Then the Meccan champions, ardently desiring to win favor in the eyes of their martial females, rushed forth and dared individual Moslems to engage them in the customary single combat—an invitation that was right gladly accepted. And now the history of Bedr was temporarily repeated, for a succession of Koreishites fell before the superior efficiency of Allah’s favorites. At first dismayed, and then angered, by the swift fate of their leading standard-bearers, the Meccan force hurled itself at the Moslem array; but its inflexible front withstood the desperate assault, while the unerring archers, stationed on the little hill, prevented the Koreishite cavalry from disrupting the Moslem left wing. The Meccans wavered, cracked apart, turned irresolutely, and fled in ignominious haste, while the jubilant Medinese, headed by their two heroes, Ali and Hamza, bounded hotly after the pusillanimous fugitives.
But, just at this moment, the validity of Gabriel’s warning after Bedr became manifest. Certain of their success, the Moslem ranks broke up and began to despoil the enemy camp; and this gratifying spectacle, which was seen by the archers, was too compelling to be resisted. Uttering anticipatory shouts of glee, they deserted their post and came running to join in the general fun. And then the situation speedily changed. No longer held at bay by a withering discharge of arrows, the Meccan cavalry whirled suddenly around and came smashing through the Moslem rear. Among others the great Hamza fell, mortally wounded by a javelin from the hand of a hired assassin. Hind, whose father had been slain by Hamza at Bedr, had bribed her Ethiopian slave, Wahshi, with the promise of freedom should he lay Hamza low; and his body had hardly ceased to quiver before Hind pounced savagely upon it, ripped out his liver, which she tore to pieces with her teeth, and collected his nails and fragments of skin to make bracelets for her arms and legs. The Medinese, taken completely by surprise and terror-stricken at the death of their greatest warrior, incontinently abandoned their arms and stolen property and began to run even faster than the Koreish had done a few moments earlier.
When Mohammed observed this calamitous reversal, he tried to rally his fleeing forces by expostulation. “Whither away?” he shouted; “Come back! I am the Apostle of God! Return!” But the Moslems were much more interested just then in saving their skins than in any number of prophets or gods; so Mohammed, for the first time in his career, was forced to fight for his life. We learn that he discharged arrows until his bow broke, whereupon he madly hurled stones about, and may possibly have killed one Meccan; yet, even in his dire extremity, he did not forget to make vehement promises of an incomparable reward in Paradise to any Moslem who would keep the foe off his own person. But his under lip was wounded, one of his front teeth was broken, and a furious stroke drove his helmet-rings into his cheek. Then, either because he was really stunned or exceptionally clever, he fell to the ground apparently dead, while among the Koreish the glad cry “Mohammed is slain!” resounded far and wide. Complete confusion seized the Moslems when they heard this appalling shout, and in their consternation they shrieked aloud, “Where now is the promise of his Lord?” Yet this very circumstance probably saved them from an utter rout, for the Koreish, certain of the Prophet’s decease, believed that their main object was attained and accordingly failed to take advantage of the victory that lay so easily within their grasp.
For Mohammed, in fact, was still very much alive. When this unbelievably good news spread, his confederates could not refrain from shouting it aloud; but, aware that he was yet in great danger, the Prophet peremptorily checked them. He was borne to a cave near by, where an attempt was made to care for his wounds; the helmet-rings had penetrated so deeply into his face that one poor fellow broke two teeth in a praiseworthy attempt to pull them out. Mohammed’s courage had now come back to such an extent that he essayed to apostrophize his enemies thus: “How shall a people prosper that treat thus their Prophet who calleth them unto the Lord! Let the wrath of God burn against the men that have besprinkled the face of His Apostle with his own blood! Let not the year pass over them alive!” At the same time, however, he deemed it advisable to change armor with another Moslem, in case the Koreish might come to search for him; then, rejoining his followers outside the cave, he glared at the Meccans retreating in the distance.
Just at this moment Abu Sufyan, who, puffed with pride, had remained to taunt his discomfited foes, called out, “Mohammed! Abu Bekr! Omar!” and, hearing no response, shouted, “Then all are slain, and ye are rid of them!” This was too much for Omar to endure with equanimity; and so, disobeying the Prophet, he bellowed: “Thou liest! They are all alive, thou enemy of God, and will requite thee yet.” Hearing this, Abu Sufyan twitted Omar with these words: “Then this day shall be a return for Bedr. Fortune alternates as the bucket. Hearken! ye will find mutilated ones upon the field; this was not my desire, but neither am I displeased thereat. Glory to Al-Ozza! Glory to Hubal! Al-Ozza is ours, not yours!” It was now Mohammed’s turn to be vexed, though he wisely entrusted his retort to Omar who, properly primed by his chief, exclaimed: “The Lord is ours; He is not yours!” Abu Sufyan, who thought that the argument was becoming rather childish, merely answered, “We shall meet after a year at Bedr.” “Be it so!” growled Omar; and then Abu, together with Hind his spouse, made haste to return home so that they might mutually dissolve their twelve-months’ oath.
