“Can he do it? If so, why has he not interfered before? Why permit such a horrible fright to his friends? No, he cannot do it. Jesus has at last found his master. There seems the exultation of conscious omnipotence and universal mastery in the leapings and thunderings of this hurricane-tossed sea!”
Such thoughts rushed upon Nathan as fiercely as the tempest itself—as if Satan himself were riding the storm and dashing them into his face with the spray and foam.
Still he was all ear for what might follow that cry for help. Clinging to the side of the boat with both hands, he kept his face set toward where the other boat seemed to be, and almost stilled his heart-beat as he listened. It seemed as if his soul had gone to his ears, and was leaning forth, as men sometimes do from a casement, to catch the faintest word that might come from the Master in answer to the despairing cry of his followers. And there came—a faint ripple of speech, a shadow or ghost of articulate sound almost lost amid the deafening and majestic outcries of the storm? No. A wailing prayer for help to One above the clouds? No. A quavering, hesitating voice as of one doubtful of himself and of the issue? No. The voice that came was so clear, so penetrating, so dominant among the wild noises of the storm, so full of calm decision and unquestionable authority and sovereign forces, that one felt sure in advance of what the result would be.
Peace—be still!
No sooner had these words gone forth on the wrestling, roaring winds than they fell dead in full career. No sooner had these words gone forth on the wrestling, roaring billows that went charging against the sky with their crested battalions than they sank in their places as sinks the ox when smitten on the forehead by the axe of some mighty man. And there was a great calm. Hardly a ripple was left in sea or air. What a sudden silence! In an instant the demons of the storm had not only taken flight, but were already beyond hearing and sight. And, looking up, Nathan and his companions saw that even the clouds had wholly fled, and left the stars looking down on them as peacefully as if nothing had happened, or ever would happen again. And off, a little way, the starlight was softly shimmering on a summer sea, on gently plashing oars, on a boat and boatmen, and in the stern on the eminent form of Him who had now shown himself King of Nature as well as King of men.
Nathan and his companions reached the shore very soon after Jesus. They had scarcely landed and joined him when, from one of the cave-tombs that skirt the shore, there rushed toward them a figure that seemed scarcely human. He came as if driven by the tempest that had just maddened the lake. He was himself a tempest of the most frightful kind—as appeared when he drew near. He was quite naked. His face and body were covered with scars and filth and fresh blood. In his hands he carried sharp stones, with which he beat and cut himself as he shrieked and ran. His long hair streamed in the wind and seemed like a cluster of flying serpents biting at his brain. And when he came near—ah, what an expression in those fiery eyes and tormented features! It was as if hell itself, with all its fiendishness and misery, had been condensed into that awful face. Nathan had seen not a few demoniacs before, but never such a specimen as this. The very recollection made him shudder. The possibility of such suffering and such wickedness as were pictured in that face had never before entered his mind.
The man came directly toward Jesus with frantic leaps and cries, as if to destroy him—as he seemed well able to do; such were the wonderful activity and strength he displayed. But Jesus, standing a little in advance of his disciples, calmly awaited the coming. His face was another wonder to see. It was sublime—it was divine. Such unutterable calm, such boundless pity, such inexhaustible resources of force and authority and sovereignty spoke in every feature that Nathan could not but say to himself, Lo, God is here.
The monster sank on his knees under the spell of that divine gaze—uttering a fearful cry as of many voices crushed into one.
“What is thy name?” said Jesus.
And through the parted but unmoving lips of the madman, and as if from deep within, came a mystery of speech that said: