Back Aa

Tor, A Street Boy of Jerusalem

<h1>CHAPTER IX BEFORE THE COCK CREW</h1> The primal instinct which has ever led man to the kind bosom of earth in his darkest hour led the man Christ Jesus to Gethsemane. And there under the dense shadow of the ancient olives he threw himself down upon the ground for that last exceeding bitter struggle with his humanity. And Peter, the Galilean, and the others—slept. Tor had followed them, noiseless and unseen as a friendly shadow. He did not approach the King, his Master, nor did he again venture to accost Peter. Squatting motionless at the gate of the garden, the child thought confusedly but joyfully of his deliverance from the house of Pilate. “It was because I prayed to my Father,” he told himself, and hugged his lean little body with a low laugh of pleasure. “Hereafter I need fear nothing. I will call and he will deliver me, and neither man nor demon can hinder.” His soul went out in a flood of love toward the Man who had opened his eyes, and who was at that moment lying upon his face under the olives in a wordless agony, and the child’s pure thoughts mingled with the cloudy forms of angels which comforted him. Somewhere, afar off, lights gleamed among the dark trees; stealthy footfalls and hushed voices beyond the garden wall reached the boy’s keen ears. He sprang up and listened intently. The glare of smoking torches and the irregular tread of hurrying feet sent vibrations of horror through the shuddering night. But the Man of Nazareth no longer lay upon his face amid the shadows. He came forth to receive the brimming cup of his sorrows radiant with the power that had never failed him. Stooping over his sleeping disciples he called them: “Arise, let us be going: behold, he that betrayeth me is at hand.” Now Judas had before agreed with the officers that he would greet his Master with a kiss. “So that ye may know the man from his disciples,—stupid dolts every one and not worth the taking.” As the motley crowd of temple police, bearing torches, followed by a rabble of the curious, advanced into the gloom of the garden a superstitious awe fell upon them. They drew back to a man and hesitated, casting fearful glances at the dark masses of trees moving gently in the night wind. Some unseen, noiseless terror seemed to lurk amid the shifting shadows. “If the man be a prophet,” whispered one, “there be blasting lightnings at his call. Let us go back.” But Judas turned his sneering face upon the speaker with a low laugh of scorn. “Master! Master!” he cried mockingly, and running forward he clasped and kissed the Saviour of the world. Jesus said to him, “Judas, betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss?” “Lord, shall we smite with the sword?” cried one of the disciples. Not waiting for an answer, Peter drew his weapon and aimed a mighty blow at the officer nearest him. The man fell back with a bellow of rage and pain, while his companions sprang forward and seized Jesus. The eyes of the prisoner, grave, calm, and compassionate, were fixed upon the wounded man, from whose severed ear blood spurted in a torrent. “Permit me thus far,” he said gently to the officers who grasped him by the arms, and reaching forth he touched the ear and healed it. Then that omniscient gaze turned full upon Peter, who stood staring in a frozen stupor at the being he had believed to be the invincible Messiah. “Put up again thy sword into its place,” said the Master; “for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.” Then, answering further the thoughts that looked out of the bewildered, terror-stricken eyes of the man whom he had named “The Rock,” he said: “Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then shall the scriptures be fulfilled, that thus it must be?” But he uttered no prayer to his Father, and the ranks of the angelic host remained hid from the expectant eyes that searched the empty heavens. In that same hour Jesus said to the multitude which gathered about him, threatening, yet awe-stricken by the miracle, “Are ye come out, as against a thief, with swords and staves? When I was daily with you in the temple, ye stretched forth no hands against me: but this is your hour, and the power of darkness.” At that word the darkness closed in about him—and it was night. In the courtyard of the high priest’s house Tor lurked in the shelter of a doorway and looked on. No one had noticed the child as he slipped in with the crowd that held at its core the silent Man of Nazareth. Peter had also followed. Tor watched the Galilean seat himself with the others at a small fire which was kindled in the midst of the place. He had turned his back upon the travesty of a legal examination which was going on at the upper end of the hall and was warming his fingers with an air of complete indifference. “So the dangerous prophet is proven but a man of straw, after all,” quoth one of the lesser officers of the police with a contemptuous gesture toward the meek figure of the Nazarene. “Look you upon the fellow now, he hath never a word to say for himself, and there are no lightnings—no thunders. By the seven-branched candlestick, I declare to you that I was in a cold sweat when I laid hands on the man. But I felt nothing more terrible than an arm of flesh and blood under his rabbi’s robe.” “A rabbi’s robe, indeed,” chuckled another. “He will wear another sort before many days, I promise you.” “But what sayest thou to the healing of Ben-Joseph’s ear?” demanded a woman who had approached the fire. “I have just talked with the son of Joseph. He declares that from henceforth he is a believer.” A great shout of laughter greeted this speech. “Ben-Joseph hath ever a nimble tongue,” quoth