
or on garbage of all kinds. Numbers made their escape through the
sewers and passages which led into the ravines, where the Romans
had placed no guards.

Still the assaults of the Romans were bravely repelled until, on
the night of the 22d of September, two soldiers of the Fifteenth
Legion contrived to creep, unobserved, to the foot of one of the
highest towers of the wall; and began, silently, to undermine its
foundations. Before morning broke, they had got in so far that they
could not be perceived from the walls. Still they worked in,
leaving a few stones in their place, to support the tower until the
last moment. Then they struck these away, and ran for their
lives.

The tower fell with a terrible crash, with the guards upon it.
In their terror, the defenders of the walls leaped up and fled in
all directions; and many were killed by the Romans’ darts–among
them Josephus, one of their two leaders–while Chares, who was
lying in the height of a fever, expired from the excitement of the
calamity.

The confusion in the town was terrible. Deprived of their two
leaders, and with the town open to assault, none knew what was to
be done. All expected instant destruction, and the air was filled
with the screams and wailings of the women; but the Romans, mindful
of their last repulse, did not at once advance to the assault. But
in the afternoon Titus–who had now returned–taking two hundred
horse, and a force of infantry, crossed the breach and entered the
town.

Some of the defenders rushed to meet him. Others, catching up
their children, ran with their wives to the citadel. The defenders
fought bravely, but were driven steadily up the hill by the
Romans–who were now reinforced by the whole strength of the army,
led by Vespasian. Quarter was neither asked nor given. The
defenders contested every foot of the hill, until the last defender
of Gamala, outside, the citadel had fallen.

Then Vespasian led his men against the citadel itself. It stood
on a rugged rock, of great height, offering tremendous difficulties
to the assailants. The Jews stood upon the summit, rolling down
great stones and darts upon the Romans, as they strove to ascend.
But the very heavens seemed to fight against the unfortunate Jews,
for a terrific tempest suddenly broke upon the city. So furious was
the wind that the Jews could no longer stand on the edge of the
crag, or oppose the progress of the enemy; while the Romans,
sheltered from the wind by the rock, itself, were able to press
upwards.

The platform once gained, they rushed upon the Jews, slaying all
they met, men, women, and children. Vast numbers of the Jews, in
their despair, threw themselves headlong, with their wives and
children, over the precipices and, when the butchery was complete,
five thousand bodies were found at the foot of the rocks. Four
thousand lay dead on the platform above. Of all those in Gamala
when the Romans entered, two women, alone, escaped. They were the
sisters of Philip, a general in Agrippa’s army. They managed to
conceal themselves until the carnage was over, and the fury of the
Romans had subsided; and then showed themselves, and proclaimed who
they were.

Gischala now, alone of the cities of Galilee, defied the Roman
arms. The people themselves were, for the most part, tillers of the
soil, and were anxious to make their submission; but John–the
rival and bitter enemy of Josephus–with the robber band he had
collected, was master of the town, and refused to allow any talk of
submission. The city had none of the natural strength of Jotapata
and Gamala, and Vespasian sent Titus against it with a thousand
horse; while he ordered the Tenth Legion to take up its winter
quarters at Scythopolis; and himself moved, with the other two
legions, to Caesarea.

Titus, on his arrival before Gischala, saw that the city could
be easily taken by assault but, desirous of avoiding any more
shedding of blood, and learning that the inhabitants were desirous
of surrendering, he sent an officer before it to offer terms of
capitulation. The troops of John of Gischala manned the walls and,
when the summons of Titus was proclaimed, John answered that the
garrison accepted willingly the generous terms that were offered;
but that, the day being the Sabbath, nothing could be concluded,
without an infringement of the law, until the next day.

Titus at once granted the delay, and drew off his troops to a
neighboring town. In the night, John of Gischala marched away with
all his armed men; followed by many of the inhabitants, with their
wives and children–fearing to remain in the city, exposed to the
anger of Titus, when he found he had been duped. The women and
children soon began to drop behind; but the men pressed on, leaving
the helpless and despairing women behind them.

In the morning, when Titus appeared before the town, it opened
its gates to him at once; the people hailing him as their deliverer
from the oppression they had so long suffered, at the hands of John
and his bands of ruffians. Titus entered Gischala amidst the
acclamations of the people; and behaved with great moderation,
injuring no one, and contenting himself with throwing down a
portion of the walls; and warning the inhabitants that, if they
again rose in rebellion, the same mercy would not be extended to
them.

He had at once dispatched a troop of horse in pursuit of the
fugitives. They overtook them, and slew six thousand of the men,
and brought three thousand women and children back into the city.
John himself, with the strongest of his band, were not overtaken,
but made their way to Jerusalem.

The fame of the successful exploit, of the destruction of the
Roman camp, brought large numbers of young men flocking to the
hills, as soon as the Romans retired from Gamala, all eager to join
the band; and John could have recruited his numbers to any extent
but, now that all Galilee had fallen, and the Romans retired to
their winter quarters, he did not see that there was anything to be
done, until the spring. It would be madness to attack either of the
great Roman camps, at Scythopolis or Caesarea; and although,
doubtless, the garrisons left in Tiberias, Tarichea, and other
towns might have been driven out, this would only have brought upon
those cities the anger of the Romans, and involved them in ruin and
destruction.

Still less would it have been of any advantage to go down, at
present, into Judea. That province was suffering woes, as great as
the Romans could inflict upon it, from the action of the factions.
Under the pretense of punishing all who were supposed to be
favorable to making terms with Rome, bands of armed men pervaded
the whole country, plundering and slaying the wretched
inhabitants.

Law and order were at an end. Those in Jerusalem who claimed,
for themselves, the chief authority in the country had done nothing
to assist their countrymen, in the north, in their struggle with
the Romans. Not a man had been dispatched to Galilee. The leaders
were occupied in their own desperate feuds, and battles took place
in the streets of the city. The peaceful inhabitants were plundered
and ill treated, and the condition of those within the walls was as
terrible as was that of those without. Anarchy, plunder, and
carnage extended throughout Judea and, while the destruction of
Jerusalem was threatened by the Roman army in the north, the Jews
made no preparation, whatever, for its defense, but spent their
whole time and energy in civil strife.

When, therefore, the numerous band who had now gathered round
him urged him to lead them down to Jerusalem, John refused to do
so. Getting upon an elevated spot, where his voice could be heard
by them all, he said:

“My friends, you have heard, as well as I, what is taking place
in Jerusalem and the country round it. Did we go down there, what
good could we do? We should be drawn into the strife, on one side
or another; and the swords which should be kept for the defense of
the Temple against the Romans would be stained with Jewish blood.
Moreover, we should aid to consume the food stored away in the
granaries.

“Nor can we, through the winter, attempt any enterprise against
the Romans here. The woes of Galilee are over. Tens of thousands
have fallen, but those that survive can go about their business and
till their fields in peace. Were we to renew the war, here, we
should bring upon them a fresh outburst of the Roman vengeance.

“Therefore, there is naught for us to do, now; but in the
spring, when the Romans get into motion against Jerusalem, we will
march to its defense. We have naught to do with the evil deeds that
are being performed there; we have but to do our duty, and the
first duty of every Jew is to die, if need be, in the defense of
the Temple. Therefore, let us now disperse to our homes. When the
first news comes that the Romans are stirring, those of you who are
disposed to follow me, and obey my orders, can assemble here.

“But let only such come. Let the rest make their way, singly, to
Jerusalem. I am resolved to have only such with me who will follow
me as one man. You know how the factions rage in the city. A
compact body of men, true to themselves and their leader, can
maintain themselves aloof from the strife, and make themselves
respected by both parties; but single men must take sides with one
faction or other, or be ill treated by both.

“We are wanted, at home. The fields are lying untilled, for want
of hands; therefore let us lay aside our arms until the spring, and
do our duty to our families until we are called upon to aid in the
defense of the Temple. When the hour comes, I shall be ready to
lead, if you are ready to follow.”

John’s address received general approval, and the gathering
dispersed; all vowing that they would assemble in the spring, and
follow John wherever he chose to lead them–for he was already
regarded with an almost superstitious admiration in the country
around. His deliverance at Jotapata and the success that he, alone
of the Jewish leaders, had gained over the Romans, marked him in
their eyes as one specially chosen by God to lead them to victory;
and in a few hours the hill above Gamala was deserted, and John and
his followers were all on their way towards their homes.

Chapter 10: Captives.

John was received with great joy by his father; who had already
heard the story brought by the injured member of the band from
Gamala, and was filled with pride that his son should so have
distinguished himself. He at once agreed to John’s proposal that he
should start, on the following day, to fetch the women from Neve,
as there was no longer any fear of trouble from the Romans. Galilee
was completely subdued and, whatever events might take place in
Judea, those in the north would be unaffected by them.

The day after his return, then, John set out with Jonas for
Neve. John charged his companion on no account to say anything of
their doings at the siege of Gamala; and as communication was
difficult, and they had not heard from Simon since John had left
him, his friends at Neve were not aware that he had been absent
from the farm. Martha and Mary were delighted to see him, and to
hear that all was well at home. They had been greatly alarmed at
the news of the slaughter of the fishermen on the lake, fearing
that John might have gone across to Tarichea with some of his
friends in the village. Their fears on this head, however, abated
as time passed on and they did not hear from Simon; who, they felt
assured, would have brought the news to Martha, had aught happened
to their son.

They had mourned over the siege and massacre of Gamala, and had
been filled with joy when the news had arrived, three days before,
that the Roman army had marched away to take up its quarters for
the winter; and they had looked for the summons, which John
brought, for their return home.

“And does your father think, John, that there will be trouble
again in the spring? Shall we have to leave home again, as soon as
the winter is past?”

“He hopes not, mother. Gamala was the only town on this side of
the Jordan that resisted the Roman authority and, as all the
territories of Agrippa are now peaceful, there is no reason why the
Romans should enter these again; and indeed, all Galilee has now
surrendered. As Vespasian moved towards the sea, deputies came to
him from every town and village; and I think, now, that there will
be no more trouble there.”

“It has been terrible enough, my son. What tens of thousands of
men have perished, what destruction has been wrought! We have been
mourning, for months now, for the woes which have fallen upon our
people.”

“It has been most terrible, mother; and yet, it might have been
worse. Nigh a hundred and fifty thousand have fallen, at Gadara,
Jotapata, Japha, Tarichea, and Gamala; besides those who were slain
in the villages that had been sacked, and destroyed. Still,
considering all things, it might have been worse and, were it all
over now–did no more dangers threaten our nation–we might even
rejoice that no greater evils have befallen us, for our revolt
against Rome. But what has been done is but a preparation for the
siege of Jerusalem.

“However, do not let us begin to mourn over the future. The
storm has, for the present, passed away from us and, whatever
misfortunes have befallen our countrymen, we have happily escaped.
The farm stands uninjured, and no harm has come to any of us.”

“And all the villagers have escaped, John? Did none of our
neighbors go out in their boats to Tarichea? We feared, when we
heard of the sea fight, that some must have fallen.”

“No, mother. Fortunately, they listened to the counsels of my
father, who implored them not to put out on the lake for that, did
they do so, they would only bring misfortune and ruin upon
themselves.”

“And have you heard, John,” Mary asked, “anything of the
champion who they say has arisen? We have heard all sorts of tales
of him–how he harassed the Romans before Gamala and, with his
followers, burned their camp one night and well nigh destroyed
them; and how, when he goes into the fight, the Roman javelins drop
off without harming him; and how, when he strikes, the Romans fall
before his blows like wheat before a sickle.”

John burst into a laugh.

“I wonder, Mary, that the reports didn’t say also that he could
fly through the air when he chose; could render himself invisible
to the enemy; and could, by a wave of his hand, destroy them as the
hosts of Sennacherib were destroyed. The Romans were harassed
somewhat, at Gamala, by John and his followers, who crept into
their camp at night and set it on fire, and had a few skirmishes
with their working parties; but when you have said that, you have
said all that there is to say about it.”

“That is not like you, John,” Mary said, indignantly, for the
tales that had circulated through the province had fired her
imagination. “Everyone is talking of what he has done. He, alone of
all our leaders, has checked the Romans; and has shown wisdom, as
well as valor, in fighting. I should have thought you would have
been one of the first to praise him. Everyone is talking about him
and, since we heard of what he has been doing, mother and I pray
for him, daily, as we pray for you and your father; and now you
want to make out he has done nothing.”

“I do not want to make out that he has done nothing, Mary, for
doubtless the Lord has been with him, and has enabled him to give
some trouble to the Romans; but I was laughing at the fables you
have heard about him, and at the reports which had converted his
skirmishes with the Romans into all sorts of marvelous
actions.”

“I believe they were marvelous actions,” Mary said. “Why should
what people say be all wrong?

“We believe in him, don’t we, mother?”

“Yes, Mary. It is true that the tales we have heard may be, as
John says, exaggerated; but assuredly this new champion of our
people must be a man of wisdom and valor, and I see not why, as God
raised up champions for Israel in the old time, he should not do so
now, when our need is so great.”

“There is no reason, mother,” John said, more quietly, “but I
fear that the champion of Israel is not yet forthcoming. We have
heard of the doings of this John and, as I said, he has merely had
some skirmishes with the Romans–his band being too small to admit
of any regular fighting. He interrupted their work, and gave them
some trouble; and his men, creeping down into the camp, set it on
fire, and so caused them a good deal of loss; but more than this
cannot be said of him.”

“At any rate,” Mary said disdainfully, “he has done more than
your Josephus, John–for he brought ruin on all who took his
advice, and went into the cities he had fortified. It may please
you to make little of what this champion has done. Others do not
think so. Everywhere he is talked of, and praised–the old men are
talking of him, the Jewish maidens are singing songs in his honor. I
heard them, yesterday, gathered round a well near Neve. His father
must rejoice, and his mother be proud of him, if they are
alive.

“What do they say down by the lake, Jonas, of this captain? Are
not the tales we have heard believed, there?”

“I have heard nothing about the Roman javelins not harming him,”
Jonas said; “but he certainly got safely out of the hands of the
Romans, when they had well-nigh taken him; and all say that he is
brave and prudent, and men have great confidence and trust in
him.”

“Ridiculous, Jonas!” John exclaimed angrily, and Mary and his
mother looked at him in surprise.

“Truly, John,” his mother said, “what Mary said is just. This is
not like you. I should have thought you would have been one of the
first to admire this new leader, seeing that he is fighting in the
way I have heard you advocate as being that in which the Romans
should be fought, instead of the Jews being shut up in the
cities.”

“Quite so, mother! No doubt he is adopting the proper way of
fighting, and therefore has naturally had some success. I am only
saying that he has done nothing wonderful; but has given the Romans
some trouble by refusing to fight, and by merely trying to harass
them. If there were a thousand men who would gather small bands
together, and harass the Romans night and day in the same manner,
they would render it well-nigh impossible for them to make any
progress. As it was, he merely aided in delaying the fall of Gamala
by a day or two.

“And now, let us talk of something else. Our father has
succeeded in getting in the principal part of the harvest, but I
fear that this year you will be short of fruit. We have had no time
to gather in the figs, and they have all fallen from the trees; and
although we have made enough wine for our own use, there will be
but little to sell.”

“It matters not at all,” Martha said. “God has been very
merciful towards us and, so that we have but bread to eat and water
to drink, until next harvest, we shall have nothing to repine
about, when ruin and destruction have fallen upon so many.”

That evening, when Mary and Martha had retired to their
apartments, the former, who had been very silent all the evening,
said:

“I cannot understand, mother, why John speaks so coldly of the
doings of this brave leader; and why he was almost angry at our
praises of him. It seems altogether unlike him.”

“It is unlike him, Mary; but you must never be surprised at men,
they do not like to hear each other praised; and though I should
have thought, from what I know of my son, that he was above the
feeling of jealousy, I cannot but think that he showed some signs
of that feeling today.”

“But it seems absurd, mother. I can understand John being
jealous of any one his own age who surpassed him in any
exercises–though I never saw him so for, when in rowing on the
lake, or in shooting with bows and arrows, or in other sports, some
of our neighbors’ sons have surpassed him, he never seemed to mind
at all; and it seems almost absurd to think that he could be
jealous of a great leader, who has done brave deeds for our
people.”

“It does seem so, Mary, and I wonder myself; but it has been
ever one of our national faults to be jealous of our leaders. From
the time the people vexed Moses and Aaron, in the wilderness, it
has ever been the same. I grieve to see it in John, who has
distinguished himself greatly for his age, and of whom we are
proud; but no one is perfect, my child, and you must not trouble
because you find that your betrothed husband is not free from all
weaknesses.”

“I don’t expect him to be free from all weaknesses, mother; but
this is one of the last weaknesses I should have expected to find
in him, and it troubles me. When everything seemed so dark, it was
a pleasure to think that a hero, perhaps a deliverer, had arisen;
and now John seems to say that he has done nothing.”

“My dear child,” Martha said, “something may have occurred to
vex John on the way and, when men are put out, they will often show
it in the strangest manner. Probably John will, another time, speak
just as warmly in praise of our new leader as you would,
yourself.”

“Perhaps it may be so, mother,” Mary assented. “I can hardly
believe that John is jealous–it does seem so unlike himself.”

“I would not speak on the subject again, Mary, if I were you;
unless he, himself, brings it up. A wise woman keeps silence on
subjects which may lead to disagreement. You will learn, when you
have married, that this is the easiest and best way.”

