Naomi

by Mrs. J. B. Webb

THE ESCAPE OF TITUS.

He was not disappointed, for Titus immediately communicated to him his plans, and desired him to be in readiness to accompany him, as his personal attendant, in an hour's time. They sallied forth at the hour appointed, a gallant band of horsemen, splendidly mounted and equipped, and soon appeared on the summit of the heights that looked on the walls of Jerusalem. As they wound down the last declivities that sloped at the foot of the walls they gazed in astonishment at the turbulent city. Not a man appeared upon the battlements—not a sound of preparation for resistance or attack was heard; even the gates seemed to be deserted, and that scene of violence to be hushed in perfect peace and repose. Titus led his squadron to the right, and passing the angle of the wall which was guarded by the Women's Tower, to the north-east of the city, he filed off towards the Tower of Psephina, which occupied an important situation on the north-west side, near the upper fountain. Suddenly the gates behind him were thrown open, and a vast multitude rushed tumultuously forth, and threw themselves upon the troop of cavalry. Some succeeded in passing the squadron, and placed themselves across the road by which it was advancing, and others burst violently through their ranks and separated their enemies into two parties. Titus was cut off from the remainder of his troop, with Marcellus and a few other brave followers. He could not advance, for the ground before him was divided into orchards and gardens, fenced round with walls and deep ditches, besides broad watercourses that reached to the walls of the city. To retreat was almost as impossible, for thousands of his assailants crowded between him and his troops, to intercept his movements in that direction. Titus saw that the only chance of escape lay in a desperate effort of strength and courage. He called loudly to his men to keep close to him, and with Marcellus at his side he urged forward his noble steed and charged fiercely on those who opposed him. Hundreds of javelins and arrows were discharged at him, and every effort was made to obstruct his passage and secure his person; but though he wore neither helmet nor breastplate,—for he had not anticipated that he was going forth to battle,—yet he did not receive a single wound, but passed through the cloud of missiles unharmed. With his sword he cleared a passage before him, while his well-trained charger crushed beneath his feet the wounded enemies who fell around. Marcellus bravely seconded him, and thus did they cleave their way through the dense mass that surrounded them and shouted for their destruction. The undaunted courage of Titus and his young companion excited the admiring wonder of the Jews. They exhorted one another to rush forward and secure the inestimable prize that seemed within their reach; yet still they shrank away from the rapid strokes of his bloody sword and the irresistible force of his fiery steed, as he slowly and steadily made his way through the crowd. His band of devoted followers formed around him as well as they could, and with a trifling loss the party at length reached the Valley of Thorns, and escaped from their pursuers. Two only were missing from this brave company—one had been surrounded, and with his horse pierced with countless arrows and javelins—the other dismounted incautiously, and was instantly overpowered and slain, and his horse led away in triumph into the city.

The exultation and joy of the Jews at this event were unbounded. It is true but a small advantage had been gained, yet they regarded it as the happy presage of future victory. Titus himself, the noble and all-conquering Titus, had been forced to fly, and nothing now seemed too great for their hopes and expectations. The news ran through the city with the speed of lightning, and the superstitious inhabitants hailed it as a token that the Lord would give them the victory, and that His arm would now be stretched out to save them. Javan shared the general enthusiasm, and with his pious father gave thanks to the God of Israel for this token of his favour and protection; and Simon thought it politic to encourage the same feeling among his troops. In his own cold calculating heart he trusted more to the strength of his army than to the invisible arm of Jehovah; but he knew that the Jews, however sunk in sin, and regardless of the laws of the God and their fathers, yet looked on themselves as his own peculiar people, whom he would save and defend from all those who sought their ruin. Therefore he joined with Zadok and his ardent son in openly ascribing the late signal success to the special interposition of their Heavenly Father, and in exhorting his men to courage and perseverance, under the assurance that the Divine aid would attend all their efforts, and enable them to baffle every attempt of their foes to deprive them of their freedom or their inheritance.

Zadok returned to his home that evening full of bright hopes and holy confidence, and he endeavoured to inspire Salome and his daughter with the same feelings, but in vain. Naomi ever remembered the sad prophetic words once uttered by her Lord and Saviour, and she knew that the ruin of Jerusalem was drawing nigh. Salome too had learnt from her to believe that not one jot or tittle of what he had pronounced should ever pass away unfulfilled; and her own naturally timid and desponding disposition had made her more readily assent to the truth of his declarations of punishment and woe, than to his promises of pardon and acceptance. She could easily believe that her nation should be brought low and her beautiful city destroyed, for the wickedness of them that dwelt therein; but she could not so easily apply to herself the equally clear assurance that those who put their trust in the Lord should be safe under the shadow of his wings—that those who believed in the Son of God should be cleansed from all sin—pardoned, justified, saved, and glorified, without any merit of their own, or any claim on the mercy of an offended God, but a simple reliance on the atonement of his Son Jesus.

