The Days of Mohammed Part 22

Uzza perceived his advantage. With a howl of triumph he cried, "False priest, you shall not escape me this time!" and made a fierce stroke with his scimitar. But the blow was parried.

"Simpleton! Would you let him kill you?" cried a harsh voice close by the priest. And the next moment Uzza fell with a death-groan at the feet of Asru.

And now the storm struck with full fury, howling among the houses of Medina, whistling shrilly on the upper air, and bending the palm trees low along its furious path. Thatches were torn from the roofs and carried whirling through the air; clouds of dust were blown high along the streets, and black, ragged clouds scurried across the sky as if urged on by demon-force. Horses neighed loudly. Many of them became unmanageable, and dashed, with terrified eyes and distended nostrils, through the midst of the flying soldiery. The tents of Abu Sofian were torn from their pegs and hurled away. Then the rain descended in sheets, or, whirled round by the wind, swirled along in columns with almost the force of a water-spout.

Suddenly a cry was raised: "It is Mohammed! The prophet has raised the storm by enchantment!"

The cry echoed from mouth to mouth above the roar of the tempest. The superst.i.tious Arabs were seized with terror and fled precipitately, believing themselves surrounded by legions of invisible spirits. Amzi and his little band stayed until the last; then, deserted by all and blinded by the descending torrents, they, too, were obliged to withdraw, and another victory, that of the Battle of the Ditch, had fallen to the prophet.

This was the last expedition undertaken by the Koreish against their victorious enemy. Mohammed, of course, attributed his great conquest to divine agency. In a pa.s.sage from the Koran he declared:

"O true believers, remember the favor of G.o.d toward you, when armies of infidels came against you, and we sent against them a wind and hosts of angels which ye saw not."

The heart sickens in following further Mohammed's willful career of blood. During the following five years he is said to have commanded twenty-seven expeditions and fought nine pitched battles. Against the Christian Jews in particular the bitterest expressions of his hate were directed; and to his dying day this incomprehensible man, from whose lips proceeded words of mercy and of deadliest rancor, words of love and of hate, words of purity and of gross sensuality--this strange man persecuted them to the last, nor ever ceased to direct his arms against all who followed that gentle Jesus of Nazareth of whose power this blood-marked, self-proclaimed prophet of Allah was envious.

His followers, dazzled by the glare of his brilliant victories or solicitous for self-preservation, constantly swelled in numbers, but there were a few who, like Kedar, had heard of the peaceableness of the religion of Jesus Christ, and who began to sicken of the flow of blood which deluged the sands of El Hejaz, and ran even into the Nejd, the borders of Syria, and of Arabia-Felix.

Kedar often longed for the friendly touch, the hearty, kindly words, of the friends whom he had met and parted from as in a dream. He had soon refused to believe in Mohammed's divine appointment. Even this Bedouin youth had enough penetration to see that religion must stand upon its results, and that the private life of Mohammed would not stand the test of inspection. Fain would he have left his ranks many and many a time.

The brand of coward he knew could not be attached to him for leaving victorious ranks to ally himself with the few and feeble Jews, yet there was something in the idea of "turning his coat" which he did not like.

He imagined in a vague way that such a proceeding would compromise his principles of honor, and he had not reached the wisdom of that great educator, Comenius, who, not long ere his death, wrote a treatise upon "the art of wisely withdrawing one's own a.s.sertions." So he fought doggedly on, until circ.u.mstances again threw him into the bosom of his friends.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE FAMILY OF ASRU.

"G.o.d's in his heaven, all's right with the world."

On the evening upon which the Battle of the Ditch was fought, the wife of Asru, and his daughter, Sherah, now almost grown to womanhood, were returning from performing Tawaf at the temple. They had prayed for the success of the Koreish expedition; they had drank of the well of Ismael, Zem-Zem, and had poured its water on their heads. Now they were hastening home to offer prayers to their household G.o.ds in the same cause, for, during Asru's apostasy to the Moslem ranks, his wife, a woman of the Koreish, and her family had never swerved from their hostility to Mohammed and all connected with him. For their obstinacy in this, they had been cruelly abused by Asru, who, with the superiority which most men in the East a.s.sume over women, ruled as a tyrant in his house.

It was with unspeakable satisfaction that Sherah and her mother found that Asru had at last broken all connection with the prophet, but a change had come into his manner which was to them most unaccountable.

Instead of cruelty now was kindness; instead of stormy petulance, now was patience; and yet, Asru had not mentioned the cause of his new life.

A sort of backwardness on the subject, a desire to know more of it before communicating with others, strove with him against the dictates of his conscience, and he had as yet been dumb. He had not concealed his connection with the little band of Jewish Christians. In spite of the jeers of his friends among the Koreish, he had attended their meetings regularly. That had been the extent of his active Christian work; yet his life had been preaching while his lips were still.

Sherah and her mother talked of him as they walked.

"Mother, however it be, father was never kind until he went to the Jewish meetings."