“I suppose so, mother,” Mary said, in a tone of disappointment;
“but somehow it never seemed to me, before, that John and I could
have any subject on which there would be disagreement.”

“My dear Mary,” Martha said, smiling, “John and you are both
mortal; and although you may truly love each other–and will, I
trust, be very happy as husband and wife–subjects will occur upon
which you will differ; and then, as you know, the wisest plan is
for the wife to be silent. It is the wife’s duty always to give way
to the husband.”

Mary gave a little shrug of her shoulders, as if to intimate
that she did not regard altogether favorably this view of a wife’s
duties; however, she said no more, but kissed Martha, and retired
to bed.

The next morning they started early, and journeyed to
Capitolias, where they stayed at the house of some friends. In the
evening, the talk again turned upon the new leader, who had burned
the Roman camp. When they did so, John at once made some excuse,
and went out. He regretted, now, that he had not at once told his
mother what he had been doing. He had intended, in the first place,
to give her a little surprise; but had no idea of the exaggerated
reports that had been spread about and, when Mary broke out into
praise of the unknown leader, it seemed to him that it would have
been absurd to say that he, himself, was the person of whom she had
formed so fantastically exalted an opinion. Not having said so at
first, he did not see how he could say so, afterwards; and so left
the matter as it stood, until they should return home.

While John was out, he heard news which caused him some
uneasiness. It was said that parties of Roman horse, from
Scythopolis, had been scouring the country; burning many
villages–under the pretext that some Roman soldiers, who had
straggled away marauding on their own account, had been killed by
the peasants–slaughtering the people, and carrying off as slaves
such young women and men as were likely to fetch good prices.

He told his mother what he had heard; and asked her whether she
did not think that it would be better to stay where they were, for
a time, or return to Neve. But Martha was anxious to be at home,
again; and the friend with whom they were stopping said that these
reports were a week old, and that doubtless the Romans had returned
to their camp. She determined, therefore, that she and Mary would
continue their journey; but that the maids should remain with their
friend, at Capitolias, until the Roman excursions ceased.

They accordingly set out in the morning, as before–the two
women riding, and John and Jonas walking by the side of the
donkeys. Following the road by the side of the Hieromax they kept
on, without meeting anything to cause alarm, until they reached the
angle of the stream, where the road to Hippos branched off from
that which followed the river down to Tarichea. They had gone but a
short distance, when they saw a cloud of dust rising along the road
in front of them, and the sparkle of arms in the sun.

“Turn aside, mother,” John exclaimed. “Those must be the Romans
ahead.”

Turning aside, they rode towards some gardens and orchards at no
great distance but, before they reached them, two Roman soldiers
separated themselves from the rest, and galloped after them.

“Fly, John!” Martha said, hurriedly. “You and Jonas can
escape.”

“It would only ensure evil to you if we did, mother. No, we will
keep together.”

The Roman soldiers rode up, and roughly ordered the party to
accompany them back to the main body, which consisted of fifty men.
The leader, a young officer whose garments and armor showed that he
belonged to a family of importance, rode forward a few paces to
meet them.

“Some more of this accursed race of rebels!” he exclaimed.

“We are quiet travelers,” John said, “journeying from Capitolias
to Tarichea. We have harmed no one, my lord.”

“You are all the same,” the Roman said, scowling. “You speak us
fair one day, and stab us in the back the next.

“Pomponius,” he said to a sergeant, “put these two lads with the
rest. They ought to fetch a good price, for they are strong and
active. As to the girl, I will make a present of her, to the
general, to send to his wife in Rome. She is the prettiest Jewess I
have seen, since I entered the country. The old woman can go. She
is of no use to anyone.”

Martha threw her arms round Mary; and would have striven to
resist, with her feeble strength, the carrying out of the order,
when John said in Hebrew:

“Mother, you will ruin us all, and lose your own life! Go home
quietly, and trust to me to save Mary.”

The habit of submitting to her husband’s will, which Martha had
practiced all her life, asserted itself. She embraced Mary
passionately, and drew aside as the Roman soldiers approached; and
then, tottering away a short distance, sank weeping on the ground.
Mary shed no tear but, pale as death, walked by the side of a
soldier, who led her to the rear of the cavalcade, where four or
five other young women were standing, in dejected attitudes.

John and Jonas were similarly placed, with some young men, in
the midst of the Roman soldiers. Their hands were tied behind them,
and the troop resumed its way. They were traveling by the road
along which the little party had just come. Whenever a house or
small village was seen, half of the troop galloped off. Flames were
soon seen to rise, and parties of wretched captives were driven
in.

When about halfway to Capitolias, the troop halted. The horses
were turned into a field of ripe corn, to feed. Half the men sat
down to a meal, while the remainder stood on guard over the
captives. John had whispered to Jonas to work his hands so as to
loosen his cords, if possible; and the lad, whose bones were very
small, soon said that he could slip the ropes off without
difficulty.

It was harder work for John and, indeed, while on the march he
did not venture to exert himself, fearing that the movements would
be noticed by his guards. But when they halted, he got into the
middle of the group of captives, and tried his best to loosen the
cords. Jonas was close beside him.

“It is of no use, Jonas,” he said. “The cords are cutting into
my flesh, and they will not yield in the slightest.”

“Let me try, John.

“Stand round close,” Jonas said to the other captives, in
Hebrew. “I want to loosen my friend’s knots. If he can get away, he
will bring rescue to you all.”

The others moved so as to completely cover the movements of
Jonas; and the lad, stooping down, applied his teeth to the knot in
John’s cords, and soon succeeded in loosening it.

“That will be enough, Jonas. I can draw my hand through,
now.”

Jonas again stood up.

“When I make an effort to escape, Jonas, do you dash between the
horsemen, and run for it. In the confusion you will get a start,
and they will not overtake you until you are across the river. Once
on the hill, you are safe. If you remain behind and I get away, as
likely as not one of the soldiers would send a javelin through you,
as being my companion.”

After half an hour’s halt, the Romans again mounted their horses
and turned to retrace their steps. Two Romans rode on either side
of the captives, who were about fifty in number; and John gradually
made his way to the front of the party, between the two leading
horsemen.

The officer, talking to his sergeant, rode a few paces ahead, in
the middle of the road. Since the cords had been loosened, John had
continued to work his fingers until the circulation was restored.
Suddenly he slipped his hands from their fastenings, gave three
bounds forward, and vaulted on to the back of the horse behind the
officer. He had drawn the knife which had been hidden in his
girdle; and he threw one arm round the officer, while he struck the
knife deep into the horse’s flank. The animal reared in the air and
then, at a second application of the knife, sprang forward at the
top of his speed, before the astonished Roman knew what had
happened. John held him in his arms like a vice and, exerting all
his strength, lifted him from the saddle and hurled him headlong to
the ground; where he lay, bleeding and insensible.

John had now time to look round. Struck with astonishment at the
sudden incident which had passed under their eyes, the Romans had,
at first, instinctively reined in their horses. The sergeant had
been the first to recover himself and, shouting to the five leading
soldiers on each side to follow him, had spurred in pursuit, just
as his officer was hurled to the ground. But John was already some
fifty yards away, and felt sure that he could not be overtaken.

He had remarked the horse ridden by the officer, while they were
eating; and saw that it was of far higher blood and swifter pace
than any of those ridden by the soldiers. His own weight, too, was
far less than that of the heavy-armed men in pursuit of him and,
with a shout of scornful defiance, and a wave of his hand, he
continued his course. Before a mile had been passed he had left his
pursuers far in the rear and, seeing the hopelessness of the
pursuit, they presently reined up and returned to the main
body.

Jonas had carried out John’s instructions and, the instant the
latter sprang on the officer, he slipped under the belly of the
horse next to him and ran, at the top of his speed, for the river.
It was but a hundred yards away, and he had gone three quarters the
distance before any of the soldiers–confused at the attack upon
their officer, doubtful whether the whole of the captives were not
about to fall upon them, and without orders how to act, set out in
pursuit.

Jonas plunged into the stream, dived to the other side, and then
sprang forward again, just as three or four soldiers reached the
bank he had left. Their javelins were hurled after him, but without
effect and, with a shout of triumph, he sprang up the hillside, and
was soon safe from pursuit.

As soon as he saw that the Romans had turned back, John sprang
from his horse, unstrapped the heavy armor which covered its chest
and sides, and flung it away; and then, mounting, resumed his
course. At the first house he came to he borrowed a shepherd’s horn
and, as he approached the first village, sounded his signal for the
assembly.

Two or three young men ran out from their houses, as he dashed
up; for there was not a village in those parts from which some of
the young men had not gone up to the mountains to join him, after
the fall of Gamala, and all were ready to follow him anywhere. He
rapidly gave them orders to go to all the villages round; and
instruct the young men to assemble, with all speed possible, at
their old trysting place near Jabez Galaad; and to spread the news
as they went, some from each village being sent as messengers to
others. Then he pursued his way at full speed and, by sunset, had
issued his orders in some twenty villages.

Being convinced that, by night, a sufficient number of men would
have gathered in the mountain for his purpose, he rode back to the
river, swam his horse across; and then, leaving it to shift for
itself, made his way up the mountain. Some seventy or eighty men
had already arrived at the appointed place, and fresh parties were
coming in every minute. Jonas was already there, John having
arranged with him to watch the movements of the Romans until the
sun set, and then to bring word to the place of meeting as to their
movements.

“Well, Jonas, what is your news?”

“The Romans have halted, for the night, at a spot about a mile
this side of where we left them. They remained where they were,
until the party who had ridden after you returned; then they went
slowly back, after having made a litter with their spears, on which
four of them carried the officer you threw from his horse–what a
crash he made! I heard the clang of his arms, as I was running.
They stopped near one of the villages they burned as we went past;
and when I turned to make my way here their fires were burning, so
there’s no doubt they mean to halt there for the night.”

“That is good news, indeed!” John said. “Before morning we will
rouse them up in a way they little expect.”

John’s followers arrived eager for the fight, for the news of
the devastations committed by this party of Romans had roused the
whole district to fury. As a rule the Romans, except when actually
on a campaign, abstained from all ill treatment of the
inhabitants–the orders against plundering and injuring the people
being here, as in other countries held by the Roman arms, very
stringent. In the present case, there was no doubt that Roman
soldiers had been killed; but these had brought their fate upon
themselves, by their ill treatment and insult of the villagers, and
no notice would have been taken of the slaying of men while acting
in disobedience of orders, had it not been that they belonged to
the company of Servilius Maro.

He was a young noble, possessed of great influence in Rome, and
of a ferocious and cruel disposition; and he had urged the general
so strongly to allow him to go out, to inflict punishment upon the
country people, that consent had reluctantly been given. But even
at this time, although the Jews were not aware of it, a messenger
was on his way to Servilius with peremptory orders to him to return
at once to Scythopolis, as most serious reports as to his cruelty
to peaceful inhabitants had come to the general’s ears.

But that message Servilius was never to receive. By midnight,
upwards of four hundred men had gathered at the rendezvous in the
mountains. John divided the force into four bodies, and gave each
their orders as to the part that they were to take; and then
marched down the hill, crossed the river, and advanced towards the
Roman bivouac.

When within a quarter of a mile of the fires, the band broke up
into sections and proceeded to surround the enemy. When each
company reached the position John had marked out for it, the men
began to crawl slowly forward towards the Romans. John sounded a
note on his horn and, with a shout, the whole band rushed to their
feet and charged down upon the enemy. Before the latter could
spring to their feet, and mount their horses, the Jews were among
them.

John, with a picked band of twenty men, at once made his way to
the center of the camp; where the captives, ignorant of the cause
of this sudden alarm, stood huddled together. Placing his men
around them, to prevent any Roman soldier injuring them, John
joined in the fray.

It was short. Taken by surprise, unable to get together and form
in order of defense, the Roman soldiers were surrounded and cut
down, each man fighting stubbornly to the last. One of the first to
fall was their leader who, springing to his feet at the alarm, had
rushed just as he was, without helmet or armor, among his soldiers,
and was stabbed in a dozen places before he had time to draw his
sword.

The moment the conflict was over, and the last Roman had fallen,
John ordered his men to disperse, at once.

“Regain your homes before morning,” he said. “There may be other
parties of Romans out, and it is as well that none, even of your
friends, should see you return; and then the Romans will have no
clue as to those who have taken part in this night’s business. Take
not any of their arms, or spoils. We have fought for vengeance, and
to relieve our friends, not for plunder. It is well that the Romans
should see that, when they hear of the disaster and march out to
bury the dead.”

The men were already crowding round the captives, relieving them
from their bonds and, in many cases, embracing and weeping on their
necks, for among them were many friends and relations of the
rescuing party.

John soon found Mary.

“Is this a miracle you have performed, John?” the girl said.
“Can it be true that our captors have been slain, and that we are
free?”

“Yes, dear, we can continue our journey.”

“But how has it happened, John; how has it all come about?”

“Jonas and I escaped, as I suppose you know, Mary.”

“There was a great confusion and stir upon the road,” Mary said,
“but I did not know what had happened, until we got here. Then some
of the men said that two of the captives had escaped; and that one
of them jumped on to the horse of the officer and overthrew him,
and had ridden off. They said they were both young and, as I missed
you both from among the party, I thought it must have been you.

“But how did all these men come together?”

“I rode round the country, calling upon the young men in the
villages to take up arms, to rescue their friends who had been
carried away captive into slavery, and to revenge the destruction
which this band of ruffians had caused. There were plenty of brave
men ready to undertake the task and, as you see, we have carried it
out.

“And now, Mary, we had best be going. You see, the others are
dispersing fast; and it is as well to be as far from here, by
morning, as possible. A troop of Roman horse may come along,
journeying between Scythopolis and Capitolias; and if they came
upon this camp, they might scour all the country.”

“I am ready, John. What a fate you have saved me from! I have
seemed in a dream, ever since the Romans met us this afternoon. I
have tried to think of what my life was going to be, but could not.
When we got here I tried to weep, but no tears would come. I have
been sitting there, as still and cold as if frozen, till I heard
the notes of a horn.

“Oh, John, do you know John of Gamala was there?”

“How do you know, Mary?” John asked, in surprise.

“One of the young men who was a captive was lying near, and he
leaped to his feet when the horn sounded, and shouted, ‘There is
John of Gamala’s horn; we are saved.’ Did you know he was with
you?”

“Yes, I knew he was,” John said.

“You won’t say anything against him, again,” Mary said. “Why did
you not bring him here to us, that we might thank him?”

“Certainly I will not say anything against him, in future,
Mary.

“And now, let us be going. I am very anxious about my poor
mother. We will follow the road to the spot where we left her. By
the time we get there, morning will be breaking. We will inquire
for her, at every village we pass through; for I am sure she cannot
have gone far. The Romans did not take the asses but, even with
them, she could not have traveled far, and probably took shelter at
the first place which she came to.”

This proved to be the case. At the first village they arrived at
after passing the spot at which they had been taken captives, they
heard that, late the evening before, a woman had arrived in sore
distress. She was leading two asses, which she seemed too feeble to
mount. She stated that her son and daughter had been carried away
by the Romans; and she had been received, for the night, in the
principal house in the village.

Martha’s delight, when John and Mary entered the house where she
had been sheltered, was beyond words. She fell on their neck and
kissed them, with broken sentences of thankfulness to God at their
deliverance; and it was some time before she was sufficiently calm
to hear how their escape had been effected, by the night attack
upon the Romans by the country people. She was scarcely surprised
when she heard that John had effected his escape, and summoned the
people to rise to rescue them.

“You told me to trust to you to save Mary, John; and I have kept
on saying your words, over and over again, to myself. It seemed to
me as if I did not quite understand them, and yet there was comfort
in them. I could not even think what you could do to help Mary; and
yet it appeared as if you, yourself, must have some hope.”

As soon as Martha was sufficiently recovered from her emotions
to resume their journey, the party again started. They made a
detour to avoid Hippos for, as John said, there might be inquiries
as to everyone who was noticed coming from the direction of the
scene of the struggle. They made many halts by the way, for Martha
was scarcely able to retain her seat on the donkey, and even Mary
was greatly shaken by the event of her captivity and rescue. During
the heat of the day they remained under the shade of some trees,
and the sun was setting when they approached the farm.

Simon and the men hurried out, when the sound of the asses’ feet
was heard. Martha burst into tears, as he assisted her to
alight.

“What ails you, wife? I trust that no evil has befallen you by
the way. Where are the maids?

“Why, Mary, my child, you look pale, too!”

“No wonder, uncle, that aunt is shaken, and that I look pale.
For John, and I, and Jonas were taken captives by the Romans, who
carried us off to sell as slaves, leaving poor mother behind.”

“And how then have you escaped, child?”

“John and Jonas got away from them, and raised all the country;
for the Romans had done much harm, killing, and carrying away
captives, and burning. So when he called them the men took up arms,
and fell upon the Romans at night and slew them all, and rescued
me, and some fifty other captives who had fallen into their
hands.”

Simon asked no further questions, for the time, but helped
Martha into the house, and then handed her over to the care of Mary
and, half an hour later, she had recovered sufficiently to return
to the room; and sit there, holding Simon’s hand in quiet
happiness, and watching Mary as she resumed her accustomed tasks,
and assisted old Isaac in preparing supper.

