shaft or leathern shield-thong until the weariness of more than twenty combats fell upon cord and sinew; and silence, such a silence over all the vast array, that the very birds that had retired trembling before the human wave that surged through their domains, came forth warbling their even-songs,—and the host waited. It was then that two captains strode out before the long lines, and the eyes of men, relieved, forsook for an instant the northern buttresses of the city to look upon Joshua the son of Nun and Caleb the son of Jephunneh. Taller by a head than his comrade, Joshua seemed a man who had completed a century of life-no life of ease, of pampered indulgence, of fondled luxury; but of action, of labor, of thought, of trouble, aye, and of suffering. Yet the eye that shot its piercing glances from under shaggy eyebrows showed no signs of the rheum of age. The hand, from which the flesh had shrunken away, showed no relaxing of cord or muscle as it rested on the hilt of the sword in its leathern scabbard. The frame, spare, but large-boned and sinewy, stood as erect as when its younger muscles had tugged and strained in the earlier struggles of a chequered and stormy life. The beard, long and ungrizzled with the hue of youth, flowed down over mail and belt. A coarse soldier's mantle thrown back from the shoulders disclosed a corselet skilfully wrought of quilted cloth strengthened with scales of brass overlapping each other and extending almost to the knees. THE FALL OF JERICHO 107 From under a plain brass helmet stray locks of white hair crept out to fall upon the sinewy neck or half hide the furrows that thought and suffering had ploughed in the lofty forehead. He bore neither shield nor spear, only the short Jewish sword girded at his side, and with his hand from time to time he shaded his eyes that anxiously sought to face the setting sun. Caleb, although in age almost the equal of his companion, yet seemed as though twenty years might have elapsed between their births. Evening was fast descending. Suddenly Joshua stepped forward a pace with head bent forward and hand still shading his eyes. Far toward the north and west a small cloud of dust rose slowly, and then the faint glitter of steel shot out from here and there amid its sombre shadow. A low hum went up from the waiting army. Swiftly the old warrior faced them and raised his hand in warning or in menace, and the halfarticulate murmur sunk away. Again he turned toward the approaching cloud, now cloud no longer, but the thousand of Judah pressing forward in full view, with Ozias at the head; weary and footsore, yet eager and expectant. With a hurried word to his comrade, Joshua strode forward to meet the Ark and its escort, and, as Caleb passed back to the host and gave the longwished-for word, the troops awoke to action. In dense masses, by household, by family, by tribe, they pressed toward the walls. The Ark had now reached the centre of the plain, and for an instant the clamor of the rams' horns sank into silence. Then a blast, so long, so concentrated, so shrill, rose from the seven trumpets, that the startled listeners stood trembling; and Joshua, the captain of Israel, once more turned him toward the vast multitude that surged and swayed under the long-borne tension. His form seemed to gain in stature. His face shone with awe and grandeur. Even the armor he bore shot brighter rays than the midday sun had drawn from brass or bronze. He lifted his arms high over his head, and, as the first long blast died away, his voice rang clear across the plain with the strength of a hundred men, and sharp and distinct the accents fell upon five hundred thousand listening ears: "Let Israel shout! for the Lord hath delivered them into our hands!” And then the very heavens seemed to wave and shiver, as a roar, long, loud, and deep, rose in a steady swell, drowning the feeble trumpets in one tumultuous blast of gathered voices. Zeal, worship, reverence, the wrath of combat, and last of all, triumph, were in that shout. The earth reeled and shuddered beneath the awful acclamation, and the voice of heaven-was it the thunder of God or an echo from the vaulted skies themselves?-hurled back the sound. For an instant every man stood in his place THE FALL OF JERICHO 109 stupefied, spellbound, with eyes that gazed but saw nothing; and then, with one accord, they looked upon the city, but they saw it not. A huge cloud of dust, thick, ponderous, impenetrable, hung over the spot; while rumbling echoes and reverberations rolled back from the hillsechoes of other sounds than those to which the heavens and the host of Israel had given birth— the sounds of crumbling walls, of falling masses of masonry; and voices, not the triumphant shout of besiegers, but screams, shrill and prolonged, where intense terror strove with mortal anguish, until both seemed to conquer. And now the words of Joshua, the son of Nun, rose above the dying clamor: "Let Israel advance up into the city, every man before him!" All day the crouching lion had lain in ambush. Then he had prowled forth from his lair, with lashing tail and eager fangs. Now he sprang! With one mighty impulse the surging mass swept forward into the murky cloud that still enveloped the smitten foe. And then the freshening breeze of evening came down over the hills and drove before it the last safeguard of a lost race, until, in the yellow twilight, the people saw tower and rampart lying in headlong ruin. Where but a moment before lofty wall and buttress had reared their massive strength heavenward, and had proudly bade the bearer of spear and shield "Be of good cheer! How shall harm come to ye unless the Gods of Israel can give their war riors wings?"-there were heaps of shattered debris, stone, brick, and timber, and among them now and again spear and shield—aye, and grimmer witnesses of destruction. Here an arm reached out from beneath heaps of rubbish; there a broken helmet disclosed a face ghastly and bloodstained; for amid that smoking mass lay the flower of the city's soldiery. Hands that a moment before had strained. the hilt of sword or drawn bowstring, and lips that had scoffed and mocked and cursed the armies of the invader, now rested, nerveless and voiceless, beneath the guard on which they had so firmly relied, while over the still seething ruins, over buried hand and silenced lip, rolled the oncoming tide of relentless assault. DUFFIELD OSBORNE 38 DEBORAH'S SONG Warriors of Israel! sheathe the sword, With triumph spread the festal board, And ceas'd the triumph of the foe; A woman's hand hath dealt the blow! |