Dreadful as was the sound, the agony of waiting for it was even more dreadful. Some women, unable to bear the strain, stopped their ears with their fingers; others fled to cellars and underground places to escape from the terror. The whole Roman army was now in working order; forty thousand troops arrayed against the northern wall, and not a man idle among them. It was a terrific spectacle, both within and without the city. The groaning of the wounded, and the shrieking of the women; the twanging of the catapults, and the whizzing of darts and arrows; the peculiar hum of the swift-flying stones slung from the balistæ; the crash of falling masonry; the shout of the combatants hurling defiance at each other; and, above all, the thunder-boom of the brazen rams, as they smote against the wall--all contributed to form a scene that transcends the power of the pen to describe. All in a moment there was on the part of the Jews a simultaneous cessation of activity; their archers stopped firing; their engines ceased playing; the whole force stood mute and motionless. A sight so surprising caused a temporary suspension of hostilities on the part of the Romans, who were wondering whether this Jewish attitude implied the wish to surrender. The mystery was soon explained. From the temple--that temple where priests were falling dead or wounded from the stones cast by the engines of the Tenth Legion, stationed upon Mount Olivet, there came the piercing clangor of the silver trumpets. It was the time of the morning sacrifice. The trumpet-peal was followed by the lifting of every Jewish sword, and along the whole length of the ramparts there rolled one sublime shout, a shout flung in defiance at the polytheism of their opponents, a shout expressive of the grandest truth ever proclaimed to mankind: “HEAR, O ISRAEL, THE LORD OUR GOD IS ONE LORD.” With that they flew to the fight with renewed ardor. And now in the occasional lulls of the fray could be heard a voice, far off at first, but drawing gradually nearer, a voice that by the space of eight years had never ceased its melancholy ditty: “Woe, woe, to Jerusalem!” Along the rampart, winding in and out among the ranks of the fighting Zealots, who received him with black looks and angry murmurs, came the weird form of Jesus, the son of Hanan, clad, not as was his wont in a garment of camel’s hair, but in a long robe of white linen, such as might be used to enshroud the dead. “A voice from the East, a voice from the West, a voice against Jerusalem and the holy house!” “Now, what doeth this madman here, putting fear into the hearts of brave men?” muttered Simon, eying the other darkly. But, as Jesus approached, there was in his looks something so awe-inspiring that the Zealot chief, who was minded to do the “madman” hurt, lowered his weapon and let him pass on. The wild figure, with its lifted arms outlined against the sky, was plainly visible to the enemy.