“Everything looks just as it was, mother. I could hardly have
believed things would have got on so well, without me to look after
them. And there are quantities of grapes on the vines, still. They
are too ripe for wine, but they will last us, for eating, for
months, and that is ever so much better than making them into
wine–“

She stopped, for Simon had taken his place at the head of the
table; and offered up thanks, in the name of the whole household,
for the mercies that had been vouchsafed to them; and especially
that they were all, once again, assembled together in their house,
without there being one vacant place.

Then the meal began. While it was eaten, many questions were
asked, on both sides; Simon inquiring about his brother-in-law, and
his family, and the life they had led at the farm; Martha asking
after their neighbors–who had suffered, and who had escaped
without loss or harm. When Isaac and the men retired, Jonas rose
also to go, but Simon stopped him.

“Remain with us, Jonas. Your life has been strangely cast in
that of John’s, and I would that, henceforth, you take your place
as one of the family. You saved his life at Jotapata, and you will
henceforth be as an adopted son to me.

“Martha, I know that you will spare some of your affection for
the lad, who is as a younger brother to John; and who would, I
believe–nay I feel sure–if need be, give his life for his
friend.”

“I would do so, indeed,” Jonas said, simply. “He found me an
outcast, whom none cared for. He has treated me like a brother, and
I would gladly die for him.”

Martha said a few kind words to Jonas, whose quiet and somewhat
subdued manner, and whose evident affection for John, had greatly
pleased her; and Mary gave him a little nod, which signified that
she gladly accepted him as one of the family.

“And now, Martha,” Simon said, “you have not yet told me how
proud you must feel, in the doings of our son. Our friends here are
never weary of congratulating me; and truly I feel thankful that a
son of mine should have done such deeds, and that the Lord should
have chosen him, to use him as an instrument of his will.”

“My dear father,” John interrupted, “I have told you that there
is nothing at all out of the way in what we have done. Jonas and
the others did just as much as I did, and methinks that some of
them make much more than is needful of our skirmishes, and praise
me because in so doing they praise themselves, who did as much as I
did.”

“But I do not understand you, Simon,” Martha said. “I know that
John fought bravely at Jotapata, and that it was marvelous that he
and Jonas escaped, when so many fell. Is it this that you are
speaking of?”

“What! Has John said nothing about what he has been doing,
since?” Simon asked, in surprise.

“No, father, I said nothing about it,” John said, before his
mother could speak. “I thought, in the first place, that you would
like to tell them; and in the next, the people there had heard such
magnified reports that I could not, for very shame, lay claim to be
the hero they had pictured to themselves.”

“But what has he done?” Martha asked, more and more surprised;
while Mary, at his last words, sprang to her feet, and stood
looking at him with an intent and eager face.

“He should have told you, Martha,” Simon said. “It is no light
thing that this son of ours has done. Young as he is, the eyes of
the people are upon them. For with a small band, which he gathered
here, he harassed the enemy several days and, boldly entering their
camp, destroyed it by fire.”

“Oh, John!” Mary said, in a low voice; while Martha
exclaimed:

“What! Is the John, of whom we have heard so much–the young
man, of whom the people speak as their future leader–our boy? You
cannot mean it, Simon!”

“There is no mistake about it, Martha. The lad came to me; and
said he thought that, with a small band, he could cause much
trouble to the Romans. So I told him he could go, not knowing
whether he spoke from the restlessness of youth, or because it was
the will of the Lord that he should go and fight for the country.
Indeed, it seemed to many that his marvelous escape from Jotapata
showed that God had need of him. So I did not withstand him. There
were many from the villages round who were ready to join themselves
to him, and follow him, for the fame of his escape had made him
much talked of.

“So he went, with twenty-four followers and, of course, Jonas
here; and truly he did, as all men say, great things. And though he
saved not Gamala–as indeed could not have been done, save by a
miracle of God, with so small a band–he did much and, by the
burning of their camp, not only struck a heavy blow upon the
Romans, but he inspired the people with hope.

“Before, it seemed that to resist the Romans was to bring
certain destruction upon those who adventured it; now men see that
with prudence, united with bravery, much may be done and, in the
spring, John will be followed by a great gathering of fighting men,
from all the country round.”

Martha sat, in speechless surprise, looking at her son.

“My dear mother,” John said, “what I told you before, when you
were praising the unknown John, is equally true now that it is John
your son. We acted with common sense which, so far, no one seems to
have exercised in our struggle with the Romans. We just kept out of
their reach, and took good care never to come to actual blows with
them. We constantly threatened them; and compelled them, who knew
nothing of our numbers or strength, to cease working.

“As to the burning their camp, of course there was a certain
amount of danger in it, but one cannot make war without danger. We
crept through their sentries into the camp, in the night, and set
it on fire; and then made our escape, as best we could. As only one
of our number was killed; and he from falling over a precipice, and
not by the sword of the Romans, you see the peril could not have
been very great.

“It was just as I said, that because we did not throw away our
lives, but were prudent and cautious, we succeeded. People have
made a great fuss about it, because it is the only success, however
small, that we have gained over the Romans but, as my father says,
it has certainly had a good effect. It has excited a feeling of
hopefulness and, in the spring, many will take the field with the
belief that, after all, the Romans are not invincible; and that
those who fight against them are not merely throwing away their
lives.”

It was some time before Martha could realize that the hero, of
which she had heard so much, was the quiet lad standing before
her–her own son John.

“Simon,” she said, at last, “morning and night I have prayed God
to protect him of whom we heard so much, little thinking that it
was my own son I was praying for. Tonight, I will thank him that he
has so blessed me. Assuredly, God’s hand is with him. The dangers
he has run and the success that he has gained may, as he says, be
magnified by report; nevertheless he has assuredly withstood the
Romans, even as David went out against Goliath. Tomorrow I will
hear more of this; but I feel shaken with the journey, and with
this strange news.

“Come, Mary, let us to bed!”

But Mary had already stolen away, without having said a single
word, after her first exclamation.

John was at work soon after daybreak, next morning, for there
was much to be done. The men were plowing up the stubble, ready for
the sowing, Jonas had gone off, with Isaac, to drive in some cattle
from the hills; and John set to work to dig up a patch of garden
ground, near the house. He had not been long at work, when he saw
Mary approaching. She came along quietly and slowly, with a step
altogether unlike her own.

“Why, Mary, is that you?” he said, as she approached. “Why,
Miriam herself could not walk slower.

“Are you ill this morning, child?” he asked, with a change of
voice, as he saw how pale she was looking.

Mary did not speak until she came quite close; then she stopped,
and looked at him with eyes full of tears.

“Oh, John,” she began, “what can I say?”

“Why, my dear Mary, what on earth is the matter with you?” he
said, throwing down his spade, and taking her hands in his.

“I am so unhappy, John.”

“Unhappy!” John repeated. “What is making you unhappy,
child?”

“It is so dreadful,” she said, “to think that I, who ought to
have known you so well–I, your betrothed wife–have been thinking
that you were so mean as to be jealous; for I did think it was
that, John, when you made light of the doings of the hero I had
been thinking about so much, and would not allow that he had done
anything particular. I thought that you were jealous, John; and now
I know what you have done, and why you spoke so, I feel I am
altogether unworthy of you.”

“Well, Mary, I never thought you were a little goose, before.
What nonsense you are talking! It was only natural you should have
thought I was jealous; and I should have been jealous, if it had
been anyone else you were praising so much. It was my fault, for
not telling you at once. Concealments are always stupid; but I had
thought that it would give you a pleasant surprise, when you got
home, to hear about it; but instead of causing you pleasure, I have
caused you pain. I was not vexed, in the slightest; I was rather
amused, when you answered me so curtly.”

“I think it was cruel of you, John, to let me go on thinking
badly of you, and showing yourself in so unworthy a light. That
does not make it any the less wrong of me. I ought to have believed
in you.”

“You are making a mountain out of a molehill, Mary, and I won’t
hear any such nonsense. You heard an absurd story, as to what
someone had been doing, and you naturally made a hero of him. You
were hurt by my speaking slightingly of this hero of yours, and
naturally thought I was jealous at hearing such praises of another
from my betrothed wife. It was all perfectly natural. I was not in
the least offended with you, or put out in any way; except that I
was vexed with myself for not telling you, at once, that all these
fables related to your cousin John.

“Now, dry your eyes, and don’t think any more about it. Go and
pick two of the finest bunches of grapes you can find, and we will
eat them together.”

But it was some time before Mary recovered her brightness. The
changes which the last few months had made almost depressed her. It
was but a year ago that John and she had been boy and girl,
together; now he had become a man, had done great deeds, was looked
upon by many as one chosen for the deliverance of the nation. Mary
felt that she, too, had aged; but the change in her was as nothing
to that in her old playfellow. It was but a year ago she had been
gravely advising him; treating him, sometimes, as if she had been
the elder.

She would have treated him now, if he would have let her, with
something of the deference and respect which a Jewish maiden would
usually pay to a betrothed husband–one who was shortly to become
her lord. But the first time he detected this manner, John simply
laughed at her, and said:

“My dear Mary, do not let us have any nonsense of this sort. We
have been always equals, you and I; friends and companions. You
know, just as well as I do, that in all matters which we have had
in common, you have always had quite as much sense as I and, on a
great many matters, more sense.

“Nothing has occurred since then to alter that. I have grown
into a young man, you into a young woman; but we have advanced
equally. On matters concerning warfare, I have gained a good deal
of knowledge; in other matters, doubtless, you have gained
knowledge. And if, dear, it is God’s will that I pass through the
troubles and dangers that lie before us, and we become man and
wife, I trust that we shall always be the friends and comrades that
we have been, as boy and girl together.

“It is all very well, when young men and maidens have seen
nothing of each other until their parents bring them together as
man and wife, for the bride to affect a deep respect–which I have
not the least doubt she is generally far from feeling, in her
heart–for the man to whom she is given. Happily, this has not been
the way with us. We have learned to know each other well; and to
know that, beyond the difference in strength which a man has over a
woman, there is no difference between us–that one will rule the
house, and the other will rule the farm, but that in all things, I
trust, we shall be companions and equals. I do hope, Mary, that
there will be no change in our ways, the few months we have to be
together, now.

“In the spring, I go up to help to defend Jerusalem; and it is
no use hiding the fact from ourselves that there is but little
chance of my returning. We know what has befallen those who have,
hitherto, defended cities against the Romans; and what has happened
at Jotapata, and Gamala, will probably happen at Jerusalem. But for
this reason, let us have no change; let us be as brother and sister
to one another, as we have been, all along. If God brings me back
safe to you, and you become my wife, there will be plenty of time
to settle exactly how much deference you shall pay me; but I shall
expect that, when the novelty of affecting the wifely obedience,
which is enjoined upon the females of our race, is past, you will
be quite ready to take up that equality which is, after all, the
rule in practice.”

“I shall remember your words,” Mary said, saucily, “when the
time comes. It may be you will regret your expressions about
equality, some day.”

So, during the winter, Mary tried to be bright and cheerful; and
Martha, whose heart was filled with anxiety as to the dangers and
trials which lay before them–Jerusalem and the Temple threatened,
and John away, engaged in desperate enterprises–often wondered to
herself, when she heard the girl’s merry laugh as she talked with
John, and saw how completely she seemed to put aside every sort of
anxiety; but she did not know how Mary often spent the entire night
in weeping and prayer, and how hard was her struggle to keep up the
brave appearance which was, she knew, a pleasure to John.

He was not much at home, being often absent for days together.
Strangers came and went, frequently. John had long conversations
with them; and sometimes went away with them, and did not return
for three or four days. No questions were asked, by his parents, as
to these visitors or his absence. They knew that they had reference
to what they considered his mission; and as, when he returned home,
he evidently wished to lay aside all thought of other things, and
to devote himself to his life with them, they asked no questions as
to what he was doing.

He spoke, sometimes, of these things to Mary, when they were
together alone. She knew that numbers of young men were only
waiting his signal to join him; that parties of them met him among
the hills, and were there organized into companies, each with
officers of their own choice over them; and that, unknown to the
Romans at Scythopolis, there were daily held, throughout the
country on both sides of the Jordan, meetings where men practiced
with their arms, improved their skill with the bow and arrow, and
learned to obey the various signals of the bugle, which John had
now elaborated.

John was resolute in refusing to accept any men with wives and
families. There were other leaders, he said, under whom these could
fight; he was determined to have none but men who were ready to
sacrifice their lives, and without the care of others dependent
upon them. He was ready to accept youths of fifteen, as well as men
of five-and-twenty; believing that, in point of courage, the one
were equal to the other. But each candidate had to be introduced by
others, who vouched for his activity, hardihood, and courage.

One of his objects was to avoid increasing his band to too great
dimensions. The number of those ready to go up to defend Jerusalem,
and eager to enroll themselves as followers of this new
leader–whose mission was now generally believed in, in that part
of the country–was very large; but John knew that a multitude
would be unwieldy; that he would find it impossible to carry out,
with thousands of men, tactics dependent for success upon celerity
of movement; and, moreover, that did he arrive in Jerusalem with so
great a following, he would at once become an object of jealousy to
the leaders of the factions there.

He therefore limited the number to four hundred men; urging upon
all others who presented themselves, or sent messages to him, to
form themselves into similar bands; to choose leaders, and to act
as independent bodies, hanging upon the rear of the Romans,
harassing them with frequent night alarms, cutting off their
convoys, attacking their working parties; and always avoiding
encounters with strong bodies of the Romans, by retreating into the
hills. He said that, although he would not receive more men into
his own force than he thought could be easily handled, he should be
glad to act in concert with the other leaders so that, at times,
the bands might all unite in a common enterprise; and especially
that, if they entered Jerusalem, they might hold together, and thus
be enabled to keep aloof from the parties of John of Gischala, or
Eleazar, who were contending for the mastery of the city.

His advice was taken, and several bands similar to his own were
formed; but their leaders felt that they needed the prestige and
authority which John had gained, and that their followers would not
obey their orders with the faith which was inspired, in the members
of John’s own band, by their belief in his special mission. Their
representations on this subject were so urgent that John, at their
request, attended a meeting at which ten of these chiefs were
present.

It was held in a farmhouse, not far from the spot where Gamala
had stood. John was embarrassed at the respect which these men, all
of them several years older than himself, paid him; but he accepted
the position quietly, for he felt that the belief that existed, as
to his having a special mission, added greatly to his power of
utility. He listened to their representations as to their want of
authority, and to the rivalries and jealousies which already
existed among those who had enrolled themselves. When they had
finished, he said:

“I have been thinking the matter well over. I am convinced that
it is absolutely necessary that none of the commands shall exceed
the numbers I have fixed upon–namely, four hundred men, divided
into eight companies, each with a captain–but at the same time, I
do not see any reasons why all our corps should not be nominally
under one leader. If, then, you think it will strengthen your
position, I am ready to accept the general leadership, and to
appoint you each as commanders of your troops. Then you will hold
my commissions; and I will support you, in your commands, with any
authority I may have.

“At the same time you will understand that you will, in reality,
act altogether independently of me; save and except when, it seems
to me, that we can unite in any enterprise. If we enter Jerusalem,
we will then hold together for mutual protection from the factions;
but even there you will each command independently for, did I
assume a general command, it would excite the jealousy of the
leaders of the factions, and we should be forced to take part in
the civil strife which is devastating the city.”

A cordial consent to this proposition was given by the other
leaders, who said that the knowledge that they were John’s officers
would add immensely to their authority; and would also raise the
courage and devotion of their men, who would not believe that they
were being led to victory, unless they were acting under the orders
of John, himself.

“Remember,” John said, “that if misfortune befalls us, I have
never laid claim to any divine commission. We are all agents of
God, and it may be that he has specially chosen me as one of his
instruments; but this I cannot say, beyond the fact that, so far, I
have been carried safely through great dangers, and have been
enabled to win successes over the Romans. But I do not set up as a
specially-appointed leader.

“I say this for two reasons: in the first place, that you should
not think that I am claiming authority and command on grounds which
may not be justified; and in the second place that, if I should
fall early in the fighting, others should not be disheartened, and
believe that the Lord has deserted them.

“I am but a lad among you, and I recognize that it is God who
has so strangely brought me into eminence but, having done that
much, he may now choose some other instrument. If this should be
so–if, as may well be, one of you should obtain far greater
success than may attend me–I shall be only too glad to lay aside
this authority over the rest, with which you are willing to invest
me, and to follow him as cheerfully as you now propose to follow
me.”

The meeting soon afterwards broke up, and the news that John of
Gamala–as he was generally called, from the success he had gained
over the Romans before that town–had assumed the supreme command
of the various bands which were being raised, in eastern Galilee
and on the east of Jordan, spread rapidly; and greatly increased
the popular feeling of hope, and confidence. Fresh bands were
formed, the leaders all receiving their appointments from him.
Before the spring arrived, there were twenty bands formed and
organized, in readiness to march down towards Jerusalem, as soon as
the Roman legions got into motion.

Chapter 11: A Tale Of Civil
Strife.

Towards the spring, Simon and his family were surprised by a
visit from the Rabbi Solomon Ben Manasseh. It was a year since they
had last seen him, when he called to take leave of them, on
starting for Jerusalem. They scarcely recognized him as he entered,
so old and broken did he look.

“The Lord be praised that I see you all, safe and well!” he
said, as they assisted him to dismount from the donkey that he
rode. “Ah, my friends, you are happy, indeed, in your quiet farm;
free from all the distractions of this terrible time! Looking round
here, and seeing you just as I left you–save that the young people
have grown, somewhat–I could think that I left you but yesterday,
and that I have been passing through a hideous nightmare.

