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THE COMMUNITY RULE
A Critical Edition with Translation

Sarianna Metso

Early Judaism and Its Literature

The COMMUNITY RULE
early judaism and its literature

Rodney A. Werline, General Editor

Editorial Board:
Randall D. Chesnutt
Kelley N. Coblentz Bautch
Maxine L. Grossman
Jan Joosten
James S. McLaren
Carol Newsom

Number 51
 The COMMUNITY RULE
A Critical Edition with Translation

Sarianna Metso

with a contribution by

Michael A. Knibb

and the assistance of

Chad Martin Stauber

Atlanta

Copyright © 2019 by Society of Biblical Literature

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying and recording, or by means of any information storage or retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted by the 1976
Copyright Act or in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission should be addressed in writing to the Rights and Permissions Office,
SBL Press, 825 Houston Mill Road, Atlanta, GA 30329 USA.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Metso, Sarianna, author, translator.

Title: The community rule : a critical edition with translation / by Sarianna Metso.
Other titles: Manual of discipline.
Description: Atlanta : SBL Press, [2019] | Series: Early Judaism and its literature ; 51 | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Text in
Hebrew with English translation; introduction and critical matter in English.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019043723 (print) | LCCN 2019043724 (ebook) | ISBN 9780884140566 (paperback) | ISBN 9780884140580 (hardback) |
ISBN 9780884140573 (ebook)
Subjects: Manual of discipline—Criticism, interpretation, etc. | Manual of discipline—Criticism, Textual.
Classification: LCC BM488.M3 M478 2019 (print) | LCC BM488.M3 (ebook) | DDC 296.1/55—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019043723
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019043724
 Contents

Acknowledgments . ................................................................................................................................................................vii

Sigla............................................................................................................................................................................................ ix

Abbreviations............................................................................................................................................................................. x

Introduction

Rationale.............................................................................................................................................................................. 1

Discovery and Publication of Serek Manuscripts.......................................................................................................... 1

Physical Descriptions and Character of the Manuscripts............................................................................................. 2

Theoretical and Methodological Considerations.......................................................................................................... 6

Volume Layout.................................................................................................................................................................... 7

Bibliography........................................................................................................................................................................ 9

Hebrew Text and English Translation

Column I........................................................................................................................................................................... 16

Column II.......................................................................................................................................................................... 18

Column III........................................................................................................................................................................ 20

Column IV........................................................................................................................................................................ 22

Column V.......................................................................................................................................................................... 26

Column VI........................................................................................................................................................................ 32

Column VII....................................................................................................................................................................... 38

Column VIII..................................................................................................................................................................... 40

Column IX........................................................................................................................................................................ 46

Column X.......................................................................................................................................................................... 50

Column XI........................................................................................................................................................................ 56
 Acknowledgments

The impetus for this work arose in the many discussions I have had with colleagues and students sparked by The
Hebrew Bible: A Critical Edition project (HBCE) and by the movement toward creating critical editions of ancient
Jewish texts. I am grateful for the conversations and encouragement to take the learnings from the HBCE project
and apply them to nonscriptural Dead Sea Scrolls. In particular, I want to thank Judith Newman and Rodney Wer-
line for inviting me to contribute to the Early Judaism and its Literature series and SBL Press Director Bob Buller
and his team for bringing this work to publication. I hope that this volume is an early effort toward new editorial
exploration of ancient Jewish scribalism.
Two academic groups of which I have had the privilege of being a member have been particularly generative
for my work: the Scrollery Colloquium, a collaborative forum between the University of Toronto and McMaster
University for faculty and graduate students whose research focuses on or integrates the Dead Sea Scrolls; and the
Biblical Colloquium, a scholarly organization founded at Johns Hopkins University. I am grateful for the feedback
and stimulus I have received at the yearly gatherings of these two groups from both young and seasoned scholars
whose work I admire.
I am deeply indebted to Chad Stauber, who has assisted me in this project from the very beginning. His tech-
nical skills and scholarly input have greatly contributed to this volume. I also want to thank my graduate student
assistants, John Screnock and James Tucker, for their many dedicated hours.
The scholarship of Professor Michael A. Knibb has inspired me ever since I was an exchange student at Kings
College, University of London. He graciously agreed to allow me to use his translation in this volume with adapta-
tions reflecting the Cave 4 evidence, and Cambridge University Press granted the publisher’s permission.
I am profoundly grateful for the support and encouragement of Eugene Ulrich, my husband and colleague, and
for his expert advice regarding especially the palaeography of the Serek manuscripts.
This project has been generously supported with an Insight Development Grant from the Social Sciences and
Humanities Research Council of Canada. I also want to acknowledge the financial and scholarly support from the
Department of Historical Studies and the Department of Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations at the University
of Toronto.

-vii-
 Sigla

] [ lacuna in all extant manuscripts

]‫[כול‬ reconstructed text based on the same or similar phrase attested elsewhere in Serek manuscripts

⌈‫⌉א‬ non-copy-text reading, either a reading supplied by a parallel manuscript or a textual emenda-
tion

‫אל‬ variant in the text

‫֗א‬ letter damaged; reading substantially certain

‫֯א‬ letter seriously damaged; reading uncertain

◦ letter damaged to the point of being unidentifiable

>‫<א‬ deletion by scribe

‫ִ֗א‬ cancellation dots; scribal erasure of a letter

‫כול‬ correction by scribe; insertion of superlinear letter

vacat intentional space left in the text

] separator after lemma in the apparatus

‫ֿכ‬ overstroke indicating indistinguishable forms of certain letters (‫צ‬/‫ץ‬, ‫פ‬/‫ף‬, ‫כ‬/‫ך‬, ‫י‬/‫ו‬, ‫ס‬/‫)מ‬

Paragraphos sign, used by scribes usually to draw attention to the end of a section in the manu-
script

other marginal scribal signs

-ix-
 Abbreviations

ASOR American Schools of Oriental Research

BASORSup Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Supplements
BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
BZNW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft
CBET Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology
CCWJCW Cambridge Commentaries on Writings of the Jewish and Christian World 200 BC to AD 200
CQS Companion to the Qumran Scrolls
DCLS Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Studies
DJD Discoveries in the Judaean Desert
DSD Dead Sea Discoveries
EJL Early Judaism and Its Literature
HBCE The Hebrew Bible: A Critical Edition
JJS Journal of Jewish Studies
JSJSup Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman
Periods
JSP Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha
LNTS The Library of New Testament Studies
LSTS The Library of Second Temple Studies
RB Revue biblique
RBS Resources for Biblical Study
RevQ Revue de Qumrân
STDJ Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah
TCSt Text-Critical Studies
TSAJ Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism
VTSup Supplements to Vetus Testamentum

col(s). column(s)
frag(s). fragment(s)
pl(s). plate(s)

For reasons of brevity, Arabic rather than Roman numerals have been used in the apparatus for both column and
line numbers when referring to 1QS. Elsewhere, when referring only to a column without a line number, the more
common convention of using Roman numerals has been employed.

-x-
 Introduction

The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls has greatly increased the knowledge of how texts were produced and transmit-
ted in Jewish antiquity. This, in turn, is transforming the way new editions of ancient Jewish texts are conceived. This
volume presents a critical edition of the Hebrew manuscripts of the Community Rule (Serek Hayaḥad), a document
that was foundational for the life and self-understanding of the group behind the Dead Sea Scrolls. The edition
contains the critical text with an apparatus of textual variants and additional notes on the manuscripts as well as an
English translation.

Rationale

With the increased knowledge provided by the scrolls, scholars preparing new editions of scriptural books have
already published a significant body of work that has generated a theoretical and a methodological shift. Since no
single transmitted manuscript has escaped scribal errors and changes, critical editions are replacing diplomatic edi-
tions. A major example is The Hebrew Bible: A Critical Edition series, a project now underway (see Hendel 2016).
Instead of printing a diplomatic text (Codex St. Petersburg) with its inevitable scribal errors and accretions, the goal
of that project is to present an archetype for each book, that is, the latest attainable version of the text behind the ex-
isting manuscript witnesses. Through the apparatus, the volumes aim at describing the growth of the book through
time. This edition of the Serek Hayaḥad attempts to reflect this shift and mirror the current editorial practices un-
derway in the field. Although the chronological span is shorter and the amount of manuscript material tends to be
much smaller as regards nonscriptural material, there is no theoretical reason not to strive for a similar approach,
while acknowledging that there are some practical limitations to the task.
The scribal practice exhibited in the scrolls demonstrates that, although the ancient scribes usually attempted
to copy the earlier text accurately, occasionally some scribes developed the text they were copying in creative ways.
This was the case in both scriptural and nonscriptural works; the evidence reveals that the scribes did not differen-
tiate between the two. Both types, as transmitted, had not been authored by single persons whose work remained
unchanged but had been community-generated. The texts grew and developed as they were handed down, and dif-
ferent versions could exist side by side for lengthy periods of time. A corollary is that the line separating redaction
criticism from textual criticism is blurred.
This situation raises serious questions, theoretically and methodologically, about how to present critical edi-
tions. Most editions of the individual scrolls were published separately. That is, the fragments that constituted one
manuscript were usually published in a volume with the editions of other works found in the same cave. For ex-
ample, since manuscripts of Psalms and the Community Rule were found in Caves 1, 4, 5, and 11, the different edi-
tions of the manuscripts were spread over several volumes unrelated to each other. Scholarly study and conclusions
often focus on the most extensively preserved manuscript (e.g., 1QS) without the benefit of the scattered smaller
fragments, irrespective of whether the best-preserved manuscript was the most authentic copy or whether the lead-
ers and members of the community considered it the most definitive. The challenge, then, is how to present the full
evidence of the preserved text.

