“Take the wall now!”
“On![813] loose the Arabs! Give them rein and scourge!”
“Let him not have the turn on thee again. Now or never!”[814]
Either he did not hear, or could not do better, for half-way round the course and he was still following; at the second goal, even still no change.
And now, to make the turn, Messala began to draw in[815] his
left-hand steeds. His spirit was high; the Roman genius was still present. On the pillars,[816] only six hundred feet away, were fame, fortune, promotion, and a triumph[817] ineffably sweetened by hate,[818] all in store for him! That moment Ben-Hur leaned forward over his Arabs and gave them the reins.[819] Out flew[820] the many-folded lash in his hand; over the backs of the startled steeds it writhed[821] and hissed,[822] and hissed[823] and writhed[824] again and again, and, though it fell not, there were both sting and menace in its quick report. Instantly, not one, but the four as one, answered with a leap[825] that landed them alongside the Roman’s car. Messala, on the perilous edge of the goal, heard but dared not look to see what the awakening portended. The thousands on the benches understood it all. They saw the four close outside Messala’s outer wheel, Ben-Hur’s inner wheel behind the other’s car. Then, with a cunning touch[826] of the reins, Ben-Hur caught Messala’s fragile wheel with the iron-shod point of his axle and crushed[827] it. There was a crash loud enough to send a thrill through the circus, and out over[828] the course a spray of shining white and yellow flinders flew. Down on its right side toppled the bed of the Roman’s chariot. There was a rebound, as of the axle hitting the hard earth; another and another; then the car went to pieces, and Messala, entangled in the reins, pitched forward[829] headlong, and lay still, crushed, and bleeding, and crippled for life. Above the noises of the race arose one voice, that of Ben-Hur:
[830]“On, Altair! On, Rigel! What, Antares! dost thou linger
now? Good horse-oho, Aldebaran! I hear them singing in the tents. I hear the children singing, and the women singing of the stars, of Altair, Antares, Rigel, Aldebaran, victory—and the song will never end. Well done! On, Antares! The tribe is waiting for us, and the master is waiting! ’tis done! ’tis done! Ha! ha! We have overthrown the proud! The hand that smote us is in the dust! Ours the glory! Ha! ha!—steady! The work is done—soho! Rest!”
And Ben-Hur turned the goal of victory and revenge,[831] and the race was won![832]
—Gen. Lew Wallace.