“Look at me! My flesh has fallen away, and my strength has gone.
I can scarce stand upon my legs, and a young child could overthrow
me. I have wept, till my tears are dried up, over the misfortunes
of Jerusalem; and yet no enemy has come within sight of her walls,
or dug a trench against her. She is devoured by her own children.
Ruin and desolation have come upon her.”

The old man was assisted into the house, and food and wine
placed before him. Then he was led into the guest chamber, and
there slept for some hours. In the evening, he had recovered
somewhat of his strength, and joined the party at their meal.

When it was concluded, and the family were alone, he told them
what had happened in Jerusalem during the past year. Vague rumors
of dissension, and civil war, had reached them; but a jealous watch
was set round the city, and none were suffered to leave, under the
pretext that all who wished to go out were deserters who sought to
join the Romans.

“I passed through, with difficulty,” the rabbi said, “after
bribing John of Gischala, with all my worldly means, to grant me a
pass through the guards; and even then should not have succeeded,
had he not known me in old times, when I looked upon him as one
zealous for the defense of the country against the Romans–little
thinking, then, that the days would come when he would grow into an
oppressor of the people, tenfold as cruel and pitiless as the worst
of the Roman tribunes.

“Last autumn when, with the band of horsemen, with steeds weary
with hard riding, he arrived before the gates of Jerusalem–saying
that they had come to defend the city, thinking it not worth while
to risk their lives in the defense of a mere mountain town, like
Gischala–the people poured out to meet him, and do him honor.
Terrible rumors of slaughter and massacre, in Galilee, had reached
us, but none knew the exact truth. Moreover, John had been an enemy
of Josephus and, since Josephus had gone over to the Romans, his
name was hated and accursed among the people; and thus they were
favorably inclined towards John.

“I don’t think anyone was deceived by the story he told, for it
was evident that John and his men had fled before the Romans.
Still, the tidings he brought were reassuring, and he was gladly
received in the city. He told us that the Romans had suffered very
heavily at the sieges of Jotapata and Gamala, that they were
greatly dispirited by the desperate resistance they had met with,
that a number of their engines of war had been destroyed, and that
they were in no condition to undertake the siege of a strong city
like Jerusalem. But though all outwardly rejoiced, many in their
hearts grieved at the news, for they thought that even an
occupation by the Romans would be preferable to the suffering they
were undergoing.

“For months, bands of robbers, who called themselves Zealots,
had ravaged the whole country; pillaging, burning, and slaying,
under the pretense that those they assaulted were favorable to the
cause of Rome. Thus, gradually, the country people all forsook
their homes, and fled to Jerusalem for refuge and, when the country
was left a desert and no more plunder was to be gained, these
robber bands gradually entered Jerusalem. As you know, the gates of
the holy city were always open to all the Jewish people; and none
thought of excluding the strangers who entered, believing that
every armed man would add to the power of resistance, when the
Romans appeared before it.

“The robbers, who came singly or in small parties from all parts
of the country, soon gathered themselves together in the city, and
established a sort of terror over the peaceable inhabitants. Men
were robbed, and murdered, openly in the street; houses were broken
open, and pillaged; none dare walk in the street, without the risk
of insult or assault. Antipas, Levias, and Saphias–all of royal
blood–were seized, thrown into prison, and there murdered; and
many others of the principal people were slain.

“Then the robbers proceeded to further lengths. They took upon
themselves to appoint a high priest; selected a family which had no
claim whatever to the distinction and, drawing lots among them,
chose as high priest one Phannias–a country priest, ignorant,
boorish, and wholly unable to discharge the function of the office.
Hitherto, the people had submitted to the oppression of the
Zealots, but this desecration of the holy office filled them with
rage and indignation; and Ananus–the oldest of the chief priests,
a man of piety and wisdom–was the head of the movement and,
calling the people together, exhorted them to resist the tyranny
which oppressed them, and which was now desecrating the Temple–for
the Zealots had taken refuge there, and made the holy place their
headquarters.

“The people seized their arms, but before they were ready for
the attack the Zealots, learning what was going on, took the
initiative and fell upon them. The people were less accustomed to
arms than their foes, but they had the superiority of numbers, and
fought with fury. At first the Zealots gained the advantage, but
the people increased in numbers. Those behind pressed those in
front forward, and the Zealots were driven back into the Temple,
and the Quadrangle of the Gentiles was taken.

“The Zealots fled into the inner court, and closed the gates.
Thither their wounded had already been carried, and the whole place
was defiled with their blood. But Ananus, having the fear of God
before his eyes, did not like to attack them there and, leaving six
thousand chosen men on guard in the cloisters, and arranging that
these should be regularly relieved, retired.

“Such was the state of things, when John of Gischala arrived. He
at once professed complete agreement with the party of Ananus, and
was admitted into all their councils; but all the time, as we
afterwards learned, he was keeping up a secret correspondence with
the Zealots, and betrayed to them all that took place at the
council. There was some distrust of him but, in addition to the
party that had entered the city with him, he had speedily gathered
together many others and, distracted as we already were with our
troubles, none cared to add to the number of their enemies by
openly distrusting John–who took many solemn oaths of fidelity to
the cause of order.

“He at length volunteered to enter the inner Temple, on a
mission to the Zealots; and to persuade them to surrender, and
leave the city. But no sooner was he among them than he threw off
the mask, and told the Zealots that the offers to allow them to
depart in peace were blinds, and that they would at once be
massacred if they surrendered. He therefore advised them to resist,
and to send for assistance without–recommending them especially to
send to the Idumeans. Eleazar and Zacharias–the chiefs of the
Zealots–felt sure that they, above all, would be sacrificed if
they surrendered; and they embraced John’s counsel, and sent off
swift-footed messengers to the Idumeans, urging them to come to
their assistance.

“The Idumeans had, since their conquest by Hyrcanus, been
incorporated with the Jews. They were a fierce and warlike
people–of Arab descent–and, immediately the messengers of the
Zealots arrived, they embraced the proposal, anticipating the
acquisition of great plunder in Jerusalem. Marching with all speed,
they appeared, twenty thousand strong, before the walls of
Jerusalem.

“Although taken completely by surprise–for none knew that
messengers had gone over to the Idumeans–the people manned the
walls; and Jesus, a colleague of Ananus, addressed the Idumeans. He
asked them to take one of three courses: either to unite with the
people, in punishing the notorious robbers and assassins who were
desecrating the Temple; or to enter the city unarmed, and arbitrate
between the conflicting parties; or to depart, and leave the city
to settle its own difficulties. Simon, the leader of the Idumeans,
answered that they came to take the part of the true patriots,
against men who were conspiring basely to sell the people into the
hands of the Romans.

“At this answer Jesus left the wall, and we held debate upon the
situation. Before the arrival of this new enemy, we felt certain of
overpowering the Zealots; and Ananus would, ere long, have been
persuaded to lay aside his scruples and attack them for, as they
were desecrating the sanctuary, it would be better to shed their
blood there and, when these wicked men were slain, to offer up
atonement and purify the Temple–as had been done before, in the
days of the Maccabees, after the Temple had been defiled.

“We redoubled our guards round the Temple, so that none could
issue out thence to communicate with the Idumeans. At night a
terrible storm set in, with lightning, thunder, and rain, so that
the very earth seemed to shake. A great awe fell upon all, within
and without the city. To all, it seemed a sign of the wrath of God
at the civil discords; but though, doubtless, it was the voice of
the Almighty, it was rather a presage of further evils.

“Under shelter of the storm–which drove all the guards to take
refuge–some of the Zealots cut asunder the bars of the gate, and
crept along the street to the wall. Then they sawed through the
bars of the gate that faced the Idumeans, who were trembling with
terror in the storm. Unseen by anyone, the Idumeans entered the
gate, marched through the city, and approached the Temple. Then
they fell upon our guards, while the Zealots attacked them from
behind.

“Furious at the hours they had passed exposed to the tempest,
ashamed of their fears, and naturally pitiless and cruel, the
Idumeans gave no quarter; and a terrible carnage took place among
the ten thousand men who had been placed in the outer court of the
Temple. Some fought desperately, others threw themselves down from
the wall into the city and, when morning dawned, eight thousand
five hundred of our best fighting men had been slain.

“As soon as it was daylight, the Idumeans broke into the city,
pillaging and slaying. The high priests, Ananus and Jesus, were
among those who were slain; and in that terrible night were
extinguished the last hopes of saving Jerusalem.

“Ananus was a man of the highest character. He had labored
unceasingly to place the city in a posture of defense; believing,
and rightly, that the stronger were its walls, and the more
formidable the resistance it could offer, the better chance there
was of obtaining favorable terms from the Romans. Ananus was the
leader and hope of the peace party, which comprised all the
respectable classes, and all the older and wiser men in Jerusalem.
His death left the conduct of affairs in the hands of the
thoughtless, the rash, and the desperate.

“The massacre continued for days, the Idumeans hunting the
citizens in the streets. Vast numbers were killed, without
question. The young men of the upper classes were dragged to
prison, and were there scourged and tortured to force them to join
the Zealots, but not one would do so. All preferred death. Thus
perished twelve thousand of the best and wisest in Jerusalem.

“Then the Zealots set up a tribunal and, by proclamation,
assembled seventy of the principal citizens remaining to form a
court; and before it brought Zacharias, the son of Baruch–an
upright, patriotic, and wealthy man. Him they charged with entering
into correspondence with the Romans, but produced no shadow of
evidence against him. Zacharias defended himself boldly, clearly
establishing his own innocence, and denouncing the iniquities of
his accusers. The seventy unanimously acquitted the prisoner,
preferring to die with him, to condemning an innocent man. The
Zealots rushed forward, with cries of rage, and slew Zacharias and,
with blows and insults, turned the judges out of the Temple.

“The Idumeans at length began to weary of massacre, and were
sated with pillage and, declaring that they had been deceived by
the Zealots, and that they believed no treason had been intended,
they left the city; first opening the prisons, and releasing two
thousand persons confined there, who fled to Simon the son of
Gioras, who was wasting the country toward Idumea.

“The Zealots, after their departure, redoubled their iniquities;
and seemed as if they would leave none alive, save the lowest of
the people. Gorion, a great and distinguished man, was among the
slain. Niger of Peraea, who had been the leader in the attack on
the Romans at Ascalon–a noble and true-hearted patriot–was also
murdered. He died calling upon the Romans to come to avenge those
who had been thus murdered; and denouncing famine, pestilence, and
civil massacre, as well as war, against the accursed city.

“I had lain hidden, with an obscure family, with whom I had
lodged during these terrible times. So great was the terror and
misery in the city that those who lived envied the dead. It was
death to bury even a relative, and both within and without the city
lay heaps of bodies, decaying in the sun.

“Even among the Zealots themselves, factions arose. John of
Gischala headed one party, and that the more violent. Over these he
ruled with absolute authority, and occupied one portion of the
city. The other party acknowledged no special leader. Sometimes,
then, the factions fought among themselves; but neither side ceased
from plundering and murdering the inhabitants.

“Such, my friends, was the condition of Jerusalem when I left
it; having, as I told you, purchased a permission from John of
Gischala to pass through the guards at the gates.

“As I traveled here, I learned that another danger threatens us.
The sect called the Assassins, as you know, seized the strong
fortress of Masada, near the Dead Sea, at the beginning of the
troubles. Until lately, they have been content to subsist on the
plunder of the adjacent country but, on the night of the Passover,
they surprised Engaddi, dispersed all who resisted, and slew seven
hundred women and children who could not escape. They carried off
the contents of the granaries, and are now wasting the whole
region.

“What hope can there be of success, my friends, when, with an
enemy close to their gates, the Jews are slaying more of their
fellow countrymen than the Romans themselves? Did ever a country
present so humiliating and terrible a spectacle? Were such
atrocities ever perpetrated by men upon their brothers? And yet,
the madmen still believe that the Almighty will deliver them–will
save from destruction that Temple which they have polluted, the
altars that they have deluged with blood.”

When the rabbi had finished his narration, there was a long
silence. Martha was in tears, at the recital of the misery which
was endured by the inhabitants of Jerusalem; Simon sat with his
face covered with his hands; John had scarce moved, since the rabbi
had begun his story, but sat with a heavy frown on his face,
looking straight before him; while Mary anxiously watched him, to
see the effect of the recital upon him.

Simon was the first to speak.

“It is a tale of mourning, lamentation, and woe that you have
told us, rabbi. Not even in the days of our captivity in Babylon
were the Jewish people fallen so low. Let us to bed now. These
things are too terrible to speak of, until we have laid them before
the Lord, and asked his guidance. I wonder not, now, rabbi, that
years seem to have rolled over your head since we last met.”

The others rose. Mary, as she passed John, laid her hands on his
shoulder with a caressing action–which was very rare to her, for
she generally behaved to him as to a brother, holding any
exhibition of greater affection unmaidenly, until the days of
betrothal were ended. The action seemed to recall John from his
gloomy thought, and he smiled down at her anxious face; then, when
the others went off to their apartments, he went out into the night
air and stood for hours, nearly immovable, with his eyes fixed on
the stars.

In the morning, Mary joined him in the garden; as had come to be
their custom, this being the only time in the day when they were
alone together.

“Well, John?” she asked.

He understood her question.

“I have thought it over, Mary, in every way; but I cannot see
that my duty is changed by what we heard last night. Affection for
you, and my parents, would keep me here; and I wish that I could
see that my duty could go hand in hand with my wishes. I have been
sorely tempted to yield–to resign the struggle, to remain here in
peace and quiet–but I should never be happy. I do not believe that
I am, as so many think, specially called to be a deliverer–though
God has assuredly specially protected and aided me–but, did I draw
back now, it would be a grievous discouragement to many. I have put
my hand to the plow, and cannot look back.

“God has permitted these miseries to fall upon Jerusalem,
doubtless, as a punishment for the sins of the people. It may be
yet that his wrath will be abated, and that he will remember the
mercies of old. He has suffered his Temple to be profaned, but it
may not be his purpose to allow it to be destroyed, utterly. The
evil doings, therefore, of evil men do not release us from our
duty; and it has always been held the chief duty of all Jews to
die, if need be, in defense of the Temple. Never, so long as that
stands, can we say that the Lord has wholly turned his face from
us–that he purposes another period of exile, and captivity, to
befall his people.

“Therefore, Mary, I shall go on as I have intended; warring
against the Romans, and doing what I can to hinder their advance
against Jerusalem. I think that the war may last longer than I had
expected. Vespasian will have heard–from those who, like the
rabbi, have escaped from Jerusalem–what is going on within the
city; and knowing the great strength of its walls; and judging,
from what he saw at Jotapata and Gamala, how desperate would be its
resistance, were he to appear before it, he may well decide to
leave it for the present; suffering the population to prey upon
each other, to consume their provisions and waste their strength
till, when he marches against it, there will be no longer men left
to man the walls.”

“I thought you would decide so, John,” Mary said, quietly; “and
much as I love you–for I do love you, John–I would rather part
with you so, never to see you again, than that you should draw back
now. I set you up on a pedestal, before I knew that it was you who
was my hero; and I would not have it said that he, of whom such
high hopes were cherished, drew back from the enterprise he had
taken up. Rather would I mourn for you, all my life, than that men
should say of you:

“‘This is he of whom we said, he is the deliverer; but who
shrank from the dangers of battle, and threw down his country’s
sword.'”

“Thank you, Mary. I am glad to hear you say so. I thought that I
was right, but it was very hard so to decide. And, now that you
agree with me, my chief cause for hanging back is removed.
Henceforth, I shall trouble no more over it. My conscience tells me
that I am right to go. You say go, also. Therefore now, whatever
betides, I shall not blame myself; but shall feel that I could not
have taken any other course.”

“I have faith, John, that you will come back to me, when the
troubles are over. I believe that, whatever may happen at
Jerusalem, you will be spared to me. I think that it was either for
the country, or for me, that your life was spared, alone of all
those that fought at Jotapata; and I mean to keep on thinking so.
It will keep up my spirits, while you are away, and will help me to
cheer our mother.”

“If the Romans do not move upon Jerusalem, I may be able to be
often at home. Our policy will be to strike a blow; and then, when
the Romans gather in force, to scatter and disappear; so that I may
often be home, until the time comes when the enemy gather round
Jerusalem.

“But at any rate, Mary, I shall try and believe that your hope
is well founded; and that, in the end, I shall return alive to you.
Certainly I shall not spare my life; for, when one takes up the
post of a leader of his fellows, he must never hang back from
danger, but must be always in the front. At the same time, I shall
never forget that you are thinking and praying for me, and will
never throw away my life recklessly; and if the time comes when I
see that all is lost–that fighting is no longer of avail–I will
neither rush into the enemy’s ranks to die, nor will I throw down
my arms and die unresisting, nor will I slay myself with my own
weapons; but I will strive, in every way, to save my life for your
sake, having done all that I could for our country, and the
Temple.”

“That is all I ask, John. I am quite content to wait here, until
the day comes that you shall return; and then, though our cause be
lost, our country ruined, and God’s Temple destroyed, we can yet
feel that God has been good and merciful to us–even if we be
driven out of our home, and have to become exiles, in a far
land.”

