“Aye, Manasseh, thanks to the peaceful Gospel of Jesus, Asru the Moslem, the lover of war, would now fain see this fair land smiling with happy homes and peaceful tillers of the soil.  What is that about the child and the cockatrice?”

“’And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall lay its hand on the cockatrice’ den.  They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea,’” quoted Manasseh solemnly.

Asru looked thoughtfully out towards the distant hills, but he did not see them.  He saw a quiet home in Mecca, where a pale-faced wife, a beautiful daughter, and two bright-eyed boys, sat.

“Manasseh,” he said at length, “it may be that I shall be killed in this battle.  If I am and you are spared, go to my wife and children.  Tell them the Gospel for me.  My great regret is that I myself put it off until too late.  Will you, Manasseh?”

Manasseh pressed his friend’s hand warmly.  “You may trust me, if I live,” he said simply.  And the soldier was satisfied.

“Manasseh, I am rich,” he continued.  “See that my wealth is used for the best.”

Manasseh pressed his hand again, and the tall soldier left him, feeling that, whatever happened, this young man’s fidelity and integrity could be depended upon.

And now the Moslem army began to weary of inaction.  Several desultory attacks were made by them, and battering-rams were set in play against the walls, but with no effect, until a grand attempt was decided upon.  Night had scarcely faded into morning, and the rock of Mansela still stood black and shapeless against a gray sky, when a commotion was seen in the Moslem camp.  Mohammed’s troops no longer made the wild onslaught of untrained Bedouin hordes.  The experience of scores of engagements had taught their leader the necessity of system; and now the host began to move in regular order in three main divisions.  Above the center one floated the sacred flag of the prophet; to the right waved Ali’s standard, a design of the sun; and to the left fluttered the Black Eagle of Abu Beker’s division.

The battle began by an assault led by Abu Beker.  Scaling-ladders were placed, and the Moslems swarmed up the walls, but a desperate band led by Al Hareth met them, and the besieging party, after a sharp fight, was compelled to withdraw.  Shouts of triumph and jeers of derision arose from the city walls.  The Moslems were frantic.  Cries of vengeance were heard from their ranks.

Then Ali, shouting, “For God and the prophet!” dashed forward.  He was dressed in scarlet, and wore a cuirass of steel.  Over his head he waved the prophet’s sword, and at the head of his division floated a sacred banner.  Straight on he dashed towards a breach in the wall, and there, on a pile of loose stones, he fixed the standard.

Al Hareth rushed to the fore, and a desperate, single-handed combat ensued.  The Moslem army and the garrison of the city alike held their breath.  The contest was unequal.  In a moment Al Hareth had fallen, and a mighty cheer burst from the prophet’s men.