Discovery and Publication of Serek Manuscripts

When Cave 1 was discovered in 1947, the Community Rule was among the first seven scrolls found. The manuscript,
subsequently labeled 1QS, contained eleven virtually complete columns. Millar Burrows in 1951 published its editio
-1-
2 the community rule

princeps with the title Manual of Discipline. The title that occurs in the first line of the manuscript, however, is Serek
Hayaḥad, that is, the Community Rule, so that name is appropriately now widely used. Following the eleven col-
umns of 1QS, there were two other shorter works, the Rule of the Congregation (1QSa) and the Blessings (1QSb).
While they have usually been characterized as appendices to the text of 1QS, their exact relationship remains subject
to debate, and scholarly opinions range from viewing the scroll of 1QS-1QSa-1QSb as a single work to consider-
ing 1QS, 1QSa, and 1QSb as three entirely different compositions. In considering that question, it should be noted
that a number of scriptural manuscripts contain more than one book in a single scroll, for example, 4QGen-Exoda,
4QpaleoGen-Exodl, 4QExod-Levf, 1QpaleoLev-Numa, 4QLev-Numa, and 4QPent B, C, and D. The evidence seems
to indicate that scribes copied nonscriptural material the same as scriptural material.
In 1952, Cave 4 revealed fragments of ten other manuscripts of the Community Rule. The first report of the
Serek variants was issued as early as 1956 by J. T. Milik. Other preliminary discussions and editions followed (see the
bibliography below), but the critical editions of 4QSa–j remained unpublished until 1998, when Philip Alexander and
Geza Vermes published the ten manuscripts in volume 26 of the Discoveries in the Judaean Desert series.
Cave 5 offered one more small fragment surviving from yet a twelfth manuscript of the Community Rule (5Q11)
(Milik 1962, 180–81). It contains parts of two columns with text paralleling parts of 1QS column II. Subsequently,
from Cave 11, a fragment most likely belonging to a thirteenth manuscript (11Q29) was identified by Eibert Tigche-
laar (2000, 285–92). He has also proposed that a tiny fragment from Cave 1, originally published as part of a manu-
script entitled Tongues of Fire (1Q29) but now relabeled as 1Q29a, may provide a “a shorter and alternative version”
of the Treatise on the Two Spirits, but the identification is not entirely certain.
Additional fragments surfaced of a manuscript entitled simply the Rule (5Q13) that quotes a phrase from the
Community Rule. Sections of the Community Rule are also quoted in Cave 4 manuscripts of the Damascus Docu-
ment (4Q266 frag. 10 and 4Q270 frag. 7), the Miscellaneous Rules (4Q265; formerly Serekh Dameseq), and possibly
the Ritual of Marriage (4Q502 frag. 16). Other manuscripts related to the Community Rule are Rebukes Reported
by the Overseer (4Q477; formerly Decrees), Communal Ceremony (4Q275), and Four Lots (4Q279).
Even a cursory reading of manuscript 1QS alone makes it clear that its text is an amalgamation of disparate
passages most likely originating from a variety of sources. The fluid and heterogeneous character of the material is
further emphasized by the parallel material from Caves 4, 5, and 11. The totality of the material associated with S
raises, in fact, profound questions of how scribes and authors in Jewish antiquity conceived of a work (see Hendel
2016, 101–25; Hamidović 2016, 61–90, Jokiranta 2016, 611–35). It needs to be recognized that our usual, post-En-
lightenment ideas of individual authorship and literary work are rather ill-fitting for the ancient world, and models
that better reflect the realities of ancient text production are called for.

Physical Descriptions and Character of the Manuscripts

1QS

The Serek manuscript from Cave 1 Qumran (1QS) was among the very first scrolls found in 1947. Like the Great
Isaiah Scroll (1QIsaa), which was part of the same discovery, it is virtually completely preserved, lacking only a few
letters and words lost mostly from the lower edges of the scroll. Its text is inscribed on five leather sheets that were
stitched together. It consists of eleven columns of approximately twenty-six lines each; the length of 1QS is circa 187
cm (ca. 6 feet, 2 inches), and the column height is approximately 25 cm (ca. 10 inches).
The scribe who copied 1QS is well known because he also copied 4QSamc and 4QTestimonia (Ulrich 2002, 187).
As in those scrolls, he made a number of textual errors, corrections, and glosses; there are also marks in the margins,
especially in columns VII and VIII. He often wrote medial forms of letters in final position and did not leave word
spaces between words, especially between small words in a phrase.
The scroll had a handle sheet, and on its verso there is one line with eight letters, ] [‫[סר]ך היחד ומן‬, giving the
title of the scroll. The date of the scroll is 100–75 BCE determined palaeographically, and that date is confirmed both
by radio-carbon tests (Bonani et al. 1991, 27–32) and by this scribe’s marginal insertion at Isa 40:7b–8a in 1QIsaa,
which is dated 125–100 BCE (Ulrich 2015, 110 and 124).
 introduction 3

New sections in the text are signified by blank spaces or marginal marks. Regarding blank spaces, a full line,
or large part of a line, was intentionally left blank to mark a major break, especially for an introductory formula. A
shorter interval occurs to mark smaller breaks. There are, however, occasional blank spaces that do not denote a new
section. This was probably due to problems in the parent manuscript (the Vorlage) from which the scribe was copy-
ing. If it was marred or not well preserved, or if the scribe could not read the original clearly, it is understandable
that he would leave the problematic places blank. For example, such blank spaces occur in columns VII and VIII,
probably due to the poor condition of the Vorlage. Some spaces were later filled in, possibly by a second scribe, but
by erasing some of the words originally written, he also created further intervals in the text. In contrast, the spaces
at 6:10; 9:9, 14, 16, and the very large space of nearly three lines after 7:7 are due to defects in the leather used for
1QS, not to problems in the Vorlage.
Regarding marginal marks, two types are occasionally found in the right margin. A paragraphos, a horizontal
line with a hook at the right side (similar to cryptic ayin), is placed in the margin, marking either the end of a section
or an important sentence or paragraph; it usually occurs together with some blank space. The second type includes
large signs, in the form of Paleo-Hebrew letters, in the margins of columns V, VII, and IX to mark sections of par-
ticular importance (for fuller discussion, see Tov 2004, 178–218).
The same scribe copied two other compositions, the Rule of the Congregation (1QSa) and Words of Blessing
(1QSb), that were stitched to 1QS. Portions of seven columns are preserved, but the end of 1QSb is not preserved. The
scroll had been rolled with its incipit in the center, and the part of the leather on which 1QSb was copied was thus on
the more exposed outer layers. Therefore, we cannot know whether the combined scroll held more than its surviving
eighteen columns. Since 1QSa and 1QSb were copied by the same scribe as 1QS, they are also dated 100–75 BCE.

1Q29a

Another manuscript from Cave 1, originally published as Tongues of Fire (1Q29), should be mentioned. Eibert
Tigchelaar (2004, 529–47) subjected five of its tiny fragments to further analysis and tenuously proposed that the
fragments may have derived from a copy of the Treatise on the Two Spirits (1Q29a). The small amount of text pre-
vents establishing its identity, whether part of a lone-standing manuscript of the Treatise itself, a larger manuscript
of S, or in a text that is only quoting the Treatise. In fact, he put a question mark in the title. But he recognized
enough to suggest that, compared to 1QS, the fragments “indicate a shorter and alternative version.” Some might
question the chronology, since the script is Herodian and thus paleographically later than that of 1QS. But other ex-
amples, such as Jeremiah—where the later version (4QJera), though copied circa 200 BCE, coexisted with the earlier
version (4QJerb), copied circa 100–50 BCE—show that older and younger versions of a work can coexist for more
than a century; note that this later date for an earlier version is the case also with 4QSb and 4QSd.

