uch as it involved a religious
question not lying within its jurisdiction; but the prisoner, being
turned over to the Sanhedrin, was found worthy of death for "making
himself equal with God."

I remember him well as he appeared that day. From what I had heard I
was prepared to see a hard-faced impostor or a fanatic with frenzy in
his eyes. He was a man of middle stature, with a face of striking
beauty and benignity, eyes of mingled light and warmth, and auburn hair
falling over his shoulders. It was not strange that he looked pale and
haggard; for he had passed through three judicial ordeals since the
last sunset, besides being scourged with the _flagellum horrible_ and
exposed to the rude buffeting of the midnight guard. He had been
clothed in the cast-off purple of the Roman procurator and wore a
derisive crown of thorns. But, as he issued from the Hall of Judgment,
such was his commanding presence that the multitude was hushed and
separated to make way.

The cross, constructed of transverse beams of sycamore, was brought and
laid upon his shoulders. About his neck was suspended a titulum on
which was inscribed, _Jesu Nazaret, Rex Judaeorum_. I was told that
the Jewish leaders had objected to his being called their King; but
Pilate, by whose orders the titulum was prepared, was for some reason
insistent and answered them shortly, "What I have written, I have
written." It was easy to see, however, that they bitterly resented it.

At the accustomed signal my quaternions fell into the line and the
procession moved on. I rode before, clearing the way. The people
thronged the narrow streets, crying more and more loudly as we
proceeded, "_Staurosate! Staurosate!_ Crucify him!"

The Nazarene, weak from long vigils and suffering, bowed low under his
burden. A woman in the company, by name Veronica, pressed near and
wiped the dust and blood from his haggard face. It was reported that
the napkin when withdrawn bore the impress of his face, marred, but
divinely beautiful. Whether this be true or not I cannot say.

As the multitude surged onward toward the Jaffa gate, a cobbler named
Ahasuerus, as if moved by a malignant spirit, thrust his foot before
the prisoner, who stumbled thereat and fell. In punishment for that
cruel deed he is said to be still a wanderer upon the earth with no
rest for his weary feet. This, too, is a mere legend; but certainly I
have found, even in the grim business of a soldier, that retribution
li