She showed this to Seti, who nodded his approval. Folding her copy of the plan into the note, she gave it to the custode—charging her to put it through the grate while it was still light enough to read the note and to see how best to attack the door. The woman departed some gold pieces richer than she came.
The peddler gathered up his wares, repacked them, and went forward with his pack. Late in the day, at a signal from Seti, the boatmen who had scattered themselves along the bank, returned, unmoored the vessel, pushed out silently into the stream, dropped silently down past the castle, and as silently warped into another sheltered nook very like that they had just left and about as far from the castle.
Here the servants spread refreshments for Rachel and her grandfather: and then a larger outspread was made at the other end of the pinnace for the others. While these were eating, Seti and Rachel went down among them to speak a few kindly words, to see that their wants were well supplied, and to ask all of them, save two or three needed to stay by the vessel, to be ready late in the evening to escort them in a short walk they were proposing to take. It would not be amiss if they should take bludgeons or other arms with them: they would find a plenty of such below. Very likely arms would not be needed; but then the place was neither Heaven nor the Diapleuston. Is it necessary to state that no person was employed on Alexander’s barge unless he was a Jew of his own synagogue?
How should they spend the weary hours of waiting before it would be time to set out for the gate? Seti did something to answer this question.
As soon as the men had finished eating, he stepped to the front of the dais with a roll in his hand, and invited all of them to come near while he should read from their Sacred Writings. He then proceeded to read from the Septuagint the 93d and a part of the 94th Psalm. It was very different reading from that artificial sub cantus heard in the synagogues. It was the reading of a prophet by a prophet, of a poet by a poet. Such a natural, hearty, sympathetic rendering of the great thoughts—it seemed as if the royal Psalmist, in the full glow of his inspiration, was rehearsing his own words. The people stood with open mouths and wondering eyes as the man of three generations—his form erect, his eyes keen, his hair but slightly frosted, his teeth perfect, his voice firm and resonant, his whole bearing that of one who defies decay—celebrated in grave and majestic tones the glory of the One God, His justice, and the final overthrow of the plans of the wicked. He closed by reading with special slowness and emphasis these words, “Who will rise up for me against the evil doers—who will stand up for me against the workers of iniquity?”
Rolling up the parchment, he looked searchingly about on the upturned faces.
“Friends,” said he, “we are not far from a den of evil-doers. In yonder castle, a small band of ruffians, without warrant from the authorities, have shut up in a dungeon the young man who stood up so nobly for our faith in the Diapleuston a few days ago. We are here with a warrant from the governor to rescue him. We expect this will be done about midnight without any help from you. But we have promised to meet the rescuing party at the north gate of the castle grounds with our men and conduct them to the pinnace. We hope that this will be all we need to do. But if we should be disappointed, I want you to be ready with stout hearts and arms to succeed where others have failed. The soldiers are few, at midnight they will be drunk, the castle will be open, and I who know every nook in it will be your guide. Now, who of you will rise up for us against the evil doers?”
“We will all go,” said one.
“Yes, all,” said another and another.
“There is none of us willing to be left behind,” exclaimed the peddler as he looked around.