A week later, the news came that the Romans were preparing to
take the field. The young men of the village at once started, as
messengers, through the country. At night, a vast pile of brushwood
was lighted on the hill above Gamala; and answering fires soon
blazed out from other heights. At the signal, men left their homes
on the shores of Galilee, in the cities of the plains, in the
mountains of Peraea and Batanaea. Capitolias, Gerisa and Pella,
Sepphoris, Caphernaum and Tiberias–and even the towns and villages
almost within sight of Caesar’s camp, at Caesarea–sent their
contingents and, in twenty-four hours, eight thousand armed men
were gathered on the slopes of Mount Galaad.

Each man brought with him grain, sufficient for a week’s
consumption; and all had, according to their means, brought money,
in accordance with the instructions John and the other commanders
had issued. For John held that although–as they were fighting for
the country–they must, if necessary, live upon the country; yet
that, as far as possible, they should abstain from taking food
without payment, and so run the risk of being confounded with the
bands who, under the cloak of patriotism, plundered and robbed the
whole country.

The bands assembled, each under their leaders. It was easy to
see that they had come from different localities. Tarichea and
Tiberias had both sent two companies, and the aspect of these
differed widely from that of the companies of peasants, raised in
the villages on the slopes of Hermon or among the mountains of
Peraea; but all seemed animated by an equal feeling of devotion,
and of confidence in their young leader.

John, after carefully inspecting his own band, visited the camps
of the other companies; and was everywhere received with
acclamations. He addressed each company in turn–not only urging
them to show bravery, for that every Jew had shown, who had fought
against the Romans–but pointing out that far more than this was
required. While they must be ready to give their lives, when need
be; they must be equally ready to shun the fight, to scatter and
fly, when their leaders gave the orders. It was not by bravery that
they could hope to overcome the Romans; but by harassing them night
and day, by attacking their camps, cutting off their convoys, and
giving them no rest. Above all, obedience was required.

“Look at the Roman soldiers,” he said. “They have no wills of
their own. They advance, or retreat; they attack, when they know
that those who first attack must die; they support all hardships
and fatigues; they accomplish marvels, in the way of work; they
give themselves up, in fact, to obey the orders given them, never
questioning whether those orders are the best, but blindly obeying
them; and so it must be, here, if we are to fight the Romans with a
chance of success.

“The most useful man here–the man who will do best service to
his country–is not he who is strongest, or bravest, but he who is
most prompt in his obedience to orders. The true hero is he who
gives up his will and, if need be, his life, at the order of his
leader. You have chosen your own officers, and I have confirmed the
choice that you have made. It is for you, now, to give them your
support and assistance. There will be hardships, these must be
borne without complaint; there will be delays, these must be
supported with patience; there will be combats and dangers, these
must be met with confidence and courage–believing that God will
give you success; and that, although the issue of the strife is in
his hands, each of you should do his best, by his conduct and
courage, to gain success.

“We shall not act in one great body, for we could not find food,
in the villages, for so large a number. Moreover, to do so would be
to give the Romans an opportunity of massing their forces against
us, of surrounding and destroying us. On great occasions, and for a
great object, we may gather together and unite our forces. At other
times, although acting upon a general plan, and in concert with
each other, each company will work independently. So we shall elude
the Romans. When they strike at us, we shall be gone. When they try
to inclose us, we shall disperse. When they pursue one body, others
will fall upon them. When they think that we are in one part of the
country, we will be striking a blow in another. When they fancy
themselves in security, we will fall upon them. We will give them
no rest, or peace.”

John’s addresses were received with shouts of approval. By the
great majority of those present, he was now seen for the first
time; but his appearance, the tone of authority with which he
spoke, his air of confidence, and the manner in which he had
evidently thought out the plans of action, and prepared for all
contingencies, confirmed the reports which they had heard of him;
and the conviction that he was a specially appointed leader was
deepened, and strengthened. How otherwise could one who was a mere
youth speak with such firmness, and authority?

The memories of the Jews were stored with legends of the prowess
of Judas the Maccabean, and his brothers; and of other leaders who
had, from time to time, arisen and enabled them to clear their
country of oppressors; and they were thus prepared to accept,
willingly, those who appeared to them specially sent as leaders,
and the question of age and experience weighed but little with
them. Moreover, as none had been trained as soldiers, there were
none who had to set aside superior claims.

Samuel had been chosen as a child, Saul was the youngest of his
brethren, and David a lad when he slew the champion of the
Philistines. Such being the case, the youth of John was no
drawback, in the eyes of his followers; and indeed the fact that,
being still a youth, he had yet escaped from Jotapata, where all
his elders had died; and that he had inflicted a heavy blow upon
the Romans, when all others who had opposed them had perished,
seemed in itself a proof that he was under special protection.

John probably believed in himself less than did any man among
his followers. Piously and devoutly brought up, he saw in the two
escapes that he had had, from death at the hands of the Romans,
signs of a special protection of God. But, while he hoped that he
might be able to do the Romans much harm, he had not any conviction
that he was destined to deliver his country. He had none of the
fervent enthusiasm of men who are convinced that they have a divine
mission, and that miracles would be wrought in his favor.

He had seen the tremendous strength of the Roman army, as it
defiled from the mountains before Jotapata. He had learned the
power of their war engines, and had evidence of their discipline,
their bravery and perseverance; and had no idea that such a force
as that gathered round him could cope with the legions of Rome.
Still, that firm and pious belief, which was so deeply ingrained in
the heart of the Jews, that God specially interested himself in
them–that he personally directed everything that befell them, and
intervened in every incident of their history–had its natural
effect upon him.

His training taught him that he was an instrument in God’s hands
and, although he hardly even hoped that he was destined to be a
deliverer of Jerusalem, he thought that God might intend him to do
great things for his people. At any rate, while never claiming any
special authority–or to have, more than those around him, any
special mission–he was careful not to damp the enthusiasm of his
followers, by disclaiming the mission they attributed to him;
knowing how much such a belief added to his authority, and to the
efficiency of the force under his command.

Chapter 12: Desultory
Fighting.

After having gone through the camps of the whole of the
companies, John assembled the leaders round him, and held a council
as to future operations. It was agreed that it would be best to
leave alone, for the present, the legion at Scythopolis; for rumors
of the gathering would almost certainly have reached that city, and
the Romans might be on their guard against attack. It was resolved,
therefore, to cross the Jordan a few miles below Tarichea, to
traverse the hills between Endor and Gelbus and, by a long march,
to gain the range of hills extending from Carmel to Samaria, and
forming the boundary between the latter province and Galilee. They
would then be looking down upon the camp of Vespasian, at
Caesarea.

The country, between these hills and the city, was too flat for
them to engage with any hopes of success; for although, by a
surprise, they might inflict great damage on the Romans, they would
be wholly unable to withstand the charges of the Roman horse. They
would, therefore, maintain a lookout from the mountains; and attack
the Roman camp the first time it was pitched on ground whence a
rapid retreat could be effected, to the hills.

As the Jordan was unfordable, between Scythopolis and the lake,
all who could not swim were ordered to carry with them, on their
march down to the river, logs of light wood sufficient to support
them in crossing. Those who could swim were to assist in piloting
over those unable to do so. This would be a work of no great
difficulty, for the width of the Jordan is not great, and it was
only for a short distance in the center that it would be
unfordable. As was to be expected, the companies raised near the
shores of the lake contained but few men unable to swim, while
those from the mountain districts were almost wholly ignorant of
the art.

The bands were, therefore, linked together for the purpose of
crossing; one of those from the plains, and a company of
mountaineers, marching down to the stream together. The
preparations were all complete by the afternoon and, just as it was
becoming twilight, the leading bands arrived on the banks of the
Jordan. The crossing was effected without difficulty and, in two
hours, all were over. Then the companies formed up under their
leaders, and started independently; men who knew the country well
being assigned, as guides, to each.

They crossed the hill between Endor and Gelbus, marched through
Jezrael; and then, just as morning was breaking, ascended the
slopes of Mount Carmel, leaving Legio on their right. It was a
march of about fifty miles; but the men were all active and
vigorous, lightly armed, and sustained by enthusiasm and
excitement, and not a man dropped behind during the journey. Once
among the hills, they threw themselves down for a rest of some
hours. From the crest of the hill, it was but some twelve miles
down to Caesarea; and the blue line of the sea extended, right and
left, as far as the eye could reach.

In the afternoon Jonas was sent down to the city, to learn how
matters stood there, and when Vespasian was going to move. He was
to remain there that night, and return with the news on the
following morning. He came back, however, at midnight; saying that
the Romans had marched on the previous day, that they had taken the
southern road which skirted the mountains for some distance, and
would probably cross the central range at Sichem, and either
proceed to Scythopolis, or join the legion thence on the plain of
Aulon, west of the Jordan.

This was a disappointment but, at daybreak, the companies were
afoot. It was decided they should march separately; each taking its
own line to the east, following unfrequented roads, and keeping
among the hills as far as possible, so that no report of the
passage of any large gathering of men should reach the Romans.
Although no time had been lost, John, when he approached the
Jordan, learned that Vespasian had already joined the legion from
Scythopolis, and had crossed the river into Peraea, and was
marching with all speed against Gadara, its chief city.

Halting for the night near the Jordan; John crossed the river by
a ford, next morning, and then moved forward, cautiously, to
commence operations as soon as the Romans were engaged upon the
siege of the city. But, ere many hours had passed, he learned that
the inhabitants had sent forward a deputation to Vespasian; and
that the war party, taken by surprise by the rapid advance of the
Romans, had hastily evacuated the city, after slaying many of those
who were willing to admit the Romans. When Vespasian arrived, he
had been received with acclamations by the inhabitants; who had
already destroyed a portion of their walls, to prove that they
never thought of resistance.

Having thus established the Roman authority in Peraea, Vespasian
left a garrison there; and set out, with the main body of his army,
for Caesarea, leaving a garrison in the town; and dispatching
Placidus, with five hundred horse and three thousand foot, in
pursuit of the fugitives who had fled from Gadara before he entered
it.

As Vespasian marched back, the band under John began their work.
Wherever the road led through the mountains, they rolled down rocks
upon the column. The light-armed allies of the Romans were sent out
on each flank and, climbing the hills, attacked their assailants.
As soon, however, as they neared the crests–which were, as they
believed, held by small parties, only, of the enemy–the Jews
rushed upon them with fury, overthrew them, and drove them down the
hills; until the heavy-armed troops were obliged to advance to
their assistance, upon which the Jews at once fell back to the
higher slopes.

Growing bolder by success, they even ventured to rush down upon
the baggage; breaking through its guard, and killing great numbers
of the animals. A party of Roman horse which came up at full gallop
was charged, just as they reached the spot, by two more companies
from the hill; and these, before the Romans could face about and
oppose their line of long spears to their assailants, were among
them–stabbing the horses, leaping up behind the soldiers and
slaying them with their knives, and throwing the whole into
confusion. Then the sound of a horn was heard on the hillside, and
the whole of the Jews instantly relinquished their work and took to
the mountains, just as a large body of cavalry, headed by Titus,
came thundering up.

At night, the Romans were disturbed by constant alarms. Men
crept up to the sentries, and slew them in the darkness. Numbers of
the enemy penetrated into the camp; killing the soldiers as they
slept, hocking the horses, and setting fire to the camp in several
places; and it was not until the whole army got under arms that the
attack ceased. The next day, they were similarly harassed upon the
march; and it was not until they had crossed the mountains, and
descended on to the western plain, that the Jews drew off, highly
satisfied with the result of their first encounter with the
Romans.

Their loss had been slight–not more than twenty having
fallen–while they had killed more than two hundred of the
light-armed troops, had inflicted some loss upon the Romans
themselves, had slain numbers of baggage animals; and had shown the
enemy that, however formidable the Roman soldiers might be on the
plains, the legions of Vespasian were no more invincible than was
that of Cestius, among the hills.

They regretted however that, instead of engaging the main army,
they had not followed the force under Placidus–of whose dispatch
from Gadara they had not learned, until it was too late. The
fugitives, of whom Placidus was in pursuit, had taken possession of
the village of Bethennabris. He pursued the stratagem which had
already succeeded so well. He feigned a retreat, and the Jews
sallied out and attacked him. He cut off the greater part from
returning to the village and, at night, attacked Bethennabris,
captured it, and put all within it to the sword.

Those who had escaped were joined by great numbers of the
country people; and made for the Jordan, intending to cross by the
ford opposite Jericho. But the river was swollen with rain, and
they were unable to cross. Placidus overtook and attacked them.
Vast numbers were killed, and more were driven into the river and
drowned. Fifteen thousand fell. Two thousand five hundred were
taken prisoners, with a vast number of animals, of all kinds.
Placidus then reduced the whole of Peraea, and the coast of the
Dead Sea, as far as Machaerus.

Vespasian soon moved down from Caesarea, keeping near the sea,
and capturing Antipatris, Lydda, and Thamna, and blocking Emmaus.
Then, continuing his course southward, he wasted the country to the
frontier of Idumea, and captured the towns Betaris and Caphartobas,
putting to the sword about ten thousand men. Then he marched back,
by Emmaus and Sichem, descended the hills and marched to Jericho;
where he was joined by Placidus, with the troops from Peraea.

The city had been deserted by its inhabitants, and the Roman
army rested here for some time until, just as Vespasian was about
to march upon Jerusalem, the news arrived of the death of Nero and,
unwilling to weaken his army by besieging the city–strong in
itself, and defended by a host–Vespasian withdrew to Caesarea and,
for another two years, Jerusalem had time for preparation, or
submission.

As Vespasian’s march had, except when he was crossing the
mountains from Emmaus to Sichem, lain entirely in the plains, John
had been able to do but little. Half the force had been sent across
the Jordan, and its operations had greatly added to the
difficulties Placidus had met with in subduing Peraea. The other
companies had closely followed the march of Vespasian, had made
many attacks upon parties dispatched to pillage the country and,
after the Romans marched north again, besieged and captured some of
the small places in which they had left garrisons.

They had united when the two Roman armies met at Jericho; and
were prepared to defend, desperately, the rugged mountain roads
leading thence to Jerusalem when, to their surprise, they saw the
Roman host moving away to the north again.

As soon as they ascertained that Vespasian had, for the present,
entirely abandoned the idea of attacking Jerusalem, and that his
troops had gone into permanent quarters, John held a council with
the other commanders. Some were in favor of remaining in arms, and
of constantly attacking the Roman garrisons. Others were for
scattering and returning to their homes–from which they had now
been absent three months–until the Romans again set themselves in
motion against Jerusalem. Opinions were about equally divided, and
John remained silent until all had spoken. Then he said:

“I think that we had better disperse. If we remained in arms, we
might gain some successes, we might surprise and slay some Roman
garrisons; but the others would speedily prepare themselves against
attack, by strengthening their walls and taking every precaution.
But, did we succeed in destroying the garrisons in every one of the
towns they have captured, of what benefit would it be? It would
rather excite the Romans yet more against the people. Yet more
would they march through the land, burning, destroying, and
slaying. They would turn the country into a desert; and either
slay, or carry away all the people captives. We should irritate
without seriously injuring the Romans; and the very people, whose
sufferings we should heighten by our work, would turn against
us.

“Now that the whole country has been scoured, all the towns
which have resisted destroyed, and all the men who defended them
put to the sword, there may be breathing space for the land, until
the Romans advance against Jerusalem. It may be that those in
Jerusalem may come to terms with the Romans, in which case there
need not be any more bloodshed. Therefore, I say that it seems to
me that it would be wrong to continue the war, so long as the
Romans rest peacefully in their camps; but should Jerusalem have
need of us in her defense, every one of us will again take the
field.”

John’s counsel was finally adopted. Many of the men were longing
to return to their homes, where they knew that they would be
welcomed, and honored, for the deeds they had performed; for
although they had achieved no grand successes, they had done much
by compelling the Romans to keep together, and had thus saved many
towns from plunder and destruction. Their operations, too, had
created a fresh sensation of hope, and had aroused the people from
the dull despair in which they were sinking.

Had messengers been now sent out on all sides, a great multitude
of men would have collected; but John knew well that numbers would
be of no avail, and that in a pitched battle the Romans could
defeat many times their number of the undisciplined and ill-armed
Jews.

John himself stood even higher, in the estimation of his
followers, than he did at the commencement of the campaign. His own
band had been particularly successful, and had several times
encountered parties of the Romans almost equal to themselves in
numbers. His plans had been always well laid, and on no occasion
had the Romans cut off and killed any numerous parties. Altogether,
the justness of his views had been established by experience, the
men had gained confidence in themselves and in him, and now only
regretted that they had had no opportunity of attacking the Romans
in anything like equal numbers.

Therefore, when the news spread that John was of opinion that
the wisest course was for them to return to their homes, and there
to hold themselves in readiness to reassemble, whenever the Romans
moved against Jerusalem; the decision was willingly accepted and, a
few hours after the Roman column had marched out from Jericho, the
Jewish companies started for their respective homes, all promising
to take up arms again, when the signal was given. Although the
success that had attended them had not been so great as they had
hoped, it had been sufficiently marked to inspire them with
confidence in themselves, and their leader. But few lives had been
lost; and they had learned that, so long as they persisted in the
tactics their leader had laid down, there was but little chance of
the Romans striking a heavy blow at them.

Surprise was mingled with joy, in the greetings John received on
his return home.

“No disaster has befallen your bands, I hope, John?” Simon
asked, anxiously. “We heard that the Romans had reached Jericho;
and we have been praying the Lord, night and day, for his
protection for you–believing that you would doubtless fall upon
the enemy, as they marched through the mountains towards
Jerusalem.”