Only twenty Koreish had been slain, whereas the stark bodies of seventy-four Moslems were stiffening on the battlefield. Thither Mohammed now betook himself, and, upon seeing Hamza’s defiled corpse, he tugged angrily at his beard and swore that he would treat thirty Koreishite bodies in a similar way; but later he repented of this remark, and indeed issued stern orders forbidding his troops ever to mutilate a fallen enemy. The crumpled Moslem army then set out for Medina, for it was feared that the Koreish might decide to attack the defenseless city; but a scout soon came hastening up, shouting aloud the cheering news that the Koreish were hurrying southward toward Mecca. “Gently,” Mohammed mildly chided him, “let us not appear before the people to rejoice at the departure of the enemy!” For the Prophet was already profoundly absorbed in meditating schemes that would enable him satisfactorily to explain his defeat. But just now the sense of loss excluded every other emotion from the minds of the refugees and allies—the explanations could wait. Mingled with the ubiquitous sorrow was a feeling of helpless insecurity: the Koreish might yet change their minds and retrace their steps; so a watch was stationed at the Prophet’s door, behind which he went to sleep so soundly that he failed to obey Bilal’s indefatigable call to evening prayers. The Meccans, however, who at this time had another easy opportunity to alter the map of the world, had decided that they had evened matters up with their kinsmen—and besides, they were much more interested in starting their remunerative caravans on the march again than in making or unmaking history.
Faced for the first time by an apparently irretrievable disaster, Mohammed well realized that not merely were his assumptions of sacerdotal preëminence, Allah Himself, and indeed all Islam, in imminent danger, but that his very existence would be at stake unless he proved able to satisfy the querulous clamors of his people and explain just how it was that he had failed. Never did his greatness reveal itself more splendidly than in this emergency; his every action was planned with the utmost care. His public demonstration of grief for Hamza, and his decision to visit the field of Uhud once a year to bless its Moslem martyrs—where, on each occasion, he regularly repeated the safe formula, “Peace be on you for that which ye endured, and a blessed futurity above!”—may have been genuine enough; at all events, such actions would be calculated to impress his underlings with his sincerity. But mutinous murmurs were now rampant: if Allah’s arm had brought victory at Bedr, what was He doing on the day of Uhud? and in any case what was to be thought of the Prophet’s multitudinous promises? Yet these apparently unanswerable complaints were no match for Mohammed’s wily brain. The masterful orator kept silence until the time came when, as was customary on Friday, he made known the latest dispatches from Allah in the Mosque.
And there he held the complainers in the hollow of his hand. The time and the place itself, with its rude but impressive grandeur, its venerable associations, its atmosphere of religious awe, had been chosen with surpassing care; and, before a word had been uttered, the audience was unconsciously in a passive, hypnotic state. Then the Prophet, loosing every ounce of his tremendous nervous energy, poured forth a harangue in which subtle explanations, reproof, denunciation, self-justification, and finally mild praise and encouragement were blended with superb artistry. If Allah had conferred victory at Bedr, through the instrumentality of “the havoc-making angels,” He had permitted a defeat at Uhud in order to separate the true believers from the hypocrites; then, too, Allah had been with them until they disobeyed the Prophet—“When you ran off precipitately, and did not wait for any one, and the Apostle was calling you from your rear.” The cowardice of those who had stayed at home, as well as lust for loot, had also played a large part in the defeat; but the Prophet himself was blameless, for he had accepted the decision of a majority of Moslems as to where and how the battle should be fought. Nor had the Koreish gained by winning: “We grant them respite only that they may add to their sins; and they shall have a disgraceful chastisement.” Furthermore, was it possible that the Moslems had forgotten that the dead were infinitely better off in Paradise?—where “No terror afflicteth them, neither are they grieved.” And even if Mohammed, being only mortal like other men and “other Apostles that have gone before him,” had been killed, Islam must still continue: “What! if he were to die or be killed, must ye needs turn back upon your heels?” And finally: “Be not cast down, neither be ye grieved. Ye shall yet be victorious if ye are true Believers.”
When it was over, every shamefaced person present was thoroughly convinced that the Prophet, alone among the Moslems, was wholly guiltless, that Allah was more adorable than ever, and that the defeat at Uhud was an excellent example of a remarkably successful strategic retreat.