a black-bearded young fellow who carried a short sword stuck in his belt. “A nimble tongue, say I, and the long ears of an ass. One of the Galileans made a lunge at him, but, being a clumsy knave of a fisherman and knowing naught of the uses of a sword, he merely grazed the ear.” “Nay, fellow, the ear was sliced clean off,” growled Peter, stung to retort by the sneering words of the Judean. The woman bent forward to stare at the speaker. “Art not thou also one of the man’s disciples?” she asked curiously. “I am not,” said Peter shortly. He was listening painfully to his Master’s voice in low-toned response to a question of the high priest. At sound of a violent, flat-handed blow, he twisted quite about in his place and beheld the colorless face of Jesus slowly reddening under the insult. “If I have spoken evil,” he was saying in a low, clear voice, “bear witness of the evil; but if well, why smitest thou me?” The Galilean rose from his place at the fire, breathing deep, his strong hands clenched at his sides in futile anger. “Why doth he not blast them with the word of his power?” he asked himself as he stealthily watched the terrible mockery of justice which was now drawing to its close. They were questioning the prisoner sharply now. Peter could see the dark looks of satisfaction on the faces of the priests and Sanhedrists and the sneering laughter of the rabble at their back. Then came a show of witnesses against the prisoner. Among the witnesses stood Chelluh, the beggar who had once been blind. “The man healed me of blindness—yes, it is so, most worshipful lords,” he whined. “’Twas accomplished by black magic and the power of Beelzebub, I declare to you, for he who would lightly destroy the temple of God must needs be of the devil.” “What sayest thou of the temple, fellow?” demanded the high priest. “Did the man dare to threaten the temple?” “Most holy and reverend high priest,” replied Chelluh, “the Nazarene said in my hearing, and in the hearing of this friend of mine—an honest craftsman, as thou seest—‘I am able to destroy the temple of God, and to build it in three days!’ ” The high priest arose in his place and fixed his eyes upon the prisoner. “Answerest thou nothing?” he hissed between set teeth. “What is the meaning of this saying which these reputable witnesses bring against thee?” [pg 141] Jesus seemed not to have heard the question. His inscrutable eyes were bent upon the ground; upon his face shone a faint, mysterious light. The high priest bent forward and stared at him, unrelentingly. “I adjure thee by the living God, that thou tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of God!” he cried in a terrible voice. The Man of Nazareth lifted his meek head at that word. “I am,” he said slowly—distinctly. “And ye shall see the Son of man sitting at the right hand of power, and coming with the clouds of heaven.” “He hath spoken blasphemy!” exclaimed the high priest, rending his garments with a gesture of outraged holiness. “What further need have we of witnesses? Ye have heard the blasphemy: what think ye?” “Death—death! He is guilty!” came the deep-throated answer of the priests. Cries of triumph, dreadful laughter, the sound of buffeting palms burst forth from judges and witnesses alike. Some one was tying a handkerchief over the face of the prisoner with the mocking words, “Behold the Prophet!” “Prophesy unto us, thou Christ. Who is he that smote thee?” yelled the savage voice of the beggar who had received his sight; and he smote his blinded Saviour with open palms twice—thrice—many times. A suffocating mist rolled blood-red before the eyes of Peter. “If he were the Messiah,” he groaned, “this could not be. The man hath mocked and deceived us from the beginning!” Somewhere, not far away, sounded the cheerful crowing of a cock. “I will go [pg 143]back to Galilee,” he muttered. But his leaden feet carried him no farther from the awful scene than the porch. Here he loitered, listening with a frightful, strained attention to the sounds of ribaldry and laughter that came out to him through the half-open doors. “I will go,” he said aloud. “I must go. It is already day.” The servants of the high priest’s household were astir and cheerfully busy with their morning tasks. One of them, a buxom maid bearing a jar upon her head, paused and stared attentively at the Galilean. “Aha!” she exclaimed. “This man also was with Jesus, the Nazarene.” Peter raised his heavy eyes to the fresh-colored, inquisitive face of the woman. “I know not the man,” he snarled with an oath. The woman went [pg 144]her way with a laughing gesture of unbelief. Then others of the bystanders began to cast curious glances at the haggard face and wild eyes of the stranger. They whispered among themselves for a space, then a man wearing the livery of the house of Annas advanced with an air of determination. “Certainly, thou art one of them,” he said authoritatively, “for thou art a Galilean.” Peter turned upon the man with a torrent of angry oaths. “I tell thee, fellow,” he cried loudly, “that I know not this man of whom thou speakest.” The cock crew for the second time. The great doors of the judgment-hall were flung wide, and the motley throng of priests and underlings, glutted with their awful triumph, pushed through, dragging the piteous figure of their prisoner. The face of the Nazarene gleamed white and calm amid the dark looks of his persecutors; his loving eyes turned for the last time upon Peter and flashed into his darkened soul the remembrance of that sad word of prophecy: “Before the cock crow twice, thou shalt deny me thrice.” And Peter went out and wept bitterly. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.