4QpapSa (4Q255)

4QpapSa is a papyrus manuscript with text on both sides. The Serek text is on the side with fibers running horizon-
tally, and 4QpapHodayot-Like Text B (4Q433a) is on the side with fibers running vertically (Schuller 1999, 237).
4QpapSa preserves only four fragments, though only two of the fragments contain clear parallels to 1QS. Fragment
1 has six partial lines of text at its top and left margins; they match the text at the upper left corner of the first 1QS
column, 1QS 1:1–5. Fortunately, they supply a few words lost at the beginning of 1QS. Fragment 2 is the largest,
with nine nearly complete lines at its top and right margins. It contains text parallel to 1QS 3:7–12, with only a few
minute differences.
An additional fragment, listed as A in DJD 26, is a segment with five lines from a lower left corner of a column.
Its text does not contain any direct parallel to 1QS, though the vocabulary is similar to that used in the Treatise on
the Two Spirits (1QS 3:13–4:26), and it may loosely parallel the text in 1QS 3:20–25. Yet another fragment, B, has
preserved only a few letters from each of five lines at the right margin, none of which help to identify the fragment.
According to Frank Moore Cross, this manuscript, written in a crude cursive script, dates from the second half of
the second century BCE, probably from the end of that century (Cross 1994, 57).
4 the community rule

4QSb (4Q256)

This leather manuscript has fifteen fragments preserved, some large, some tiny, combined and listed as fragments
1–8 in DJD 26. The fragments contain parallels for each of the main sections of 1QS except for the Treatise on the
Two Spirits (1QS 3:13–4:26). The version of the Serek contained in 4QSb, however, is shorter than that in 1QS. For
example, the text in fragment 4 is shorter than its parallel in 1QS 5:1–20, and the text in fragments 5a–b is shorter
than its parallel in 1QS 6:10–13. The surviving fragments allow only a partial reconstruction of the manuscript’s
layout, though the measurements of several columns can be calculated. In conjunction with the details available in
the closely allied 4QSd, the number of columns required for the version of the Serek contained in 4QSb was probably
twenty (Milik 1977, 76–77; Metso 1997, 24–26) to twenty-three (Alexander and Vermes 1998, 39).
An important feature to note is that, parallel to the end of the 1QS manuscript (11:22), the text of 4QSb contin-
ues in fragment 8 with further text, which may be assumed to be a closing formula or the start of yet another text.
Yet another possibility has been raised by Alexander and Vermes in DJD (1998, 26) regarding fragment 8. Notic-
ing anomalies in the line spacing and the shape of lamed, they suggest that fragment 8 may not belong to the same
manuscript at all. J. T. Milik (1977, 76–78) thought that the scribal hand of 4QSb (olim 4QSd) should be ascribed to
the transitional period between the Hasmonean and Herodian scripts, dated to 50–25 BCE. Cross (1994, 57), partly
overlapping with Milik, judged it as the typical early Herodian formal script of circa 30–1 BCE.

4QpapSc (4Q257)

4QpapSc is the second papyrus manuscript of the Serek. It is inscribed on both sides, with text of the Community
Rule on the recto. The eight pieces preserved of 4QpapSc provide parallels to parts of 1QS I–IV. Possibly, a ninth
fragment belonging to this manuscript has been identified, for Eibert Tigchelaar (2004, 539) has proposed that a
fragment previously assigned as 4Q502 fragment 16 actually belongs to 4QpapSc. Except for two minute pieces dif-
ficult to identify and some features of orthography, the text of 4QpapSc in the preserved parts is virtually identical
to that in 1QS. A couple of words are written on the verso, but that text cannot be identified. Cross (1994, 57) dated
the manuscript to circa 100–75 BCE, that is, roughly to the same period when 1QS was copied.

4QSd (4Q258)

Of the Cave 4 copies of the Rule, 4QSd preserves the largest individual fragments, though its component features
are small. In the original manuscript the height of a column was only circa 8.0 cm containing only thirteen to four-
teen lines, and the width was circa 10.7 cm. The beginning of column I of fragment 1 was quite probably also the
beginning of the whole manuscript, judging from the fragment’s right margin. That margin, at 2.1 cm wide, is twice
the width of most margins, which usually measure 0.9–1.2 cm; moreover, that right margin displays no evidence
of stitching. Remarkably, the opening text of 4QSd starting at that right margin contains the rules for community
life, corresponding to column V in 1QS. That is, 4QSd does not have the first four columns of 1QS, comprising the
introduction (1QS 1:1–18a), the liturgical passage (1:18b–3:12), and the Treatise on the Two Spirits (3:13–4:26).
Those heterogeneous genres in 1QS columns I–IV, however, help explain their absence in 4QSd, since the contents
of 1QS columns V–XI are of a quite different nature. 4QSd offers yet another valuable piece of information: its text
matches that of 4QSb, both exhibiting a shorter edition of the material in 1QS V–XI. Material reconstruction of these
manuscripts helps demonstrate this shorter, and presumably earlier, edition of the text. A further noticeable feature
in 4QSd is that the name of God (‫ )אל‬is written in the Paleo-Hebrew script at 8:9 and 9:8. Cross (1994, 57) judges the
scribal hand as Herodian and dates it in the last third of the last century BCE.

4QSe (4Q259)

A generous amount of fragments survives for 4QSe. They all come from four columns with text paralleling 1QS
VII–IX, so it cannot be determined whether the counterparts to 1QS I–IV had been part of this manuscript. Other
important variations from 1QS, however, do appear. First, the text of column III is shorter than the correspond-
 introduction 5

ing text of 1QS: it does not have the twenty-four lines of text corresponding to 1QS 8:15b–9:11. Second, whereas
1QS concludes with a psalm in columns X–XI, column IV of 4QSe has instead a calendrical text, 4QOtot. Milik
(1976, 61–64) dated the manuscript—though he called it 4QSb and called the calendrical text the Book of Signs
or ha-’Ôtot—to the second half of the second century BCE. Cross (1994, 57), however, placed the late Hasmonean
semicursive scribal hand a century later, circa 50–25 BCE.

4QSf (4Q260)

The manuscript 4QSf preserves seven fragments, though only six are visible in the PAM photographs included in
DJD 26. The tiny seventh fragment is pictured on B-299964 and B-299965. They all show top margins and can be
placed as the text of five columns corresponding to 1QS IX–X. The fragments exhibit the usual range of minor
variants—orthographic, grammatical, and textual—but there is not enough to provide valuable information for the
textual history of S. The script is from the early Herodian period, 30–1 BCE.

4QSg (4Q261)

Small scraps remain of this manuscript: nineteen individual fragments, combined in DJD 26 (Alexander and Vermes
1998) as 1a–6e plus A, B, and C. Many of them do not exceed 1 cm in height or width, so it is difficult to read and
identify them. The few identifiable parts correlate with 1QS V–VII, with some shorter and some longer variants.
According to Cross (1994, 57), the script of the manuscript is semicursive and dates to circa 50–1 BCE.

4QSh (4Q262)

Three fragments (1, A, and B) are listed in DJD 26 under the siglum 4QSh, but only two (1 and A) can be confi-
dently identified as belonging to the same manuscript. Fragment 1 has only three lines with complete words; they
correspond to 1QS 3:4–6. The other two fragments (A and B) lack any correspondence with 1QS. Fragments 1 and
A may not represent a copy of the Serek at all but a work that quotes a passage from it (Metso 2017, 158–59). The
words in fragment 1, coincidently, are the same as those quoted in 5Q13. Cross (1994, 57), lists the script as a vulgar
semiformal and assigns it to about the first half of the first century CE.

4QSi (4Q263)

Only a single small fragment of 4QSi survives, measuring 4.1 by 3.6 cm, with text corresponding to 1QS 6:1–4. Cross
(1994, 57) attributed the script to the early Herodian period, 30–1 BCE.

4QSj (4Q264)

In contrast to 4QSi, although only a single fragment remains of this manuscript, its contents offer important evidence.
It measures 4.4 by 4.3 cm, but since its script is small it preserves parts of ten lines that parallel the final lines of the
Cave 1 Serek copy (1QS 11:14–22), suggesting that this may be the end of the manuscript. In addition, the leather
fragment shows stitching along its left edge, strongly suggesting materially as well as its textually that it forms the
conclusion of this copy. It cannot be determined whether the sheet following the stitching was a blank handle sheet or
contained another composition. The Cave 1 copy continued with the Rule of the Congregation on the next sheet, and
4QSb continued with some unidentifiable text. Cross (1994, 57) dates 4QSj to the second half of the first century BCE.

5QS (5Q11)

Cave 5 also preserved a small trace of the Serek: a single fragment in Herodian script measuring 3.1 by 4.8 cm. It
contains parts of six lines from two contiguous columns with stitching between them. The right column correlates
6 the community rule

with 1QS 2:4–7, but only about six letters on the left column are recognizable. It is possible that they parallel 1QS
2:12–14 (Milik 1962, 181). If so, and if its text matched that of 1QS, it would have held fourteen lines per column,
but it would have contained small additions and omissions.

11QFragment Related to Serek Hayaḥad (11Q29)

Cave 11 furnished a number of documents, fortunately including one tiny fragment that contains only bits of two
lines. That tiny text, however, parallels 1QS 7:18–19, though it has one variant. Due to the wording, it is impossible
to determine whether it comes from the penal code of the Serek or rather from that in the Damascus Document or
4QMiscellaneous Rules (4Q265) (García Martínez, Tigchelaar, and van der Woude 1998, 433–434; Tigchelaar 2000,
285–92).

