Judas then so quickly and skilfully placed his men about the unguarded camp at Emmaus that Gorgias, deeming such an accomplishment the work of an army many-fold that of the Jews, dared not make attack. His men became panic-stricken, and scattered in every direction, to gather only far away to the west within the lines of Ptolemy and Nicanor, and there to spread consternation by the marvellous stories with which they accounted for their defeat.
Judas assembled his fellow-religionists amid the heaps of spoil. Before they laid hand to the reward of their valor, they acknowledged the favor of Jehovah. Then rang out the words of the old psalm, "Oh, give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good. His mercy endureth forever."
Laden with the fruits of victory, the patriot army moved over the hills to their sacred city, and without challenge from the foe, gathered before the western gate.
As the soldiers deposited their burdens of spoil they took their places in groups of tens and hundreds according to the ancient arrangement of the army of Israel—the order in which they had already gone into the battle. The instant the morning rays touched the Temple walls, the silver trumpets, which yesterday had sounded the onset, gave out the time notes of the antiphonal chant of Israel, the Te Deum of victory during many ages of faith:
"Lift up your heads, ye gates, and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this King of Glory?
"The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory."
As the chant died away the great gate by the tower of David was swung open. In the shadow of the portal stood Deborah. She had arrayed herself in richest apparel. Her chiton was of glistening white silk and dropped to her feet. It was girdled high beneath the breasts; opening deep above, exposing a neck that needed no circlet to adorn it. From her shoulders fell a purple robe. This was matched by a purple cap that rose high from her forehead and was banded with pearls. Strings of these gems were pendent against her black hair, which, unclasped, fell about her shoulders.
This contrast with the remembrance of her in the cheap attire of the Fort of the Rocks, and as with bleeding feet she flitted over the stony fields on her many secret missions, wrought the patriot soldiers to the highest pitch of enthusiasm.
"The Daughter of Jerusalem! the Daughter of Jerusalem!" The shout was taken up by one company after another. It echoed from the walls and floated over the hills.