“We should have done so, father, and already had taken up a
position on the heights commanding the roads; but there was no
fighting, simply because Vespasian has marched away with his army
to Caesarea, and will not, as we believe, make any movement against
Jerusalem this year.”

“The Lord be praised!” Simon said, piously. “There is time yet
for the city to repent, in sackcloth and ashes, for its sins; and
to come to such terms with the Romans as may save the Temple.”

“So far as I have heard, father, Jerusalem is little likely
either to repent or to negotiate. The news of what is passing there
is even worse than that which the Rabbi Solomon told us; but I will
not pain you by talking of these matters, now.

“You have heard what we have been doing. We have done no great
deeds, but we have harassed the Romans sorely, so that they could
not say that they held the country beyond the flight of their
arrows. We have taken many cities where they had left small
garrisons. We have cut off very many small parties, have captured
many flocks and herds which they had carried off, and have lost but
few men while inflicting much damage. Moreover, we have gained
experience and confidence and, when the time comes for fighting
hand-to-hand with the Romans, we shall enter upon the struggle
without fear.”

“But what can have induced the Romans to retire, when almost
within sight of Jerusalem?”

“Partly, no doubt, because Vespasian considered it better to let
the Jews go on slaying each other, than to waste his strength in
killing them; but partly, I believe, because of news from Rome. We
heard a rumor that a messenger had arrived in the Roman camp, with
news that Nero is dead; and Vespasian may well wish to keep his
army together, to watch the course of events.”

This was, indeed, Vespasian’s main object in retiring; and for
nearly two years he kept his army in hand, waiting for his
opportunity, while Galba, Otho, and Vitellius in turn gained and
lost the imperial crown. John remained at home, except that he went
out with the companies in the spring of 69; when Vespasian, for a
time, set his troops in motion. As before, the Romans marched down
into the south of Judea, and reduced the country on the western
shore of the Dead Sea; while Cerealis entered Idumea and completely
subdued it, so that there now remained only the towns of Herodium,
Masada, Machaerus, and Jerusalem itself which still remained
unconquered.

John’s troops had pursued precisely the same tactics as in the
previous year; and had contented themselves with harassing the
Romans whenever the latter entered difficult country, and in
preventing them from sending out small foraging parties. John
himself would not have called his men under arms, as he saw that no
real advantage was gained; but the men were eager to go, and he saw
that there was a considerable advantage in their continued practice
in arms, in the quickness with which they worked together, and in
the confidence which they had in themselves.

The company suffered but slight loss in the operations; but
John, himself, had an adventure which nearly cost him his life.
Vespasian, with the bulk of his army, was encamped at Hebron; while
Titus was at Carmelia, near the Dead Sea. John’s company were in
the hills near Hebron; and he, wishing to examine the Roman
position at Carmelia, and the road between the two towns, started
by himself. He carried, as usual, his buckler, two light javelins,
and a sword. The road led down a series of precipitous valleys; and
John, knowing that he could instantly gain the hills, out of reach
of danger, did not hesitate to descend into it.

He was now nineteen, strong, active, and sinewy. The position in
which he had been placed had given him the habit of command, and
the heavy responsibility which had devolved upon him had added two
or three years to his apparent age. He was taller than most of his
countrymen, broad across the shoulders, and a match for any single
man under his command.

As he walked along, he heard the sound of a horse’s footsteps,
coming up the valley. He sprang a short distance up the craggy
hillside, and then paused as a single horseman came in sight. As he
came a little nearer John saw, by the splendor of his armor, and
that of the horse he was riding, that he was an officer of rank and
distinction. John scorned to fly before a single foe, and stood
quietly watching him, till he came nearly abreast of him. The
horseman reined up his charger and, without a word, seized his
javelin and hurled it at the armed figure, standing on the hillside
some thirty feet above him. John sprang lightly aside, and the
missile struck the rock with a sharp clang, close to him. In
return, he threw a javelin at the Roman, which struck him on the
armor and fell, blunted.

“Well thrown!” the Roman said, calmly, and hurled a second
javelin.

The stroke was too swift to avoid; but John threw up his buckler
so as to receive it at an angle, and the javelin glanced off, and
flew far up the hillside. This time John sprang down the rocks,
with the activity of a goat, till within a few feet of the Roman.
Then he threw his javelin at the horse, with so true an aim that it
struck at a spot unprotected by armor, and the animal fell.

With an exclamation of anger, the Roman threw himself off, as
the animal sank beneath his legs. He had already drawn his sword,
as John approached, and stood at once on the defensive. Without a
moment’s hesitation John sprang at him, and the combat commenced.
John trusted to his activity, while the Roman had an immense
advantage in his heavy armor–John being unprotected, save by his
buckler. The Roman stood calm and confident, while John
attacked–moving quickly, round and round him; springing in to
deliver a blow, and then bounding out of reach of the sweep of the
heavy Roman sword. For some time the combat continued. John had
received two or three severe wounds while, although the Roman was
bleeding, his armor protected him from any serious hurt.

Suddenly John sprang in at the Roman, throwing himself with all
his force against him. He partially warded, with his sword, the
blow which the Roman struck at him as he came in; but his weapon
was beaten down, and the Roman blade cut through his thick
headdress. But the impetus of his spring was sufficient. The Roman,
taken by surprise by this sudden attack, tottered, and then fell
with a crash, John falling on the top of him.

John was almost blinded by the blood which streamed down his
forehead, from the blow he had last received; but he dashed it
aside, seized his long knife and, in another moment, would have
slain his enemy, had not the latter exclaimed:

“Strike, Jew! I am Titus.”

John was confused by the last blow he had received, but a
thousand thoughts whirled in his brain. For an instant he grasped
the knife more firmly, to slay the son of the chief enemy of his
country; then the possibility of carrying him away a captive
occurred to him, but he saw that this was out of the question. Then
another thought dashed across his brain.

“Swear,” he said, in Greek, for he was ignorant of Latin, “by
your gods, to spare the Temple, or I will kill you.”

There was a moment’s hesitation. The knife was already
descending, when Titus exclaimed, in the same language:

“I swear to do all in my power to save the Temple.”

John’s knife fell from his hand. He tried to rise to his feet;
then everything seemed to swim round, and he fell, insensible.
Titus rose to his feet. He was shaken by the fall; and he, too, had
lost much blood. Panting from his exertions, he looked down upon
his prostrate foe; and the generosity which was the prevailing
feature of his character, except when excited in battle, mastered
him.

“By Hercules,” he exclaimed, “that is a gallant youth; though he
is a Jew, and he has well-nigh made an end of me! What will
Vespasian say, when he hears that I have been beaten in fair fight,
and owe my life to the mercy of a Jew? How they think of their
temple, these Jews! Why, I would not injure it, were it in my power
to do so. Have not our emperors sent offerings there? Besides, we
war not with the gods of the people we conquer.

“Ah, here come Plancus and the others! This will be a lesson to
me not to trust myself, alone, among these mountains again. It is
the first time I have done so, and it shall be the last.”

A messenger had, in fact, arrived at Carmelia, with an order
from Vespasian for him to go to Hebron–as he had a desire to speak
with him–and ordering Plancus, a centurion, to follow with his
troop, Titus had sprung on his horse, and ridden off at once.

The Romans were soon upon the spot, and were loud in exclamation
of surprise and grief at seeing their commander covered with dust,
and bleeding from several wounds, while his horse lay dead beside
him. To their inquiries whether he was seriously wounded, Titus
replied, lightly:

“I am more dirty than hurt. Though, had it not been for my
armor, there would have been a different tale to tell, for these
Jews fight like demons. As you see, he first slew my horse with his
javelin, and then we fought it out on foot.”

“Was there only this one?” the centurion asked, in surprise,
pointing to John’s body.

“Only that one,” Titus said, “and he nearly got the best of it.
Fighting with these Jews is like fighting with wild cats, so fierce
are they in the attack, and so quick are their movements. I tell
you that, for a moment, my life was at his mercy.

“See if he is dead, Plancus.”

“No, he breathes,” Plancus said, stooping over him.

“Let four of the men make a litter, with their spears,” Titus
said; “and take him down to Carmelia, and let my own leech attend
him. I would gladly save his life, if I can. I began the fray and,
truly, he has shown himself so gallant a young man that I would not
that he should die.”

Accordingly, when John opened his eyes, he found himself lying
in a Roman tent, where an old man was sitting by his couch; and a
Roman sentry pacing, backwards and forwards, before the entrance of
the tent.

“Drink this,” the old man said, placing a cordial to his lips.
“You need have no fear, you are in the camp of Titus; and he,
himself, has ordered that all attention shall be paid to you.”

John was too weak from loss of blood, and confused from the
effects of the blow on his head, even to feel the sensation of
wonder. He drank the potion, and closed his eyes again, and went
off into a sleep which lasted for many hours. It was not until the
next day that he thoroughly awoke. The leech continued to attend
him and, at the end of four days, he was able to sit up.

In the afternoon, he heard a clash of arms as the sentry gave
the military salute and, a moment later, Titus entered, accompanied
by one whom John instantly recognized as Josephus. John rose to his
feet.

“I told you he was but a young man,” Titus said to Josephus;
“but now that I can see him more nearly or, at any rate, more
calmly, I can see that he is little more than a lad; and yet, as
you have heard me say, he is a man of valor, and defeated me in
fair fight.”

“I seem to know his face,” Josephus said, and then addressed
John in Hebrew.

“Who are you, young man?”

“I am that John whom you saved in the storm, on the Sea of
Galilee, and who fought with you at Jotapata.”

“Is it possible?” Josephus exclaimed, in surprise. “I thought
that I, alone, was saved there.”

“I lay hidden with the boy Jonas, who told us of the track down
to the water,” John said, quietly, “and have since then been
fighting the Romans. While you–“

“While I have been their prisoner,” Josephus broke in. “I know
that all my countrymen are enraged against me but, truly, without a
cause.”

Josephus then translated to Titus what John had told him, adding
that the young man had served him with zeal and devotion, and that
he had an affection for him.

“Then I am the more glad that he has not lost his life,” Titus
said, courteously.

“And now, my antagonist,” he said, in Greek, to John, “I would
tell you that I bear you no malice; though you have shed my blood,
and brought somewhat of disgrace upon me–for truly it is a
disgrace for a Roman soldier, in heavy armor, to be overthrown by
one who carries but a light buckler as his protection. But I love a
brave man, even though he be a foe; and I honor those who are
fighting for what they believe to be the cause of their country. If
I let you go free, will you promise me not to bear arms again,
against Rome?”

“I could not promise that, Titus,” John said, quietly, “even
were you to order me, now, to be taken out and slain. It is the
first duty of all Jews to fight for the Holy City and, so long as I
live, and the Holy City is in danger, so long I must fight for her.
These are the commands of my religion; and I cannot, even to save
my life, disobey them.”

“I will not press you to do so,” Titus said; “though Josephus,
here, will tell you that Rome is not an unkind lord, even to those
who have most withstood it. When you are well enough to leave us,
you shall go unharmed; though, could you have seen your way to
desist from hostility to us, I would have been a good friend to
you; and have promoted you to posts of honor, and that in countries
where you would not have been opposed to your countrymen. But if
you will not have it so, you are free to go; and remember that, at
any time, you have a friend in Titus; and that when this war is
over, and peace restored, if you come to me I will repeat the offer
that I have now made.

“Moreover, you may rely upon it that, in the last extremity, I
will do all in my power to save the Temple; and indeed, in no case
would I have injured a building so venerable and holy.”

Titus then left the tent, but Josephus remained for some time,
talking with John.

“I suppose you, like all others, have looked upon me as a
traitor, John?” he began.

“Not so,” John replied. “I knew that you fought bravely, at
Jotapata; and risked your life many times in its defense I knew,
too, that you from the first opposed the revolt against the Romans,
and it is not for me to judge as to your position among them.”

“I am a prisoner,” Josephus said. “I am kindly treated, indeed,
and Vespasian frequently asks my opinion of matters connected with
the country; but surely I am doing more good to my countrymen, by
softening his heart towards them, than if I had died at
Jotapata–still more if I had been, like John of Gischala, a
scourge to it. I trust even yet that, through my influence,
Jerusalem may be saved. When the time comes Vespasian will, I hope,
grant terms; and my only fear is that the madness of the people
will lead them to refuse all accommodation, and so force him into
taking the city by storm–in which case it cannot but be that
terrible misery will fall upon it, and that vast numbers will lose
their lives.

“And now, tell me how you are, at home, and what you have been
doing since I last saw you.”

John thought it as well not to mention, to Josephus, the
prominent part which he had taken among those who had so harassed
the Romans; but he said that he had joined the bands raised in
Galilee, and had been among those who had hung upon the Roman flank
and rear, wherever they marched.

“The Jews have behaved with prudence and valor,” Josephus said,
“and I now see that it would have been far better had I trusted
more in mountain warfare, than in fenced cities; but it would have
been the same, in the end. I know the Jews. They would have fought
bravely, for a time; but the thought of each would have turned to
his farm and his vineyard, and they would never have kept the field
for any length of time. The Romans therefore would, in the end,
have tired them out and, perhaps, the fate which has befallen the
cities that resisted would have fallen upon all the land.

“And now remember that, although but a prisoner, I have much
influence with Vespasian; and that at any time, should you fall
into their hands again, I will exert that influence in your
favor.”

John remained about ten days at Carmelia. Titus had several
interviews with him, and at the last of these said:

“I have conceived a strong friendship for you, young man, and
would willingly do you service. Take this signet ring. At all
times, and in all places, it will pass you to my presence. If a
Roman sword be raised to strike you, and you show this ring, it
will be lowered. That you should fight against us to the last is,
as you believe, your duty; and as I myself would so fight for Rome,
I seek not further to dissuade you. But when resistance is at an
end, and it is useless any longer to hold the sword, your death
cannot benefit your country. Therefore, when that time comes–if
not before–use this ring, and come to me; and I will grant you not
only your own life, but that of such friends as you may wish to
save.

“I do not forget that you had my life in your hands, and that
you spared it. It is a life that may yet be valuable to Rome; and
though even now, when I speak of it, my cheek flushes with
humiliation, I am none the less grateful. It pleases me to see
that, in the conversations you have had with my officers, you have
borne yourself so modestly, and have made no mention of this; for
although I, myself, do not hesitate to speak of the mishap which
befell me, it is pleasant for me that it is not spoken of by
others. Believe me, then, that at all times you will find a sincere
friend in Titus.”

John replied in suitable terms; thanking Titus for the promises
he had made, and disclaiming any merit in his success–which was
but the last effort of a beaten man, and was the result of the
sudden surprise, and not of any skill or bravery.

Upon the following morning, Titus furnished him with an escort
far beyond the confines of the camp; and then, taking to the hills,
John rejoined his companions, who had long since given him up as
dead. They could scarce credit him, when he told them that he had
been lying wounded, in the hands of the Romans; and were still more
surprised at hearing that he had been engaged in a personal
encounter with Titus. Of this John gave no details, beyond the fact
that, after throwing their javelins, the horse of Titus had fallen,
and they had fought hand to hand until, at last, he had fallen,
bleeding from a severe wound; and that Titus himself had been
wounded.

“But how was it he did not slay you?” was the question. “It
seems almost a miracle, especially after wounding Titus,
himself.”

“Doubtless the Lord put it into his heart to spare me,” John
said. “Titus only said that he preserved my life as that of a brave
foe. The Romans esteem bravery and, as I had withstood Titus for
some time, he was pleased to think that I had done well.”

“Ah, if you had killed him, what rejoicings there would have
been in the land!”

“No,” John said earnestly, “there would have been mourning. You
may be sure that Vespasian would have avenged his blood upon all
the people. It would have been a misfortune, indeed, had Titus
fallen. It is well that it ended as it did.”

John was, however, far too weak to be able to accompany his band
upon its rapid marches; and therefore, for a time, resigned its
command to one of his captains. He determined to go, until his
strength returned to him, to a small community of which he had
heard as dwelling in an almost inaccessible valley on the shore of
the Dead Sea. He was told that they took no part in the commotion
of the times, and that they lived in such poverty that even the
robbers of Simon had not cared to interfere with them. They
practiced hospitality to strangers, and spent their lives in
religious observances. As John had often heard from his father of
this sect–which was at one time numerous in the land, but had been
sorely persecuted by the priests and Pharisees–he determined to
stop for a time among them, and learn somewhat of their
doctrines.

Accompanied by Jonas, he made his way across the mountains to
the valley where they dwelt. As wounded, and a stranger, he was
received without question among them; and a little hut, similar to
that in which they all lived, was placed at his disposal. These
huts were ranged in a square, in the center of which stood a larger
building, used as their synagogue. Here John remained nearly a
month; and was greatly struck by their religious fervor, the
simplicity and austerity of their lives, and the doctrines which
they held. He learned that the more rigorous of the sect abstained,
altogether, from the use of meat and wine; and that celibacy was
strictly enjoined. Those who married did not separate themselves
from the sect, but were considered as occupying an inferior
position in it. Their food was of the simplest kind, and only
sufficient to sustain life. The community raised the grain and
vegetables necessary for their use.

But it was the religious doctrines which they held which most
greatly surprised John. They attached no importance, whatever, to
the ceremonial law of the Jewish Scriptures; maintaining, in the
first place, that the Scriptures had a spiritual signification
wholly apart from the literal meaning, alone understood by the
world; and that this spiritual meaning could only be attained by
those who, after long probation, were initiated into the inner
mysteries of the sect.