Theoretical and Methodological Considerations

For the purposes of creating a critical edition the material evidence of S poses profound theoretical and method-
ological challenges. Whereas 1QS is customarily used as the standard form of the work, it must be emphasized that
other preserved forms present a surprisingly varied picture: the text of 4QSb seems to have extended beyond the
parallel of the last line of 1QS; and it appears that 4QSd never contained a parallel of 1QS I–IV but commenced with
a parallel to 1QS V. Only one fragment of 4QSh presents a parallel to the text of 1QS, raising the question whether
4QSh simply quotes the text of 1QS but in fact represents a different work altogether and should be compared to
5Q13 (Rule) that appears to quote the same passage of 1QS 3:4–5. A similar question can be raised of 1Q29a.
Differences abound at an even broader level. In 4QSe, a calendrical text called 4QOtot is found instead of the
final psalm of 1QS X–XI. Scholars have usually treated it as a separate work, but in the manuscript of 4QSe it follows
seamlessly a phrase overlapping with 1QS with no apparent break in the text. From the material perspective, then, it
appears that the scribe copying 4QSe did not treat the two as separate works. A question regarding the scribe’s intent
can also be raised in regard to the scroll of 1QS, 1QSa, and 1QSb: while 1QSa and 1QSb have usually been character-
ized as appendices to the text of 1QS, their exact relationship with 1QS remains an open question. In contrast to the
case of 4QOtot, however, the scribe started 1QSa on a separate column and did the same with 1QSb.
Extensive overlaps with the text of 1QS are found in Cave 4 manuscripts of the Damascus Document (4Q266
frag. 10 and 4Q270 frag. 7) and the Miscellaneous Rules (4Q265; formerly Serek Dameseq). This raises the ques-
tion of whether they should be treated as witnesses of the same text and therefore be included as variant editions
of S.
It is thus evident that no clear boundaries existed in the minds of the scribes behind S as to what constituted the
work. This level of fluidity in the material probably reflects the interplay of both oral and written traditions in the
culture in which the scribes operated. Theoretically, then, we should refrain from attempting to formulate a notion
of the Community Rule as a definite work. Practically, however, such an approach for an edition is not tenable, for
decisions have to be made in regard to what material is included for presentation in the edition and what is not. This
edition includes only manuscripts that have been labeled as S manuscripts in DJD editions, but the textual notes
make occasional references to parallels in related texts.
Recent critical methods of editorial work on biblical books can suggest a more defensible process for other com-
positions. For example, the volumes of The Hebrew Bible: A Critical Edition—instead of presenting a diplomatic
edition with its inevitable errors—survey all the relevant manuscripts and present as the critical text the archetype
of the work (Hendel 2016, 22), selecting for each word the reading that was most likely “the earliest inferable state of
the text” or that best explains the other variants. Secondary textual variants are listed in the critical apparatus along
with a suggestion of how each variant arose. Some biblical books or sections of books exhibit variant editions, and
these are presented side by side.
Focusing specifically on the Serek, what is the best way to present its evidence? The smaller manuscripts display
major agreement with, but also variations from, 1QS in both content and form. As mentioned above, it appears that
earlier and later editions of the work coexisted side by side for extensive periods. For example, 4QSb and 4QSd pres-
 introduction 7

ent an earlier version of the work, though their palaeographic date is later than the noticeably earlier date of 1QS, a
later edition. Since parts of the Serek scrolls show variant editions, those sections should be presented side by side.

Volume Layout

In the preparation of the Hebrew text presented in this volume, all manuscripts of S have been consulted, although
not each manuscript is individually fully presented. Rather, the edition presents the critical text, and any individual
variants in other manuscripts to that critical text are recorded in the apparatus. For practical reasons, in the critical
edition 1QS serves as the copy-text (for the definition of copy-text, see Hendel 2016, 29), while 4QSd and 4QSb alter-
nate as the copy-text for the variant edition of 1QS columns V–VI and parts of columns VIII–X; this variant edition
is printed in a separate, parallel column. For reasons of clarity, the line numbering and lemmata in the notes usually
follow 1QS. This should not be taken as an indication of text-historical primacy of 1QS. Due to the fragmentary
textual evidence, it is sometimes difficult to determine whether variants rise to the level of a different edition. This
is the case in 4QSg in particular; its affiliation is not certain.
A difficult practical question is raised by the material evidence of 4QSe, for the twenty-four lines of text corre-
sponding to 1QS 8:15b–9:11 were absent in that manuscript, and whereas 1QS concludes with a psalm in columns
X–XI, 4QSe instead had a calendrical text, 4QOtot. Clearly, the material of 4QSe qualifies as a variant edition. The
section labeled 4QOtot, however, is usually treated as a work of its own (4Q319), and for practical reasons this
volume follows that convention, although theoretically and methodologically a more accurate depiction would be
to present it as yet another parallel column.
In many respects, the volume reflects the current editorial practices underway in the field, especially in The
Hebrew Bible: A Critical Edition project. The core of the work is the critical edition, printed on the left-hand page,
normally in a single-column format but in a double-column format where a parallel version exists. Beneath the
Hebrew text, textual variants are recorded in the apparatus along with textual notes and occasional brief discussions
on the character of the variants. On each right-hand page, a corresponding English translation of the Hebrew text
is provided.
Reconstructions in square brackets have been inserted in the critical text only in cases where none of the manu-
scripts in the S tradition has preserved the text. Generally, the approach to reconstructing in this volume has been
minimalist rather than maximalist. Reconstructions for the lacunae have been provided only in cases when the same
or a very similar phrase has been attested elsewhere in the S manuscripts or in cases where the phrase can be con-
fidently reconstructed on the basis of its other frequent occurrences in the nonscriptural or scriptural manuscripts.
The differing editions in columns V–VI and VIII–X pose a considerable challenge in this respect. In certain in-
stances, the editions are close enough to reconstruct the lacunae with a high degree of confidence, but in many parts
of the text the editions differ so significantly that reconstruction of large lacunae turns out to be quite a speculative
undertaking. In these instances, no reconstructions have been provided.
The use of ceiling brackets signifies a non-copy-text reading, either a reading supplied by a parallel manuscript
or, in rare cases, a textual emendation. Here, too, the approach has been rather conservative, and emendations
have been suggested only in cases of a clear scribal error or grammatical mistake. These have been identified and
explained in the apparatus.
Variant words and phrases are signaled by underlines. In the apparatus, the manuscripts in which they occur
have been identified and their evidence presented, often with brief explanatory comments. Since it is widely recog-
nized that scribes of the Second Temple period freely employed a variety of spelling practices and that orthographic
variants rarely serve as reliable indicators of underlying textual traditions, purely orthographic variants are not
listed. They are recorded only in cases where it is not entirely clear whether the orthography reflects a variant pho-
nology or morphology.
The fragmentary character and extensive damage of many S manuscripts pose challenges for reading and analy-
sis of many words, and irregularities in the shapes of letters, particularly in cases of scribal correction and erasure,
present additional difficulties for transcribing the preserved text unambiguously in some cases. In certain manu-
scripts, medial and final forms of some letters are often not clearly distinguishable; quite often one encounters in
8 the community rule

final position medial-shaped letters written larger than usual. As is customary in many editions, the level of certainty
has been indicated by using dots, circlets, and overstrokes placed above letters. Erasures and superlinears in the
copy-texts have been maintained in the critical text for the purpose of illustrating the scribal process.
When preparing this edition, extensive use was made of the photographs available online in the Leon Levy
Dead Sea Scroll Digital Library (https://www.deadseascrolls.org.il/home). This online library, created as a result of
collaboration between the Israel Antiquities Authority and Google, provides access to high-quality photographs of
the scrolls. Thanks to this invaluable resource, a number of debated readings have been confirmed or corrected in
this edition, and a few entirely new readings have been proposed. The digital tools and resources now available have
opened a new window into studying the work of the scribes of the Second Temple period, and it is reflected in the
textual notes of this volume.
The translation in columns I–IX is by Michael A. Knibb in his volume The Qumran Community (1987), used
with his kind permission and the permission of the publisher, Cambridge University Press. It has been slightly
adapted to reflect the entire manuscript evidence behind the critical text. The translation in columns X–XI is origi-
nal in this volume.
 Bibliography

In addition to editions and translations, this bibliography focuses on questions pertaining to textual criticism and
the literary history of the Community Rule.

