The Yoke | Page 6

aprons, was a number of
scribes, without whom the official machinery of Egypt would have
stilled in a single revolution.
The men advanced, sauntering, talking with one another idly, as if
awaiting authority to proceed.
That came, presently, in the shape of an Egyptian charioteer. The
vehicle was heavy, short-poled, set low on two broad wheels of six
spokes, and built of hard wood, painted in wedge-shaped stripes of
green and red. The end was open, the front high and curved, the side
fitted with a boot of woven reeds for the ax and javelins of the warrior.
Axle and pole were shod with spikes of copper and the joints were
secured with tongues of bronze. The horses were bay, small, short,
glossy and long of mane and tail. The harness was simple, each piece as
broad as a man's arm, stamped and richly stained with many colors.

The man was an ideal soldier of Egypt. He was tall and
broad-shouldered, but otherwise lean and lithe. In countenance, he was
dark,--browner than most Egyptians, but with that peculiar ruddy
swarthiness that is never the negro hue. His duskiness was accentuated
by low and intensely black brows, and deep-set, heavy-lidded eyes.
Although his features were marked by the delicacy characteristic of the
Egyptian face, there was none of the Oriental affability to be found
thereon. One might expect deeds of him, but never words or wit.
He wore the Egyptian smock, or kamis--of dark linen, open in front
from belt to hem, disclosing a kilt or shenti of clouded enamel. His
head-dress was the kerchief of linen, bound tightly across the forehead
and falling with free-flowing skirts to the shoulders. The sleeves left off
at the elbow and his lower arms were clasped with bracelets of ivory
and gold. His ankles were similarly adorned, and his sandals of
gazelle-hide were beaded and stitched. His was a somber and barbaric
presence. This was Atsu, captain of chariots and vice-commander over
Pa-Ramesu.
His subordinates parted and gave him respectful path. He delivered his
orders in an impassive, low-pitched monotone.
"Out with them, and mark ye, no lashes now. Leave the old and the
nursing mothers."
The drivers disappeared into the narrow ways of the encampment, and
Atsu, with the scribes at his wheels, drove out where the avenue of
sphinxes would have led to the temple of Imhotep. Here was room for
three thousand. He alighted and, with the scribes who stood, tablets in
hand, awaited the coming of the Israelites.
The camp emptied its dwellers in long wavering lines. Into the open
they came, slowly, and with downcast eyes, each with his remnant of a
tribe. Though the columns were in order, they were ragged with many
and varied statures--now a grown man, next to him a child, and then a
woman. Here were the red-bearded sons of Reuben, shepherds in skins
and men of great hardihood; the seafaring children of Zebulon; a
handful of submissive Issachar, and some of Benjamin, Levi, and

Judah.
"Do we not leave the aged behind?" the scribe asked, indicating
Deborah who came with Judah.
"Give her her way," Atsu replied indifferently, and the scribe subsided.
The lines advanced, filling up the open with moody humanity. A scribe
placed himself at the head of each column, and as the hindmost Israelite
emerged into the field the movement was halted.
If an eye was lifted, it shifted rapidly under the stress of desperation or
suspense. If any spoke, it was the rough and indifferent, whose words
fell like blows on the distressed silence. Many were visibly trembling,
others had whitened beneath the tropical tan, and the wondering faces
of children, who feared without understanding, turned now and again to
search for their elders up and down the lines.
The drivers distributed themselves among the Israelites and each with a
scribe went methodically along the files choosing every tenth.
"Get thee to my house and bring me my lists," Atsu said to the soldier
who was beginning on Judah. "I will look to thy work." The man
crossed his left hand to his right shoulder and hastened away.
One by one nine Israelites dropped out of line as Atsu numbered them
and returned to camp. He touched the tenth.
"Name?" the scribe asked.
"Deborah," was the reply.
Meanwhile Atsu walked rapidly down the line to Rachel. The Hebrews
fell out as he passed, and the relief on the faces of one or two was
mingled with astonishment. He paused before the girl, hesitating.
Words did not rise readily to his lips at any time; at this moment he was
especially at loss.
"Thou canst abide here, in perfect security--with me," he said at last.

She shook her head. "I thank thee, my good master."
"For thy sake, not mine own, I would