Salome's heart was weak, and when Zadok looked to see her pallid countenance lighted up with joy at the account which he gave her of her people's triumph, he was grieved to observe her turn away and weep. Gladly would she have told him all her fears and all her anxieties, but her courage failed her, and she could only show by her dejection that she was insensible to the hopes of temporal glory and prosperity that animated her husband's breast, and unable to reveal to him the eternal hopes that, however dimly and faintly, cheered her own spirit and lightened her earthly sorrows. Zadok attributed her depression of spirits entirely to her present weak state of health, and he gently reproached Naomi for not using better endeavours to amuse her mother's mind, and at the same time regretted that he was so much occupied in the discharge of his sacred duties, and in the affairs of the city, as to have but little leisure to devote to his wife. Had he suspected the subject which formed the chief and constant theme of discourse between Salome and his daughter during his absence from home, he would still more deeply have regretted the state of public affairs that had compelled him to leave them so much alone, and expose his beloved wife to a danger which he regarded as far more to be dreaded than any temporal evils.

He had contented himself with the conviction which he entertained of Salome's pious attachment to the religion in which she had been brought up, and her implicit submission to his judgment in all spiritual matters. He also felt assured that her mind was not of that active and inquiring nature that would lead her, like Naomi, to investigate any new opinions or receive the truth of any new doctrines. He knew that she had a great veneration for the rabbi Joazer, and had always considered his opinion as a rule of faith; and when he requested him to watch over her bodily sickness, he also charged him to lose no opportunity of strengthening and establishing her spiritual health. Thus he believed that he had no cause to fear that the heresy he so much dreaded would ever be communicated to her, and he was well satisfied that the devoted affection of Naomi should watch over her, and provide for her every comfort and attention that her present precarious state of health required. Little did this priest of the Most High God understand the power of that faith which he despised. Little did he know of those influences of the Holy Spirit which can change the whole nature of the soul, and infuse a thirst after the truth that nothing else can satisfy. Little did he know of that strength of the Lord Jesus, which is made perfect in our weakness, and which was then silently and gradually working in the soul of Salome, transforming her weakness into strength—her fears into holy confidence—and inspiring her with such an assured hope of pardon and eternal bliss as should at length shine forth resplendent amid the struggles of departing life, and make her triumphant over all that hitherto she had trembled to contemplate.

As yet this power from on high was not perfected in her soul, and she was in bondage to the fears of death and the occasional dread of God's wrath; and notwithstanding all the efforts which Naomi made again and again to chase away her fears and fill her with humble trust in the promised support of her Heavenly Father, and the atonement once offered on the cross to wipe away all her sins, she was subject to frequent temptations and doubts, that clouded her views and marred her peace.

Zadok knew nothing of all her spiritual trials, and he frequently talked to her of the joys that would be her portion, if it pleased the Lord to remove her from this world of care, and the reward that would follow her constant obedience to His laws, and her humble trust in His mercy towards His chosen people. But the ground of his hopes was not that on which Salome had learned to rest, and the humility which she had acquired at the foot of the cross made her shudder at the spirit of self-confidence that tarnished the piety even of the upright Zadok. Night and morning he prayed with her, and repeatedly he read the Scriptures to her: but the form of his supplications, however earnest, now sounded imperfect in her ears, and his comments on the word of inspiration grieved her heart. Oh, could she but have heard him, who was dearer to her than all the world besides, pouring forth the desires of his heart in the name of Jesus of Nazareth—could she have heard him acknowledge the "Man of sorrows" to be Him of whom Moses and the prophets did speak, how joyfully could she have borne every other trial, and even, she thought, have encountered death with a smile, in the assured hope of his following her to those mansions which Christ has prepared for his disciples! And yet she could not at that time command her faltering tongue to declare in whom she believed, and entreat her husband to seek refuge in the ark provided for the day of calamity.

The evening passed away in the usual unsatisfactory manner; and the following day brought with it events that occupied Zadok's attention even more than before, and engrossed even more of his time.