Editions and Translations

Alexander, Philip S., and Geza Vermes. 1998. Qumran Cave 4, XIX: Serekh Ha-Yaḥad and Two Related Texts. DJD
26. Oxford: Clarendon.
Barthélemy, D., and J. T. Milik. 1955. Qumran Cave I. DJD 1. Oxford: Clarendon.
Brownlee, W. H. 1951. The Dead Sea Manual of Discipline. BASORSup 10–12. New Haven: American Schools of
Oriental Research.
Burrows, Millar, John C. Trever, and William H. Brownlee, eds. 1951. Plates and Transcription of the Manual of
Discipline. Fascicle 2 of vol. 2 of The Dead Sea Scrolls of St. Mark’s Monastery. New Haven: American Schools of
Oriental Research.
Charlesworth, James H. 1994. “Possible Fragment of the Rule of the Community (5Q11).” Pages 105–7 in Rule of
the Community and Related Documents. Vol. 1 of The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with
English Translations. Edited by James H. Charlesworth. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck; Louisville: John Knox.
———. 1996. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Rule of the Community, Photographic Multi-language Edition. Philadelphia:
American Interfaith Institute/World Alliance.
Cross, Frank Moore, David Noel Freedman, and James A. Sanders, eds. 1972. Scrolls from Qumran Cave 1: The Great
Isaiah Scroll, the Order of the Community, the Pesher to Habakkuk from Photographs by John C. Trever. Jerusalem:
Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and the Shrine of the Book.
Dimant, Devorah. 2014. “1Q28 (1QS).” Pages 40–53 in Dead Sea Scrolls Handbook. Edited by Devorah Dimant,
Donald W. Parry, and Geraldine I. Clements. Leiden: Brill.
García Martínez, Florentino, and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar. 1997–1998. “1QS,” “4Q255-264,” “5Q11,” and “11Q29?”
Pages 68–98 and 510–44 in vol. 1 and 1132–35 and 1308–9 in vol. 2 of The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition. 2 vols.
Leiden: Brill.
García Martínez, Florentino, Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, and Adam S. van der Woude. 1998. “11QFragment Related to
Serekh ha-Yaḥad.” Pages 433–34 + pl. L in Qumran Cave 11.II: 11Q2–18, 11Q20–31. DJD 23. Oxford: Clarendon.
Guilbert, Pierre. 1961. “La Règle de la Communauté.” Pages 9–80 in vol. 1 of Les Textes de Qumran traduits et anno-
tés. Edited by J. Carmignac and P. Guilbert. 2 vols. Paris: Letouzey et Ané.
Habermann, Abraham M. 1959. Megilloth Midbar Yehudah: The Scrolls of the Judaean Desert, Edited with Vocaliza-
tion, Introduction, Notes and Concordance. Jerusalem: Machbaroth LeSifruth.

-9-
10 the community rule

Licht, Jacob. 1961. The Rule Scroll: A Scroll from the Wilderness of Judaea, 1QS, 1QSa, 1QSb; Text, Introduction and
Commentary. Jerusalem: Bialik Institute.
Lohse, Eduard. 1986. Die Texte aus Qumran: Hebräisch und Deutsch, mit Masoretischer Punktation, Übersetzung,
Einführung und Anmerkungen. 4th ed. Munich: Kösel-Verlag.
Martone, Corrado. 1995. La “Regola Della Comunità”: Edizione Critica. Quaderni di Henoch 8. Torino: Silvio Zamo-
rani.
Medico, Henri E. del. 1951. Deux manuscrits Hébreux de la Mer Morte: Essai de traduction du “Manuel de Discipline”
et du “Commentaire d’Habakkuk” avec notes et commentaires. Paris: Geuthner.
Metso, Sarianna. 1997. The Textual Development of the Qumran Community Rule. STDJ 21. Leiden: Brill.
Milik, J. T. 1962. “5Q11 Règle de la Communauté.” Pages 180–81 + pl. XXXVIII in Les “Petites Grottes” de Qumran.
Edited by M. Baillet, J. T. Milik, and R. de Vaux. DJD 3. Oxford: Clarendon.
Parry, Donald W., and Emanuel Tov, eds. 2004. Texts Concerned with Religious Law, Exegetical Texts and Parabiblical
Texts. Vol. 1 of The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader. 2nd ed. Leiden: Brill.
Qimron, Elisha. 2010. The Hebrew Writings. Vol. 1 of The Dead Sea Scrolls. Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi.
———. 2018. A Grammar of the Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Jerusalem: Yad Yizhak Ben-Zvi.
Qimron, Elisha, and James H. Charlesworth. 1994a. “Cave IV Fragments (4Q255–264 = 4QS MSS A-J).” Pages
53–103 in Rule of the Community and Related Documents. Vol. 1 of The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and
Greek Texts with English Translations. Edited by James H. Charlesworth. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck; Louisville:
John Knox.
———. 1994b. “Rule of the Community (1QS).” Pages 1–51 in Rule of the Community and Related Documents. Vol. 1
of The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations. Edited by James H. Charles-
worth. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck; Louisville: John Knox.
Schuller, Eileen. 1999. “433a 4QHodayot-Like Text B.” Pages 237–45 in Qumran Cave 4.XX: Poetical and Liturgical
Texts, Part 2. Edited by Esther Chazon et al. DJD 29. Oxford: Clarendon.
Vermes, Geza. 2004. The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English. Rev. ed. London: Penguin.
Wernberg-Møller, Preben C. H. 1957. The Manual of Discipline: Translated and Annotated with an Introduction.
STDJ 1. Leiden: Brill.
Wise, Michael O., Martin G. Abegg Jr., and Edward M. Cook. 1996. The Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Translation. London:
HarperCollins.

Secondary Studies

Alexander, Philip S. 1996. “The Redaction-History of the Serekh Ha-Yaḥad: A Proposal.” RevQ 17:437–56.
Arata Mantovani, Piera. 1983. “La stratificazione letteraria della Regola della Comunità: A proposito di uno studio
recente.” Henoch 5:69–91.
Baumgarten, Joseph M. 1992. “The Cave 4 Versions of the Qumran Penal Code.” JJS 42:268–76.
Bockmuehl, Markus. 1998. “Redaction and Ideology in the Rule of the Community (1QS/4QS).” RevQ 19:541–60.
Bonani, G. et al. 1991. “Radiocardbon Dating of the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Atiqot 20:27–32.
Charlesworth, James H., and Brent A. Strawn. 1996. “Reflections on the Text of Serekh Ha-Yaḥad Found in Cave
IV.” RevQ 17:403–35.
 Bibliography 11

Clines, David J. A. The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew. 9 vols. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 1993–2014.
Collins, John J. 2010. Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans.
Cross, Frank Moore. 1961. “The Development of the Jewish Scripts.” Pages 133–202 in The Bible and the Ancient
Near East. Edited by G. E. Wright. Garden City, NY: Doubleday.
———. 1994. “Paleographical Dates of the Manuscripts.” Page 57 in Rule of the Community and Related Documents.
Vol. 1 of The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations. Edited by James H.
Charlesworth. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck; Louisville: John Knox.
Davies, Philip R. 1992. “Redaction and Sectarianism in the Qumran Scrolls.” Pages 152–63 in The Scriptures and
the Scrolls: Studies in Honour of A. S. van der Woude on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday. Edited by F. García
Martínez, A. Hilhorst, and C. J. Labuschagne. VTSup 49. Leiden: Brill.
Debel, Hans. 2011. “Rewritten Bible, Variant Literary Editions and Original Text(s): Exploring the Implications of
a Pluriform Outlook on the Scriptural Tradition.” Pages 65–92 in Changes in Scripture: Rewriting and Interpret-
ing Authoritative Traditions in the Second Temple Period. Edited by Hanne von Weissenberg, Juha Pakkala, and
Marko Marttila. BZAW 419. Berlin: de Gruyter.
Dimant, Devorah. 2006. “The Composite Character of the Qumran Sectarian Literature as an Indication of Its Date
and Provenance.” RevQ 22:615–30.
Fitzmyer, Joseph A. 1990. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Major Publications and Tools for Study. RBS 20. Atlanta: Scholars
Press.
———. 2008 A Guide to the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature. Rev. and exp. ed. Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls
and Related Literature. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.
Gagnon, Robert A. 1992. “How Did the Rule of the Community Obtain Its Final Shape? A Review of Scholarly
Research.” JSP 10:61–79.
Garnet, Paul. 1997. “Cave 4 MS Parallels to 1QS 5.1–7: Towards a Serek Text History.” JSP 15:67–78.
Gillihan, Yonder Moynihan. 2012. Civic Ideology, Organization, and Law in the Rule Scrolls: A Comparative Study
of the Covenanters’ Sect and Contemporary Voluntary Associations in Political Context. STDJ 97. Leiden: Brill.
Guilbert, Pierre. 1958. “Deux écritures dans les colonnes VII et VIII de la Règle de la Communauté.” RevQ 1:199–212.
———. 1961. “La Règle de la Communauté.” Pages 9–80 in vol. 1 of Les textes de Qumran traduits et annotés. Edited
by J. Carmignac and P. Guilbert. 2 vols. Paris: Letouzey et Ané.
Hamidović, David, 2016. “Living Serakhim: Process of Authority in the Community Rule.” Pages 61–90 in The Pro-
cess of Authority: The Dynamics in Transmission and Reception of Canonical Texts. Edited by Jan Dušek and Jan
Roskovec. DCLS 27. Berlin: de Gruyter.
Hempel, Charlotte. 1993. “Comments on the Translation of 4QSd I, 1.” JJS 44:127–28.
———. 2003a. “The Community and Its Rivals according to the Community Rule from Caves 1 and 4.” RevQ 21:47–
81.
———. 2003b. “Interpretative Authority in the Community Rule Tradition.” DSD 10:58–80.
———. 2006. “The Literary Development of the S Tradition—A New Paradigm.” RevQ 22:389–401.
———. 2009. “Vielgestaltigkeit und Verbindlichkeit: Serekh ha-Yachad in Qumran.” Pages 101–20 in Qumran und
der biblische Kanon. Edited by Jörg Frey and Michael Becker. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag.
12 the community rule