In the second place, they held that the written law had been
altogether superseded by the coming of the great prophet, Christ,
who had been put to death by the Jewish priests. John learned that
there were already large numbers of Jews who had accepted the
doctrines taught by this Christ, although they did not all embrace
the strict rules and modes of life of the ascetics. John was
greatly struck with their doctrines, although he did not hear
enough to do more than to dimly understand their meaning. He
determined however that, if he went safely through the war, he
would inquire further into these mysteries.

At the end of the four weeks, his strength being comparatively
restored, he took his leave of the community, and rejoined his
band.

Chapter 13: The Test Of
Devotion.

Although John was able to join his companions, he was still far
from strong; and was glad to have a valid excuse for handing over
his command to his lieutenant, and returning home. The campaign was
nearly over; and he could not have followed those rapid marches
through the hills which enabled the band to appear, now on one
side, now on the other of the Romans, and to keep them in a
constant state of watchfulness.

At the same time, he was glad of the excuse to leave for,
although he had declared to Titus that he would fight again in
defense of Jerusalem, he felt that, after the kind treatment he had
met with, he could not take part in the daily skirmishes with the
Romans.

Mounting a donkey, which was among the many animals captured in
the attacks upon the Romans’ baggage train, John bade adieu to his
comrades; and with Jonas, now grown into a sturdy young fellow,
started for home. He journeyed by the road to the west of
Jerusalem, in order to avoid the bandits of Simon son of Gioras;
who still scourged the neighborhood of Masada and Herodium, lying
between Jerusalem and the Dead Sea. He avoided all the towns in
which there were Roman garrisons; for the bandages on his head
would have shown, at once, that he had been engaged in fighting. He
traveled slowly, and was six days before he arrived home.

“This time, my son, you have not come home unharmed,” Simon
said. “Truly you are a shadow of your former self.”

“I shall soon be strong again, father; and these are honorable
scars, for I had them in single combat with Titus, himself, in the
valley between Hebron and Carmelia.”

“Then how is it that you live to tell the tale, my son?” Simon
asked, while exclamations of wonder broke from Mary and Martha.
“Surely God did not deliver him into your hands?”

“I wish not to boast, father, and I have told the true story to
none; but truly God did deliver him into my hands.”

“And he is dead?” Simon exclaimed.

“No, father, he lives, for I spared him.”

“Spared him!” Simon exclaimed. “What, you did not avenge the
miseries of our people upon the son of the oppressor?”

“No, father; and I rejoice that I did not for, had I done so,
surely the Romans would have avenged his death upon all the land.
But I thought not of that, at the time. I was sore wounded, and
bleeding, and my sense was well-nigh gone; but as I knelt upon him,
and lifted my hand to slay him, a thought–surely sent by God,
himself–came into my mind, and I said:

“‘Swear by your gods that you will spare the Temple, or I slay
you;’ and he swore that, so far as lay in his power, he would spare
the Temple.”

An exclamation of joy burst from his hearers, and Simon
said:

“Verily, my son, God has raised you up as a deliverer of his
Temple; not, as some hoped, by defeating our oppressors, but by
binding one of their mightiest ones to do it no harm.”

“I pray, father, say naught of this to anyone. It is between
ourselves, and Titus, and the Lord; and I would not that any man
should know of it. Moreover, Titus behaved with the greatest
generosity to me.

“My victory over him was but a surprise. I was sorely wounded,
while he was almost unharmed, when I sprang upon him and, by the
sudden impulse, threw him to the ground, he being burdened with his
heavy armor I had but strength to hear him swear, and then I fell
as one dead. Titus might have slain me, as I lay; but he not only
did me no harm but, when his soldiers came up, he gave me into
their care, and directed me to be carried down to his camp, placed
in a tent, and tended by his own leech and, when I recovered, he
let me go free.”

“Truly it is a marvelous tale, John. That you should have fallen
into the hands of the Romans, and come forth unharmed after
discomfiting their leader, is as marvelous to me as Daniel coming
unharmed from the lions’ den. We will say naught of your story, my
son. Tell us only what you told your own companions, so that we may
know what to say, when we are questioned.”

“I told them the truth, father, although not all the truth. I
said that I met Titus, and fought with him; that I wounded him
somewhat; but that, by virtue of his armor, I did him no great
harm, while he wounded me so seriously that I fell down as one
dead; that he, feeling that I had fought like a brave foeman, had
me carried to his tent, and tended and cared for until I was able
to go forth; when he sent me away free, and unharmed.”

“Truly men say of Titus that he is clement and merciful, and
therein differs much from Vespasian his father; and the clemency
which he showed to the people of Gischala, and other places which
he has taken, proves that is so; but this deed of his to you shows
that he must have a great heart, for few men of rank, and warlike
fame, who had been discomfited by one yet scarce a man, but would
have left him by the road to die, so that none might know what had
happened.”

“Titus made no secret of it, father,” John said. “He told
Josephus, in my hearing, that I had spared his life. He said naught
of the oath which he had taken; but I know that he will keep it as
far, as he said, lies in his power.”

“What is he like?” Mary asked.

“He is not of very tall stature, but stoutly built, and strong.
His face–clean shaved, as is their custom–has a pleasant and
kindly expression, that tallies with his disposition, for he is
greatly beloved by his soldiers. In action they say he is brave to
rashness, quick to anger, but as quickly appeased. Had he been in
command of the Roman legions, they would have been not less
formidable in the fight and, perhaps, when the passions of Titus
were roused, not less savage; but they would not have wrought such
wholesale cruelty and destruction as they have done.”

“It is rarely that pity enters into the heart of a Roman,” Simon
said; “and yet, it is hardly for us to complain for, when we
crossed over the Jordan and conquered Canaan, we put all to the
sword, and spared none. It may be that in future times, if wars do
not altogether cease in the world, they will be waged in another
spirit; but so far, from the commencement of the world until now,
it has ever been the same–war has brought desolation and
destruction upon the vanquished.”

The next morning John went early into the garden; not that he
was strong enough for heavy work, but in order that Mary might, as
usual, join him there.

“Do you know, John,” she said, after their first greeting, “you
have made me happier than I have been, for some time.”

“How is that, Mary?”

“It seemed to me, John, that you were getting away from me.”

“Getting away, Mary!” he repeated; “how do you mean?”

“You were becoming a great leader, John. I was proud that it
should be so, proud to think that you might become a deliverer of
the nation; and then it would have been meet and right that you
should take to yourself, as a wife, a daughter of one of the great
ones of the land.”

“Mary!” John exclaimed, indignantly.

“It might have been necessary, John. The tillers of the soil can
marry where they please. Those who have power must wed for other
reasons than that of love. They must make alliances that will
strengthen their position, and it would have been your duty to have
sacrificed your love for the sake of your country. I should have
been the first to bid you do so. I should have been content to make
my sacrifice, too, on the altar of our country; content with
knowing that you, the deliverer of Israel, would have chosen me
from among all other women, had you only had your own pleasure and
happiness to consult.

“But after what you told us yesterday, I think, perhaps, that
this need not be so; and that the way in which you were to save the
Temple was not the way we thought. Your mission has been
fulfilled–not by great victories, which would have made you the
hero of Israel–but in that contest in the valley, where no eyes
but those of God beheld you; and should the Temple be saved, no one
will know that you were its savior, save we who love you.
Therefore, John, once again I can look forward to the time when you
and I can dwell, together, in the house of your fathers.”

Mary was so earnest that John did not attempt to laugh her out
of her fancies, as was his usual way. He only said, quietly:

“Perhaps you are right, Mary, as to my mission; but I do not
think, dear, that even had I been made ruler of Israel, I would
have gone elsewhere for a wife; but as you say, circumstances might
have been too strong for me and, at any rate, I am well pleased
that there is no chance of my happiness being set in one scale, and
the good of my country in another.”

“And now, John, I believe that you will come back to me, even if
Jerusalem falls. This is the third time your life has been spared
and, if we count that day when we were so nearly drowned together
on the lake, we may say that four times your life has been saved,
when it seemed all but lost; and I believe, now, that it will be
saved to the end.”

“I hope for your sake, Mary, and for my father and mother’s,
that it may be so. I have so much to make my life happy that I will
assuredly do all in my power to save it. As you know, I have never
held with those who would destroy themselves, when all seemed lost.
My idea is: a man should fight until the last; but should, if
possible, provide some way of escape, when fighting is no longer of
avail.

“Fortunately, if I do not fall in battle, I have a talisman
which will bring me safe to you. Titus has given me a signet ring
which will, at all times, procure me access to him. He has promised
that, at all times, he will be my friend and, should I fall into
the hands of his soldiers again, he will let me go free, and will
give me the lives of any who may be dear to me.”

“This Titus must be a noble enemy,” Mary said, with tears in her
eyes. “He is strong, and kind, and generous. Had such a man been
raised up as the leader of our people, instead of the leader of our
foes, how different it might have been!”

“Yes, indeed,” John agreed; “truly we are sheep without a
shepherd; nay, we are sheep whose leaders are ravening wolves, who
devour their own flock.”

The time passed, quietly and happily save for the grief which
the tidings of the terrible doings in Jerusalem caused. The two
years’ respite which the city had obtained, when Vespasian marched
away from Jericho, instead of being turned to good account, had
brought even greater evils than before. Simon son of Gioras, having
wasted all the country towards Idumea, began to threaten Jerusalem.
The Zealots marched out against him, but were driven back to the
city. Simon–thinking that the Idumeans, believing him to be
occupied with Jerusalem, would have grown careless–suddenly
entered their country at the head of twenty thousand men.

The Idumeans flew to arms, and met him with twenty-five thousand
men; and a furious battle ensued, in which neither party gained the
advantage. Simon retreated, and the Idumeans dispersed. Simon
raised an even larger force than before, and advanced with forty
thousand irregular troops, besides his heavy-armed soldiers. They
took Hebron, and wasted Idumea with fire and sword.

The Zealots, in Simon’s absence, succeeded in capturing his
wife; and carried her off to Jerusalem, hoping by this means to
force him to come to terms. On receiving the news he hurried back
with his forces, surrounded Jerusalem, and slew everyone who
ventured to leave the city–except some whom he sent back, having
cut off their hands, to tell those within that, unless his wife
were returned, he would storm the city and slay every man within
it. Even the Zealots were alarmed at his threats and fury, and
restored his wife; whereupon he withdrew.

This had happened in the previous year, before Cerealis and
Vespasian had entered Idumea. As soon as the Romans had retired,
Simon again sallied forth from Masada, collected a great number of
Idumeans, and drove them before him into Jerusalem. Then he
encamped before the city, and slew all who quitted the protection
of its walls.

Thus, within, John of Gischala and his followers tyrannized over
the people, murdering and plundering till they were sated with
blood, and knew not what to do with their booty; while Simon cut
off all flight beyond its walls. But at length the party of John
became divided. The Idumeans, who were in considerable numbers in
the city, rose and drove John and the Zealots into the palace built
by Grapte; which had served them as their headquarters, and the
storehouse where they piled up the treasure which they had amassed
by the plunder of the people. But the Idumeans attacked them here,
and drove them into the Temple–which adjoined the palace–and took
possession of all the plunder that they had amassed. The Zealots,
however, were in great force in the Temple, and threatened to pour
out and destroy the whole city by fire. The Idumeans called an
assembly of the chief priests, and they decided to admit Simon
within the gates.

The high priest, Matthias, went out in person to invite him to
enter and, amidst the joyful greetings of the population, Simon
marched through the gates with his followers, and took possession
of the upper city. This was the last and most fatal mistake of the
people of Jerusalem. The sheep had invited a tiger to save them
from a wolf; and now two tyrants, instead of one, lorded it over
the city. As soon as Simon entered, he proceeded to attack the
Zealots in the Temple; but the commanding position of that building
enabled them to defend themselves with success.

To obtain still further advantage, they reared four strong
towers; and on these placed their military engines and bowmen, and
so swept the approaches to the Temple that Simon was forced to
desist from the attack. All through the winter, fighting went on
without intermission, and the streets of Jerusalem ran with
blood.

A further division took place among the Zealots. Eleazar–who
had been their head before the arrival of John of Gischala–jealous
of the supremacy of that leader, got together a party and suddenly
seceded from the main band, and seized the inner court of the
Temple. Now, fighting went on within as well as without the holy
buildings. The party of Eleazar were well supplied with provisions,
for the stores in the Temple were of immense extent. They were too
few in numbers to sally out to attack the party of John; but they
were strong enough to defend the walls of the inner court, which
looked down upon the rest of the Temple, and enabled them to
command the positions of John’s troops.

Day and night the struggle went on. The inner court of the
Temple was desecrated by blood–dying men lay on the steps of the
altar, and the shouts and songs of the savage soldiery rose, where
the hymns of praise of the Levites had been wont to ascend.

John’s troops continued their attacks upon the inner court,
while they successfully resisted the assaults of Simon; who tried
to take advantage of the internecine strife raging between the two
parties of Zealots, but the superior height of the positions held
by John’s men enabled them to defend themselves as successfully as
did those of Eleazar against their attacks.

And yet, during all this terrible strife, the services of the
Temple were continued, in the midst of blood and carnage. Free
ingress and egress were, as at all times, permitted to the pious;
who made their way unharmed through the fierce combatants, passed
over the pavement slippery with blood, and laid their offering on
the altars–often paying with their lives for their pious services,
being smitten down, even as they prayed at the altar, by the
missiles which the followers of John poured incessantly into the
inner court.

Sometimes, drunk with the wine obtained from the abundant stores
of the Temple, the followers of Eleazar would sally out against
John. Sometimes John would pour out against Simon, wasting and
destroying the city as far as his troops could penetrate. Thus, the
Temple became surrounded by a waste of ruins, held in turn by one
or other of the factions. Even the rites of burial, so dear to the
Jews, were neglected; and the bodies of the slain lay, unburied,
where they fell, And yet, the forces of the three factions which
thus desolated the city were comparatively small and, had the
wretched population who were tyrannized over by them possessed any
unanimity, or been led by any man of courage, they could easily
have overthrown them all; for Simon’s force amounted to about
fifteen thousand, that of John to six thousand, while Eleazar could
count but two thousand four hundred men, and yet in Jerusalem were
gathered a population amounting, with the original inhabitants and
the fugitives from the country around, to over a million
people.

At length, the long interval of suspense was drawing to an end.
At the death of Vitellius, Vespasian had been called upon, by the
general voice of the people, to ascend the throne; and had, some
time before, left for Rome to assume the imperial purple. He was
joyfully acknowledged by the whole Roman empire; who had groaned
under a succession of brutal tyrants, and now hailed the accession
of one who was, at once, a great general and an upright and able
man; and who would rule the empire with a firm, just, and moderate
hand. When winter was over, Vespasian sent Titus–who had, in the
meantime, gone to Egypt–back to Palestine, and ordered him to
complete the conquest of Judea.

The Twelfth Legion–that which had been defeated, when under the
command of Cestius–was ordered to reinforce the three already in
Judea; and the gaps made in the ranks during the war, and by the
withdrawal of the men who had accompanied Vespasian to Rome, were
filled by an addition of two thousand picked troops from
Alexandria, and three thousand from the legions stationed on the
Euphrates. The Syrian kings sent large contingents; and Tiberius
Alexander–an intimate friend of Titus, a man of wisdom and
integrity–was appointed to high command. His knowledge of the
country, which he had once governed, added to his value in the
Roman councils.

As soon as the news spread that the Roman army was collecting
for its march against Jerusalem, the signal fires were kindled on
the hills above Gamala; and John, after a tender farewell to his
parents and Mary, set out with Jonas. In twenty-four hours, the
band had again assembled. When they were gathered, John addressed
them. He pointed out to them that the campaign that they were now
about to undertake differed widely from those which had preceded
it.

“Hitherto,” he said “you have but skirmished around the Romans,
and have run but comparatively little danger; but now, those who go
with me must make up their minds that they are going to Jerusalem
to die. It may be that the Lord will yet deliver the Holy City from
her enemies, as he delivered it in days of old. But you know what
has been doing in Jerusalem, for the last four years; that not only
the streets, but the altar itself have been flooded with the blood
of the people, how the Jews themselves have desecrated the Temple,
and how wickedness of all kinds has prevailed in the city.

“Thus, you can judge for yourselves what chance there is that
God will interfere on behalf of the people who have forsaken and
insulted him. If he does not interfere, in my opinion the fate of
the city is sealed. I have seen the Romans at work, at Jotapata and
Gamala; and I know how the strongest walls go down before their
engines and battering rams. Moreover I hear that, in the wars which
have been raging within the gates, the magazines–which contain
sufficient food to last even her great population for years–have
been entirely destroyed; and thus those who go to defend her have
to face not the Roman sword only, but famine.

“Therefore, I say that those who go up to defend the Temple must
make up their minds that they go to die for the Temple. It is for
each of you to ask yourselves whether you are ready to do this. I
ask no one to go with me. Let each, before it is too late, ask
himself whether he is ready to do this thing. I blame none who find
the sacrifice too great. It is between them and their
conscience.

“Therefore, I pray you, let all tonight disperse among the
hills, each by himself, so that you may think over what I have
said; and let all who may come to the conclusion that they are not
called upon to go to certain death, in defense of the Temple,
depart to their homes without reproach from their comrades. Each
man here has done his duty, so long as hope remained. Now it is for
each to decide, for himself, whether he feels called upon to give
his life for the Temple.”

