Tarry thou till I come; or, Salathiel, the wandering Jew.Croly, George
General
Tarry thou till I come; or, Salathiel, the wandering Jew.
Croly, George
Wandering Jew -- Fiction
Tears stood in his uplifted eyes. His worn countenance flushed as he
spoke the words. He seized a spear from a corner, and plunged after me
into the cavern.
The portcullis had been drawn up by Sabat; the passage opened at the foot
of the rampart. I could have rushed upon an army. But the hand of our
guide was on my shoulder.
“Your attack,” said he, “can be nothing, unless it be a surprise. Move
along unseen, if possible, till you come to the flank of the first tower.
There wait for my signal!” He was gone.
The roar of the assault swelled again, tho it was certainly receding. I
climbed the rampart alone. The torches on a distant battlement showed me
the Romans in force, and evidently making way. I could restrain myself no
longer. I gave the word—concealed by the shadow of the colossal wall—fell
upon the guard at the gate and cast it open! Constantius was the first
who saw me. He sprang forward, with a cry of exultation. The Romans on
the battlement feeling themselves cut off, were struck with panic, and
threw down their arms; but we had more important objects, and rushed
back to the citadel. Our work was not yet done; we were entangled in the
streets and lost time. The garrison was strong, and fought like men who
had no resource but in the sword.
[Illustration: “I gave the word—fell upon the guard at the gate, and cast
it open!”
[_see page 240._
Copyright, 1901, by Funk & Wagnalls Company, N. Y. and London.]
[Sidenote: Master of Masada]
We were pressed on all sides; an arrow lodged in my shoulder, and I could
wield the ax no more. In a few discharges, every man round me was bruised
or bleeding. I saw a Roman column hurrying along the rampart, whose
charge must finish the battle at once. But a blaze sprang up in the rear
of the enemy. Another and another followed. The governor’s palace was
on fire! The sight broke the Roman courage. Cries of “treachery” rang
through the ranks; they turned, flung away spear and shield—and I was
master of the strongest fortress in Palestine!
CHAPTER XXX
_The Revenge of a Victor_
[Sidenote: The Beggar’s Garb]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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