———. 2010. “The Treatise on the Two Spirits and the Literary History of the Rule of the Community.” Pages 102–20
in Dualism in Qumran. Edited by Géza G. Xeravits. LSTS 76. London: T&T Clark.
———. 2013. The Qumran Rule Texts in Context: Collected Studies. TSAJ 154. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.
———. 2015. “The Long Text of Serekh as Crisis Literature.” RevQ 27:3–24.
———. 2019. “Rules.” Pages 405–12 in T&T Clark Companion to the Dead Sea Scrolls. Edited by George J. Brooke and
Charlotte Hempel. London: T&T Clark.
Hendel, Ronald. 2008. “The Oxford Hebrew Bible: Prologue to a New Critical Edition.” VT 58:324–51.
———. 2016. Steps to a New Edition of the Hebrew Bible. TCSt 10. Atlanta: SBL Press.
Hultgren, Stephen. 2019. “Serekh ha-Yahad.” Pages 344–46 in T&T Clark Companion to the Dead Sea Scrolls. Edited
by George J. Brooke and Charlotte Hempel. London: T&T Clark.
Jokiranta, Jutta. 2016. “What Is ‘Serekh ha-Yahad (S)’? Thinking about Ancient Manuscripts as Information Process-
ing.” Pages 611–35 in Sibyls, Scriptures, and Scrolls: John Collins at Seventy. Edited by Joel Baden, Hindy Najman,
and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar. JSJSup 175. Leiden: Brill.
Jokiranta, Jutta, and Hanna Vanonen. 2015. “Multiple Copies of Rule Texts or Multiple Rule Texts?” Pages 11–60 in
Crossing Imaginary Boundaries: The Dead Sea Scrolls in the Context of Second Temple Judaism. Edited by Mika S.
Pajunen and Hanna Tervanotko. Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 108. Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical
Society.
Knibb, Michael A. 1987. The Qumran Community. CCWJCW 2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
———. 2000. “Rule of the Community.” Pages in 793–97 in vol. 2 of Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Edited by
Lawrence H. Schiffman and James C. VanderKam. 2 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Kratz, Reinhard G. 2011. “Der Penal Code und das Verhältnis von Serekh Ha-Yachad (S) und Damaskusschrift (D).”
RevQ 25:199–227.
Leaney, A. R. C. 1966. The Rule of Qumran and Its Meaning: Introduction, Translation and Commentary. London:
SCM.
Lucas, Alec J. 2010. “Scripture Citations as an Internal Redactional Control: 1QS 5:1–20a and Its 4Q Parallels.” DSD
17:30–52.
Martin, Malachi. 1958. The Scribal Character of the Dead Sea Scrolls. 2 vols. Leuven: Publications universitaires.
Metso, Sarianna. 1998. “Constitutional Rules at Qumran.” Pages 186–210 in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty Years: A
Comprehensive Assessment. Edited by Peter W. Flint and James C. VanderKam. Leiden: Brill.
———. 1999. “In Search of the Sitz im Leben of the Community Rule.” Pages 306–15 in The Provo International Con-
ference on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Technological Innovations, New Texts, and Reformulated Issues. Edited by Donald
W. Parry and Eugene Ulrich. STDJ 30. Leiden: Brill.
———. 2004. “Methodological Problems in Reconstructing History from Qumran Rule Texts.” DSD 11:315–35.
———. 2005. “Whom Does the Term Yaḥad Identify?” Pages 213–35 in Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in
Honour of Michael A. Knibb. Edited by Charlotte Hempel and Judith Lieu. JSJSup 111. Leiden: Brill.
———. 2006. “Creating Community Halakha.” Pages 279–301 in Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Sep-
tuagint Presented to Eugene Ulrich. Edited by Peter W. Flint, Emanuel Tov, and James C. VanderKam. VTSup
101. Leiden: Brill.
———. 2007. The Serekh Texts. CQS 9; LSTS 62. London: T&T Clark.
 Bibliography 13

———. 2009. “Problems in Reconstructing the Organizational Chart of the Essenes.” DSD 16:388–415.
———. 2017. “The Burden of Proof: Challenges in Explaining the Redactional Evidence of the Treatise on the Two
Spirits.” Pages 151–61 in Insights into Editing in the Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near East. Edited by Reinhard
Müller, Juha Pakkala, and Bas ter Haar Romeny. CBET 84. Leuven: Peeters.
Metso, Sarianna, and James Tucker. 2017. “The Changing Landscape of Editing Ancient Jewish Texts.” Pages 269–87
in Reading the Bible in Ancient Traditions and Modern Editions: Studies in Memory of Peter W. Flint. Edited by
Andrew B. Perrin, Kyung S. Baek, and Daniel K. Falk. EJL 47. Atlanta: SBL Press.
Milik, Józef T. 1956. “Le travail d’édition des fragments manuscrits de Qumran.” RB 63:4–67.
———. 1960. “Textes des variantes des dix manuscrits de la Règle de la Communauté trouvés dans la Grotte 4:
Recension de P. Wernberg-Moeller, The Manual of Discipline.” RB 67:410–16.
———. 1972. “Milkî-ṣedeq et Milkî-Reša‘ dans les anciens écrits juifs et chrétiens.” JJS 23:95–144.
———. 1976. The Books of Enoch. Oxford: Clarendon.
———. 1977. “Numérotation des feuilles des rouleaux dans le scriptorium de Qumrân (Planches X et XI).” Semitica
27:75–81.
Murphy-O’Connor, Jérôme. 1969. “La genèse littéraire de la Règle de la Communauté.” RB 76:528–49.
Novick, Tzvi. 2013. “Column Five of the Community Rule: Two Notes.” RevQ 26:115–25.
Puech, Émile. 1979. “Remarques sur l’écriture de 1QS VII–VIII.” RevQ 10:35–43.
Qimron, Elisha. 1986 The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Harvard Semitic Studies 29. Atlanta: Scholars Press.
Reymond, Eric D. 2014. Qumran Hebrew: An Overview of Orthography, Phonology, and Morphology. RBS 76. Atlanta:
SBL Press.
Schofield, Alison. 2008. “Rereading S: A New Model of Textual Development in Light of the Cave 4 Serekh Copies.”
DSD 15:96–120.
———. 2009. From Qumran to the Yaḥad: A New Paradigm of Textual Development for The Community Rule. STDJ
77. Leiden: Brill.
Tigchelaar, Eibert J. C. 2000. “A Newly Identified 11QSerekh Ha-Yaḥad Fragment (11Q29)?” Pages 285–92 in The
Dead Sea Scrolls: Fifty Years after Their Discovery. Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997. Edited
by Lawrence H. Schiffman, Emanuel Tov, and James C. VanderKam. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society in
cooperation with the Shrine of the Book, Israel Museum.
———. 2004. “ ‘These Are the Names of the Spirits of… ’: A Preliminary Edition of 4QCatalogue of Spirits (4Q230)
and New Manuscript Evidence for the Two Spirits Treatise (4Q257 and 1Q29a).” RevQ 21:529–47.
———. 2007. “Catalogue of Spirits, Liturgical Manuscript with Angelological Content, Incantation? Reflections on
the Character of a Fragment from Qumran (4Q230 1), With Appendix: Edition of the Fragments of IAA #114.”
Pages 133–46 in A Kind of Magic: Understanding Magic in the New Testament and Its Religious Environment.
Edited by Michael Labahn and Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte. LNTS 306. New York: T&T Clark.
Tov, Emanuel. 2004. Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert. STDJ 54.
Leiden: Brill.
Tucker, James M. 2019. “From Ink Traces to Ideology: A Reassessment of 4Q256 (4QSerekh ha-Yaḥadb) Frgs. 5a–b
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14 the community rule

Ulrich, Eugene. 1999. The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Origins of the Bible. Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related
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Hebrew Text and English Translation
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 “… hath wronged your country and himself,
And we must seek to right it as we may.”

—Marlowe, in Edward the Second.