Silently the crowd dispersed, and John joined the captains, and
passed the night with them.

“I fear we shall have but a small gathering in the morning,” one
of them said, as they sat down by the fire. “Many will fight as
long as there is hope, but few will go down to certain death.”

“It is better so,” John said. “Misery and ruin have fallen upon
the country. As you saw for yourselves, Judea and Idumea are but
deserts, and more have fallen by famine and misery than by the
sword. We would not have our nation blotted out; and as, in the
days after the captivity in Babylon, God again collected his people
and restored their land to them, so it may be his intention to do,
now, when they have paid the full penalty of their disobedience and
wickedness. Therefore, I would not that any should go down to die,
save those who feel that God has called them to do so.

“Already the victims who have fallen in these four years are
well-nigh countless; and in Jerusalem there are a million
people–sufficient, if they have spirit and strength and the Lord
is with them–to defend the walls. Thus, then, however small the
number of those who may gather tomorrow, I shall be content. Had
the Romans advanced against Jerusalem at the commencement of the
war, there was not a Jew capable of bearing arms but would have
gone up to the defense of the Holy City; but now, their spirit is
broken by the woes that have come upon them, and still more by the
civil wars in Jerusalem herself. A spirit of hopelessness and
despair has come upon us. It is not that men fear to die, or that
they care to live; it is that they say:

“‘What matters it whether we live or die? All is lost. Why
should we trouble as to what may come upon us?'”

“Then you no longer believe in your mission, John?” one of the
party said, gloomily.

“I have never proclaimed a mission,” John said. “Others have
proclaimed it for me. I simply invited a score of men to follow me,
to do what we could to hinder the Romans; and because God gave us
success, others believed that I was sent as a deliverer.

“And yet, I believe that I had a mission, and that mission has
been fulfilled. I told you not, before; but I tell you now, for
your comfort, what happened between me and Titus–but I wish not
that it should be told to others. I told you that I fought with
him; and that, being wounded and insensible, I was carried into his
tent–but that was not all. When we fought, although sorely
wounded, I sprang upon him and we fell to the ground, I uppermost.
I drew my knife, and would have slain him; when the Lord put a
thought into my mind, and I called upon him to swear that he would
spare the Temple.

“He swore that, if it lay in his power, he would do so. Then he
was but in inferior command. Now he is general of the army, and
should be able to keep his oath. Thus, if I had a mission to save
the Temple, I trust that I have fulfilled it; and that, whatever
fate may fall upon the city, the Temple will yet remain erect and
unharmed.”

John’s words gave new life and energy to the before dispirited
men gathered round him. It seemed to them not only that the Temple
would be saved, but that their belief in their leader’s mission as
a deliverer was fully justified; and a feeling of enthusiasm
succeeded that of depression.

“Why did you not tell us before? Why did you not let all your
followers know what a great thing you had done, John?” one of them
asked, presently.

“For two reasons,” John replied. “I did not wish to seem to
exalt myself, or to boast of the success which God had given me
over the Roman; for it was assuredly his strength, and not mine,
for I myself could do naught against the strength and skill of
Titus and, as I told you, was wounded nigh to death, while he
received small hurt. In the next place I thought that, if I made it
public, it would be noised abroad through the land; and that Titus,
when he heard that all men knew that he had been worsted in fight
with a Jew, might repent of his oath–or might even ask to be sent
to some other command, so that he might not be called upon to keep
it.”

John’s companions agreed that the second reason was a valid one,
though they did not agree that the first should have weighed with
him.

“It is not by hiding a light under a bushel,” one of them said,
“that men gain the confidence of their followers. The more men
believe in their leaders, the more blindly will they follow him,
the greater the efforts they will make for him. It was the belief
in your mission which gathered eight thousand men on these
mountains to follow you; and the proof that you have given us that
that belief was well founded, and that you had a mission to save
the Temple–the knowledge that you had, single handed, forced the
Roman general to swear an oath to save the Temple–would have so
heightened that enthusiasm that they would have followed you, had
you bidden them attack the whole Roman army. I agree that, for your
second reason, it was wise to say nothing of what took place; but
your first was, I think, a mistaken one.”

“At any rate,” another said, “the hand of God is plainly marked
in the matter; for it has placed Titus in full command, and has
thus given him the power of carrying out the oath which he swore.
Now, my friends, we can go up with light hearts with John to
Jerusalem for, though we may die, yet do we feel assured that the
Lord purposes to save the Temple; and that, one day, he will
restore the glories of Judah.”

In the morning, as John had expected, the number of those who
gathered at the sound of the trumpet was comparatively small. The
night’s reflection, the feeling that the sacrifice of their lives
would be of no avail, and the dull despair that had seized the
whole nation had had their effect and, of the eight thousand men
who had gathered there the night before, but six hundred now obeyed
the summons.

These gathered, stern and silent, but with an expression of
desperate resolution on their faces. At the earnest request of his
captains, John allowed them to go among the men and to tell them
that, although the manner in which it was done was a secret, John
had given to them undoubted proofs that he had a mission from God;
and that they believed that, whatever might happen to Jerusalem, it
was the Lord’s will that the Temple should be saved. The joyous
expression of their leaders’ faces, even more than their words,
assured their followers of their sincerity. Their spirit rose, and
a renewed feeling of enthusiasm seized them; and when, an hour
later, John took his place on a rock to address them, the shouts of
greeting which broke forth showed him how great was the change in
their spirit.

“My friends,” he said, “I greet you who have decided to die with
me, if need be, in defense of Jerusalem. I blame not those who have
gone. They would not have gone, had the Lord required them to stay;
but to you he has spoken, and has told you that he has need of your
services. Henceforward, we will act as one band–a band of men
inspired with one thought, and one aim. And now, though our numbers
may not be great, yet a force so composed of men who hold their
lives as naught may do wonders. You remember how Gideon sent the
greater part of his army away and, with a mere handful, defeated
the hosts of the enemy!

“We look not for victory; but we will show the Romans what men
can do to avenge their bleeding country–what deeds Jews can
perform, when fighting for the Temple. We shall go into Jerusalem.
There we will hold aloof from all parties. If we are attacked, we
will defend ourselves. But our aim will be to act as a body apart
from others, ready to undertake the most desperate services, and to
set an example of courage and devotion.

“Now let us count our numbers, and arrange ourselves anew into
companies.”

It was found that the bands composed of men from Tiberias, and
the other cities of the lake, had entirely disappeared; and that
those who had stayed were principally hardy dwellers among the
hills. They were again divided into twenty companies of thirty men
each and, after examining their arms, and seeing that all were well
provided, John gave the order, and the band set off.

Keeping on the eastern side of Jordan they stopped at a large
village, near the ford opposite Jericho; and here a quantity of
grain was purchased, and was made up into sacks, each weighing
fifty pounds.

“The granaries that remain will be principally in the hands of
the troops of John, or Simon,” John said; “and it is as well that
we should have our own store to depend upon. So long as we can buy
food, we will do so; and we can fall back upon our own magazine, if
necessary. It will be best for two or three of us to go into the
city, first, and find a quarter where we can lodge close together,
and as far removed as possible from the factions. Simon holds the
upper town, and John the Temple; therefore we will establish
ourselves in the lower town. We will not go in in a body, for they
might refuse us admittance; but as the Romans approach there will
be a stream of fugitives entering the city. We will mingle with
them, and pass in unobserved.

“Many of the fugitives will be carrying the goods they most
value; and many, doubtless, will take in provisions with them.
Therefore, our sacks of grain will not excite attention.”

It was five years since John had journeyed up with his parents
to Jerusalem, and he therefore knew but little of the city. Some of
his followers, however, had been there more recently; and he picked
out four of these, one of whom was a captain of a company, to enter
the city and find a suitable post for them. The whole band crossed
the Jordan together, and made a detour to avoid Jericho, where the
Tenth Legion had been quartered during the winter. Then they took
their way up the steep road through the hills until, passing
through Bethany, they came out on the crest of the hill looking
down upon the Valley of Jehoshaphat; with the Temple rising
immediately opposite to them, and the palace of Agrippa, and the
crowded houses of the city, in the background.

The men laid down their sacks, and stood for a long time,
looking at Jerusalem. Many were moved to tears, as they looked on
the stately beauty of the Holy City, and thought how low it had
fallen; with civil tumult within, and a terrible enemy approaching
from without. Even now, there is no fairer scene in the world than
the view of Jerusalem from the spot where they were
standing–called then, as now, the Mount of Olives–and it must
have been superb, indeed, in the days when the Temple stood intact,
and the palaces of Agrippa and Herod rose on the brow of Mount
Zion.

After a long pause they resumed their way, crossed the upper end
of the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and established themselves for the
night in a grove of trees near the Grotto of Jeremiah; four chosen
men at once entering the city, by the Old Gate on the north side of
the city. The country here–and indeed, all the hills around
Jerusalem–were covered with the houses of the wealthy, surrounded
by gardens and orchards. They belonged not only to the Jews of the
city; but to those who dwelt in foreign countries, and who were
accustomed each year to come to Jerusalem for the Passover, and to
spend some time there before they returned to their distant homes.
Even now, undismayed by the dangers of the times, and the knowledge
that the Romans would shortly besiege the city, pilgrims were
arriving from all the cities of Asia Minor, Greece, and Egypt, for
the time of the Passover was close at hand.

At the foot of the walls, and on the slopes around, large
numbers of pilgrims were encamped–the rich in gorgeous tents, the
poor in shelters constructed of boughs or carpets. This overflow of
people was an occurrence which was witnessed every year, on the
same occasion; but its proportions were this time of greater
magnitude than usual, partly owing to the difficulty of procuring
lodgings in the town, owing to the crowds of fugitives there,
partly because many thought it safer to camp outside, and to enter
the city only to pay their devotions, and take part in the
ceremonial, than to put themselves wholly into the power of the
ruffians of Simon and John.

In the following morning the men returned, and reported that
they had found a spot in the inner lower town, between the Corner
Gate and the Gate of Ephraim in the second wall, where was a large
house, inhabited now but by two or three persons. Here a great
number of them could take up their quarters, while the others could
find lodging near. The reason why so many houses were empty there
was that it was somewhat exposed to the irruptions of Simon’s men
from the upper town, as they frequently came down and robbed those
who entered the city at the Damascus Gate, from which led the great
north road.

Crowds of fugitives were making their way by this road to the
city, flying before the advance of the Romans; who were, they said,
but a few hours’ march in their rear. Many were men, coming to take
their part in the defense of the city; but the great proportion
were old men, women, and children, flying for refuge. John shook
his head, as he watched the stream of fugitives, for he well knew
the horrors that would befall the besieged town.

“Better a thousand times,” he said to Jonas, “that these poor
people should have remained in their villages. They have nothing
which would tempt the cupidity of the Roman soldiers, and no evil
might have befallen them; whereas now they will perish by famine or
disease, or be slain by the Romans, besides consuming the food
which would have sustained the fighting men. Were I master of
Jerusalem I would, when I heard the Romans were approaching, have
cleared out from the city all who could not aid in the defense It
would have seemed a harsh action; but it would have been a merciful
one, and would greatly strengthen the power of resistance.”

Chapter 14: Jerusalem.

Mingling with the crowd, John and his followers made their way
through the Damascus Gate into Jerusalem, and followed the Damascus
Street to the Gate of Ephraim. An air of sombre misery pervaded the
whole population. In their hearts the greater portion of the
population had, for many months, been longing for the approach of
the Romans. Even death would be preferable to the misery which they
suffered. There were but few people in the streets; for all
remained in their houses, with closed doors, save when necessity
drove them out to make purchases. Turning sharp round by the wall,
the members of the band made their way along by it, until they were
met by one or other of those who had gone on in advance, and were
conducted to the house which had been hired for them.

The inhabitants of the houses near looked out of their windows
in alarm, when they saw so many armed men arriving; but they gained
courage, on observing their quiet and orderly demeanor; and doors
were presently unbolted, and men came out to inquire who were the
newcomers. When they were told that they were from Galilee and
Peraea, and had come down only to fight for the Holy City–that
they would harm no one, and had nothing in common with any of the
factions–confidence was restored, and offers were at once made to
take in ten, fifteen, or twenty men, according to the size of the
houses; for the people soon saw that the new arrivals would prove a
protection from the attacks and insults of small numbers of Simon’s
men–who had hitherto pervaded the lower town, breaking into
houses, robbing and murdering wheresoever they chose.

The grain was all stored in the house that had been hired; and
here John took up his quarters, with the men of his own company and
those of Asher, one of his bravest and most determined captains.
The rest were all accommodated in houses in the same street. And as
this, like most of the streets of Jerusalem, was very narrow, John
felt that it could be defended against an attack by a greatly
superior force.

It was but half an hour after the band had been settled in their
quarters that a shriek was heard at the end of the street. John ran
out in time to see a woman struck down; while a body of some twenty
half-drunken soldiers, with drawn swords, were trying to force in
the door of a house. John sounded his bugle, and there was a rush
of armed men into the street. John put himself at the head of the
two companies with him, and advanced against the soldiers, and
sternly ordered them to desist. The soldiers, astonished by the
sudden appearance of so large a body of armed men, drew back in
astonishment.

“Who are you?” one, who seemed to be their leader, asked.

“It matters not who I am,” John said, quietly. “It is enough, as
you see, that I have a force here sufficiently strong to make
myself obeyed. This street, henceforth, is mine; and beware of
attempting plunder or violence here, for whoever does so surely
dies!”

Muttering threats below their breath, the soldiers sullenly
withdrew. An hour later, one of the inhabitants ran in to inform
John that a large body of men were coming down from the upper city.
John immediately called his men to arms and, at their head, took up
his position at the end of the street.

Ere long, a crowd of soldiers were seen approaching. At their
head strode one whom John at once guessed to be Simon, himself.
When he arrived within ten paces Simon stopped, surprised at the
compact order and resolute appearance of the band which filled the
street.

“Who are you?” he asked John, imperiously.

“My name is John, and I am generally called John of Gamala,
although that is not my birthplace.”

Simon uttered an exclamation of astonishment; for the tales of
John’s attack upon the Roman camp at Gamala, and of his subsequent
actions against the Romans, were well known in Jerusalem.

“You are but a lad,” Simon said, contemptuously, “and John of
Gamala must be a warrior!”

“I am John of Gamala,” John repeated, quietly, “and these men
are part of my band. We have come down to defend Jerusalem, since
there is no more to be done in the open country. We wish to
interfere with none, to take part with no faction, but simply to
defend the city. We war with the Romans, and not with Jews. We
assault no one, but woe be to him who assaults us! Here are six
hundred of us, each man ready to die; and though you have twenty
men to one, yet will we withstand you, if you meddle with us.

“By tonight, the Romans will be outside the walls. Is this the
time that Jews should fall upon each other, like wild beasts?”

Simon hesitated. The idea of opposition excited him, as usual,
to fury but, upon the other hand, he saw that this determined body
were not to be overcome, save with great loss, and he wanted his
men for his struggles with the Zealots.

“You are not in correspondence with John of Gischala?” he asked,
doubtfully.

“I am in correspondence with none,” John said. “As I have told
you, we come only to fight for Jerusalem; and will take no part, on
one side or other, in your dissensions. We have taken up this
street, between this gate and the Corner Gate, and this street we
will hold.”

Simon still hesitated. He saw that, round this nucleus of
determined men, the whole of the citizens of the lower town might
gather; and that he might be forced to confine himself to the upper
town. This, however, would be of no great importance, now. The
inner, lower town was the poor quarter of Jerusalem. Here dwelt the
artisans and mechanics, in the narrow and tortuous lanes; while the
wealthier classes resided either in the upper town, where stood the
palaces of the great; or in the new town, between the second and
third walls.

The new town had, indeed, until lately been a suburb outside the
walls. Agrippa had begun the third wall–which was to inclose
this–and, had he been allowed to build it according to his design,
he would have made Jerusalem absolutely impregnable, save by
famine; but the authorities at Rome, knowing how turbulent were the
population of Jerusalem, and foreseeing that at some time they
might have to lay siege to the city, had forbidden its
construction; and the new wall had been hastily erected by the
Jews, themselves, after they had risen and defeated Cestius, four
years before. This wall inclosed a vast number of villas, with
gardens and open spaces, now thickly tenanted by the temporary
habitations of the fugitives and pilgrims.

The lower town, then, contained but little to tempt the cupidity
of Simon’s troops. Its houses had, indeed, been ransacked over and
over again; and Simon reflected that, even should his men be
prevented from descending into it, it would matter but little
while, as it was separated from the upper town by the Tyropoeon
Valley, and the first wall, no rising there could be a formidable
danger to him. Still, it galled him to be resisted and, had it not
been that the Romans were close at hand, he would at once have
given his men orders to attack the strangers.

He stood for some minutes, stroking his beard, and then
said:

“I will give you no answer, now. I will think over what you say,
till tomorrow, then we will talk again.”

“I doubt not what your decision will be,” John said. “You are a
brave man, Simon; and although you have done much harm to the Jews,
yet I know that you will defend Jerusalem, to the end, against the
Romans. You need feel no jealousy of me. I aspire to no leadership,
or power. I am here only to fight, and six hundred such men as mine
are not to be despised in the day of trial. Should the Romans march
away, baffled, before the walls, I, too, shall leave; and you, who
remain, can resume your mad struggles, if you will. But I think
that, in the presence of the enemy, all strife within the city
should cease; and that we should be as one man, in the face of the
Romans.”