"True. Yet many of these same Jews are wicked, thieves, low robbers, not fit for such as Asru to mingle with," said the mother haughtily.

"Yet not the Jews who attend the church," returned the girl, quickly. "I know them. Most of them are poor, but not thieves; they seem quiet, industrious people. Then, Amzi attends there now, you know, and Yusuf, who, when the plague was raging, spent weeks in attending the sick. Did he not come to father and sit with him night after night, when, mother--I shame to say it--both you and I fled!"

The mother walked in silence for a moment.

"There must be some strange power that urges a man to do such acts," she said, musingly. "It would be easier far to go out to battle, urged on by the enthusiasm of conquest, and cheered by the music and clash of timbrels to deeds of bravery. It takes a different spirit to enter the houses of filthy disease, to court death in reeking lazar-houses, to sit for weeks watching hideous faces and listening to the ravings of madmen through the long, hot nights of the plague-season."

"Mother, I am convinced that their religion prompts them to do it. What else can it be?"

"What is their religion?"

"I know not; yet we may know for the going, perhaps. See, the lights gleam in their little hall. They hold meeting to-night. Let us go."

"What! And let the proud tribe of the Koreish, the guardians of the Caaba, see a woman of the Koreish enter there?"

"We can go in long cloaks, mother, and it is well-nigh dark. Come, will you not?"

The pleading voice was so earnest that the mother consented. Yet, that the influence of the G.o.ds in the result of the battle might not be lost, they first entered their own house, prostrated themselves before the G.o.ds, and besought their aid in the Koreish cause. Then, donning long outer cloaks, and veiling their faces closely, the two slipped out of a back way and stealthily hastened towards the Jewish church.

It was late when they arrived. Neither Yusuf nor Amzi was present to raise the hearts of their hearers with words of simple and earnest piety, no voice of Mana.s.seh was there to lead in the songs of praise, but an old man with snowy hair and a saint-like face was standing behind a table, a volume of the Scriptures before him, and the voices of the congregation, some twenty in number, arose in the old, yet ever new words:

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

The Koreish woman listened. She could not understand all this. Yet it was beautiful,--"green pastures," "still waters." Could it be that these people knew of an Elysian spot, unknown to Meccans--that their G.o.d led them to such favored retreats? She could restrain her impatience no longer.

"Where are the green pastures and still waters?" she cried, impetuously, "that I too may go to them!"

The old man smiled with serene kindness. "Daughter," he said, "the green pastures and still waters are the pleasant places of the soul. Hast thou never known what it was to have doubts and fears, restlessness and dissatisfaction in the present, uncertainty for the future, a feeling that there is little in life, and a great gulf in death?"

"I have felt so almost every day," she replied, pa.s.sionately.

"Hast thou not found comfort in thy G.o.ds?" he asked, gently.

"Alas, I fear to say that I have not!" she exclaimed.

"And why fearest thou thus?" he said.

"Ah, knowest thou not that the G.o.ds are G.o.ds of vengeance?" she replied in an awed whisper.

"I know naught of your G.o.ds," he returned. "Our G.o.d is a G.o.d of love. He gives us the certainty of his presence ever with us in this life, his companionship in death, and the privilege of looking upon his face and being 'forever with the Lord' in the world to come."

"And are you not afraid of death?" she asked. "To me it seems a dreadful thing. It makes me shudder to think that I too must one day suffer the struggle for breath, and then lie still and cold."

"To those who love the Lord 'to die is gain,'" he said. "Have we not sung 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me'? Surely one who believes that, and knows that he is going to be always with the Lord, always able to look on his face, need not fear death."

"It is a beautiful thought," the woman said, bowing her head on her hands.

"Yet not more beautiful than the thought that the Holy Spirit is ever with us; that Jesus himself is our brother, and understands all our little troubles; that he has promised to help us in overcoming all evil.

'For every one that asketh receiveth, and he that seeketh findeth, and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.' 'If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone? If he ask a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent? Or if he shall ask an egg, will he offer him a scorpion? If ye, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him.' Daughter, these are the very words of Jesus. Do they not show you the way to the still waters and green pastures? Do you not see that the love of our G.o.d acts upon the heart as gentle showers upon the barren land, causing it to rejoice and bring forth fruit worthy of being presented to our Lord and Master? 'He hath loved us with an everlasting love.' He loves us ever, therefore in our returning this love to him doth the 'peace of G.o.d that pa.s.seth all understanding' lay hold upon our hearts."

"But ye are Jews!" she said. "Such promises are not for the Koreish."

"Such promises are for all," was the confident reply. "Jesus said whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

None so sinful that Jesus cannot wash out the stain; none are excluded from his mercy. Daughter, believe, receive. Let the love of G.o.d enter thine heart, and repent best by doing thine evil deeds no more. Only come to Jesus himself. Only have faith in him."

The Koreish woman hid her face in her hands again, and answered nothing.