Entering immediately, Vytal found the room empty save for one
man who sat before a long table in a peculiar posture and
apparently half asleep. A silver flagon stood before him, its brim
covered by two almost feminine hands, whose fingers were
intertwined and palms held downward, as though to conceal or
guard the contents of the cup. His head was bent forward until one
cheek rested on the back of his clasped hands, while the other
showed a central flush on a background of white, delicate skin. The
man’s eyes were not closed, but maintained their watch on the door
with an evident effort, for the lids blinked drowsily as though soon
they must succumb to sleep. The light of a three-branched
candelabrum, flickering across the table, showed a face naturally fair,
but marred by dissipation. The hair, light brown and of fine texture,
hung down over a narrow forehead, and half concealed a well-
formed ear. The eyes, always first to suffer from inebriety, showed
but a trace of their lost brilliancy when the effort to keep awake was
strongest. There was an aspect so pitiable in the man’s whole
attitude that Vytal, his face softening, shrank back as though to
proceed no further with his interview. But overcoming the first shock
occasioned by so weak and forlorn a personality, the soldier went
forward, with grim determination. “Is this Master Ananias Dare?” he
demanded.
“Yes,” came the answer, falteringly, “Master Dare, at your service,”
and the slim fellow, attempting to rise, swayed and fell back again
into his chair. “Rough sea,” he muttered. “Great waves—mad boat.”
Vytal drew a chair to the table, and moving the candelabrum to
one side, sat down opposite the drinker. “I come to inquire
concerning a plot of which you have knowledge.”
 The effect of this unexpected statement was curious. “Plot!”
exclaimed Ananias—“plot!” and he laughed a thick, uncomfortable
laugh. “Now I know the boat is certainly mad. Who said ‘plot’? Oh,
who said ‘plot’?” His voice, wailing, sank almost to a whisper. “I
cannot believe it. I really cannot believe such extraor’nary
statements. Have a cup o’ wine; ’tis wine belies our fears. I thank
thee, good wine—I thank thee for so great a courage. Oh, who said
‘plot’?” and, lurching forward, he pushed a great silver tankard
toward Vytal.
“’Tis wine,” returned the soldier, fixing his gaze on the pitiful
assistant, as though to force the words home with look as well as
voice, “’tis wine brings danger. Another cup now, and mayhap you
are fatally undone.” He wished to play upon the other’s cowardice,
and turn, if he could, one weakness into strength to withstand
another. The time was short in which to elicit the desired
information, and the task not easy.
“Danger! there’s no danger to me!” declared Ananias,
unexpectedly. “Oh nay; how strange—danger—none whatever! ’Tis
not for this I drink so deep; ’tis my wife—induces the condition!” His
head fell forward again to his hands, that now covered an empty
cup. Quickly Vytal hid the half-full tankard beneath the table.
“’Tis she,” said Ananias, again looking up sleepily, “my cousin, my
peculiar wife. Why did I marry her—oh, why?”
Vytal’s face grew tense, the veins on his forehead big like thongs.
“She is different,” pursued Dare—“so different! ’Twas the queen
did it. I sued so long, so very long, while Mistress Eleanor White
would have none of me. And then, one day, coming to me like a
child—yes, like a child,” he repeated, weeping remorsefully, “she
said: ‘If thou’lt rest content with friendship for a time, perchance in
the coming days I’ll learn to love thee, cousin, but now I cannot. My
father alone is in my heart.’ That was after the queen had talked
with her in private, and before she knew of my love for these big
flagons—mad flagons!” He grasped the cup between his hands as
though to caress or crush it. “And I was so wild of love and jealousy
that I said, ‘Yes; I swear to be no more than friend.’” He was
retrospecting as if to himself, and paying no heed to the listener,
whose struggle for the mastery of his own emotion had turned him
for the time to stone.
“I was so wild of jealousy, for there was my Lord of Essex courting
her—Oh, this boat—this boat—’tis, in troth, mad—its reel gets into
my head—Ah, why did she marry me? ’Twas because the queen
promised that her father should come to Virginia and be governor—
her beloved father—instead of going to the Tower for some trivial
offence. And she was kind to me, yet so cold that I durst not even
touch her hand—but then I grew more brave with wine. Her little
hand was mine despite remonstrance, the wine imparting courage to
hold it fast. No bravery, say you, in wine? Ha, you know not.” But
Vytal had risen, and the sword-hilt was a magnet to his hand. “Nay,
you go too soon,” said Ananias, waving him back. “The plot I come
to is of deeper import. I’ve been too garrulous—always so exceeding
voluble, they say, with wine.” Once more, with a strenuous effort
after self-command, Vytal turned back to the table, pallid as death.
“She’s different now—oh, sadly different—I think ’tis Master
Marlowe, the poet, turns her head. I saw him with her, and she
entranced. I’m no more to her than you. And she is most miserable.
To-night she came and said: ‘The voyage is very dangerous. Oh,
would we’d never come!’ ‘Yes,’ quoth I, ‘’tis even more dangerous
than you think.’ ‘Oh,’ said she, with a scorn that’s hers alone, ‘you
are drunk,’ but I assured her ‘No,’ and hid the cup like this beneath
my hands. Oh, why do I care, why do I care when she sees the
wine?” The maudlin remorse came into his voice again and into his
watery eyes. “‘What mean you?’ she asked, ‘by more dangerous?’
‘Oh, the pilot will run us into Portugal,’ said I. ‘How comical! And
there’ll be twenty men on deck before the dawn to do it. ’Tis most
extraor’nary!’”
At this Vytal started again to his feet. “Wilt swear it?” he
demanded, fiercely. The drunkard leaned back and stared at him,
seeming for the first time to strive for a sober moment.
“Nay.”
“How do you know it, then?”
The vague eyes blinked with a more definite consciousness than
heretofore. “I heard them plotting.”
“And will not inform us on your oath. Then you jeopard your own
safety, Master Dare. Silence now is culpable, treasonable.”
“Oh no, no—what a mad boat—rolling about so—I, treasonable;
how strange! Then I’ll swear, an you will, ’twas the pilot.”
“You’ll swear?”
“Most certainly, I’ll swear.”
“Where are the twenty men? Do you know that?”
“Nay, how should I know?”
“Did you not overhear the pilot give directions? Think you they are
in the forecastle?”
“No, not there—not by any means there.”
“In the hold, then, hiding?”
“Ay, that’s it. In the hold. Down in the dark hold—oh, ’tis most
uncomfortable in the hold—what a mad boat—rocking so—always
rocking. ’Sdein! Where’s the tankard?” Rising unsteadily, he looked
about on the table in stupid surprise, then, sinking back again,
missed his chair and fell heavily to the floor. “Ah, ’tis here, the wine
—such brave wine!” and, crawling forward on his hands and knees,
he sat down half under the table, holding the tankard to his lips.
“Such courageous wine!”
Vytal went to the cabin door. “Heaven guard her,” he prayed, and
hastened to the stern. Here he found the pilot and Marlowe. With a
gesture, he drew the poet aside, and in a few words made known
the truth.
 “’Tis against great odds,” observed Marlowe, his eyes lighting up,
“that we fight again together.”
“Nay,” declared Vytal, “there shall be no fight. Wherefore
desecrate a rapier with so niggardly a foe?”
Marlowe smiled. “The bodkin would fain stitch only satin doublets,”
he remarked. “How, then, will you defeat these hirelings?”
“Thus,” and leading the way to the forecastle, the soldier emitted
a short, low whistle in one note. Soon Roger Prat stood before them.
“He comes like a devil from a stage-trap!” observed Marlowe, in
astonishment.
Roger laughed proudly and bowed like a juggler after the
performance of a cunning trick.
“Tell Hugh,” said Vytal, in a short whisper, “to overpower the pilot
when again I whistle thus, and with a stout rope to make fast his
arms; but first procure another helmsman you can trust. For your
own part, go to the hatches above the hold. If the pilot gives outcry,
and his crew strive to pass you, warn the first man whose head
appears, and if he heed not the warning, run him through. They can
come but singly. ’Tis within your power to withstand them all.”
“Of a verity, captain, well within it; but the work is tame. They
stand no chance.”
“Mark you, no bloodshed if you can help it. And tell Hugh the
same. At the sound of the whistle, then, some time before
daybreak.”
“Thank you,” and Roger went his way.
“Wherefore does he thank you?” asked Marlowe.
“Oh, ’tis ever so; a thousand thanks when I give him work like this
to do.” And for a moment the eyes of both followed Prat, whose
rotund figure could be seen beneath the ship’s lanthorn. He was
walking on tiptoe, which gave him a grotesque appearance, and the
end of his long scabbard was just visible as he held it out behind him
to prevent its chape from dragging on the deck. “A peculiar fellow,”
remarked the poet, to whom all men were books demanding his
perusal.
“A man!” said Vytal. And they waited for many minutes in silence.
“Let us make sure,” suggested Christopher, at last, “that the men
are in their places.”
Vytal turned to him with a look of resentment, or, more accurately,
an expression of wounded pride. “You know them not.”
“Yea, well. But plans miscarry.”
“I repeat, you know not the men;” with which, as though to deride
the other then and there with proof of his absolute reliance, Vytal
whistled the short note shriller and louder than before. Even as it
died away there came a deep oath from the stern and a sound as of
metal clanking on the deck. In another second there was a pistol-
shot, then a desperate silence. “Let us hasten,” cried Marlowe, “to
their assistance!”
“Nay, let us rather go and question the prisoner.”
This expression of confidence was fully repaid by the sight that
met their eyes. For there on the deck, near the helm, flat on his
back, lay the bulky pilot, so bound with a rope winding from head to
foot that he could not move so much as a finger in remonstrance. As
Vytal and Marlowe arrived on the scene, Hugh Rouse, smiling
broadly, held a light over the prone figure as though to exhibit his
handiwork. “A ceroon of rubbish,” he said. “Shall we cast him into
the sea?”
“Nay, let him lie here.”
Vytal turned to the pilot’s substitute at the helm, who had come
thither at the request of Roger Prat. “Loyal?” he queried, taking the
lanthorn from Rouse and holding it high, so that the rays fell athwart
the new steersman’s face.
“Ay, loyal; the fly-boat’s mate, sir, at your service.”
 “What proof?”
“None, save this,” and leaning forward he whispered the name
“Raleigh” in Vytal’s ear.
“Your own name?”
“Dyonis Harvie.”
“He speaks truth,” exclaimed Vytal, in an aside to Marlowe. “Sir
Walter Raleigh made mention of the man.” Then turning to the mate
again: “To Roanoke we go. Here is a copy of Ferdinando’s chart. You
are master now. See you pilot us safe and sound to the good port
we started for. Heed no contradictory orders. I am Captain John
Vytal an you need proof of my authority.”
Harvie’s honest face lighted up on hearing this, his sunburned
brow clearing with relief. “Sir Walter Raleigh bade me seek you,
captain, in case of need. ’Tis well you come thus timely.”
Vytal turned back to the prisoner. “Have you aught ready in
extenuation?”
The pilot’s eyes opened slowly while he looked up for an instant at
his interrogator with sullen hate in every lineament of his mottled
face. Then his eyes, blinking in the light, closed again, and his lips
tightened to lock in reply.
Vytal turned away indifferently. “And now to Roger at the hatches;
but do you, Hugh, stay here and guard the pilot,” whereupon he led
the way toward the hold.
“’Tis strange,” observed the poet, “that we heard no sound from
Roger Prat.” But Vytal, making no reply, went forward, without so
much as quickening his pace.
Coming to the hatches, however, they found no one, only a deep
murmur of voices greeting them from below.
“Ah,” said Marlowe, who could not suppress a small show of
triumph on finding the other’s surpassing confidence seemingly
misplaced, “I said ’twould be well to make sure your orders were
fulfilled.” And then, as the gravity of the situation grew more
apparent to him: “Forgive me; ’tis ill timed. I fear the good fellow
has come to harm.”
But Vytal only laughed a short, easy laugh. “I repeat once more,
you know not the man. Throw open the hatch. On guard!”
With only the delay of a second in which to unsheath his sword,
Marlowe obeyed; and the dull murmur of voices grew louder as it
rose unimpeded to the two above. But no one appeared in the
hatchway.
“They lie in wait to entrap us,” opined the poet, and then, with a
hand on Vytal’s arm: “Stay, I pray you! It means certain death!” For
the soldier had stepped forward as though to descend.
Vytal smiled. “That night on the bridge you counted not the cost.
Your impetuosity, methought, was gallant as could be. I go alone,
then.”
“Nay, nay, I stand beside you. Know you not that Kyt Marlowe is
two men—a dreaming idler and a firebrand as well? Cast the
firebrand before you, an you will. ’Twill burn a path for you, I
warrant,” and with that the poet, now all impulse, leaped toward the
hatchway, brandishing his sword. But this time Vytal’s was the
restraining hand.
“No; I but tried you. We are none of us to be caught in a stupid
snare, if snare it be.” And bending over the hold, to Marlowe’s
astonishment, he called for Roger Prat. Then, to the poet’s still
greater amazement, Roger’s head appeared in the opening, and a
fat finger beckoned Vytal still closer to the hatch.
“All’s well, but show no mistrust of them;” and then aloud, that
the men below might hear him, “Ay, Captain Vytal, ’tis Roger and
many others at your service, eager for the fray;” whereat, looking
back down the ladder, Prat called to the men to follow him. In a
moment a motley company, of perhaps twenty, were standing on the
deck, ranged in a group behind their spokesman. There were
soldiers here, armed with pikes and bearing for defence leathern
targets on their arms. There were mariners, too, with dirks and
pistols.
“We are ready, you see,” observed Roger, with a covert wink.
“Ready and eager to defend the ship.”
“Brave men all,” said Vytal, masking his contempt with a look of
gratitude. “I thank you. But it is too late. The rank treason is already
thwarted, the pilot a captive, to whom justice shall be meted out in
no small measure. You have lost the chance to fight, but your desire,
believe me, shall not soon be forgotten.”
There was a double meaning in the last words that caused many
an eye to seek the deck confusedly. “’Twill be well,” resumed Vytal,
with a look at Prat, “to leave your arms here in case of another fell
attempt to surprise us. Perchance you might not hear the alarm, and
so your weapons, were they with you, would be lost to us. Here we
can give them to the hands of those who hasten first to the defence.
I bid you good-night.”
One by one the men, not without hesitation, laid down their arms.
It was the only chance they had to prove their good faith, and Roger
Prat, as though to vindicate his own position, unbuckled his great
scabbard with much ado and laid it down beside the rest. Then the
men turned upon their heels and dispersed sheepishly, Roger, to
maintain his rôle, going with them to the forecastle.
“Now,” observed Vytal, turning to Marlowe, “you know my men at
last.”
“But I do not understand—” began the poet.
“Nay, not the details. Nor I. He will explain later; see, he returns
even now to do it,” and Roger Prat stood once more before them. He
was holding his sides and shaking with silent laughter, after the
repressing of which he told an extraordinary tale.
“I heard the whistle,” he said, “and stood on guard. Master Pilot,
being bound, I now suppose, by Hugh, could give no outcry save
one of much profanity. But then a pistol-shot rang out, and I started
forward a pace with some alarm. No doubt it grazed Hugh’s
elephantine ear. A stimulus—a mere stimulus! But as I started
forward—and for that step, captain, you should put me in irons, I do
assure you—as I started forward carelessly, the hatch was flung
open, and, before I could turn, I was seized from behind. I thought
Roger Prat was then no longer Roger Prat, but Jonah ready for the
whale. Yet I struggled, and being, as you know, of some bulk and
weight, succeeded in pushing my captor backward to the hatch. The
next instant one of us tripped, and I found myself bounding
downward along the ladder, at the bottom of which, thank Heaven, I
lay down comfortably on the man who had fallen behind me. For
him ’twas a less desirable descent.” And again Prat shook
convulsively with laughter, his elbows out and hands pressed close
against his sides. “And then,” he resumed, with an air of bravado, “I
overcame the score.”
“Overcame the score!” exclaimed Marlowe.
“With wits, Master Poet. ‘’Slid!’ cried I. ‘Why treat a comrade thus?
In the name of Sir Walter, ’tis most unreasonable.’ ‘Which mean ye?’
they cried. ‘There are two Sir Walters!’ ‘Sir Walter St. Magil, of
course,’ said I. ‘Here I come from the Admiral to give ye aid, and find
myself hurled headlong to the nether world. The pilot’s killed, the
plan defeated, and now we are like to decorate the yard-arm.
There’s forty men concealed on the orlop deck, awaiting us unkindly.’
At this ’twas all I could do to look mournful and keep from laughing
outright, for the knaves fell back terror-struck and babbled their
fears to one another. Then I hung my head as if in thought. ‘I have
it!’ cried I, at last; ‘we’ll play the part of brave defenders. There’s
one trusts me, for I gained his confidence at St. Magil’s suggestion.
’Tis Captain John Vytal, the devil’s own.’ (Oh, forgive me, sir, for
those dastard words. Yet they added force to my parley.) ‘A ready-
witted fellow,’ I heard one say, and ‘’Tis a chance,’ remarked another
gull. Thus they assented, and we have twenty brave souls, Captain
Vytal, new recruited. Hang them, I say. Hang the lot at sunrise,
except one, and him you cannot. ’Tis the one I landed on in my
descent. His neck is broke too soon and cheats the gallows. Forgive
me for that—oh, forgive me for that. Ha, ’twas a comical
proceeding.” And again the fit of merriment seized him, exhaustingly,
so that at last, for very mirth, he sat down on the deck, laughing
until it pained him and the tears rolled down his rubicund cheeks.
The laughter, being of the most contagious, irresistible kind,
spread to Marlowe. “Thy mirth,” said the poet, “is like to an intrusive
flea. It invades the inmost recesses of our risibility, and tickles us
into laughter.”
The sun, just peering over the horizon, saw an unusual sight
across the water. First, a man in the stern of a solitary ship bound
like a bale of cloth and propped against the bulwark under the eye
of a giant who yawned sleepily, and, stretching a pair of great arms
abroad, spoke now and then in monosyllables to a robust seaman on
duty at the helm; then, a corpulent soldier, shaking like an
earthquake, and sitting on the deck amidships, his short legs wide
apart; next, a face of sensitive poetic features not made for humor,
but now submitting to it as though under protest, yet very heartily;
and, lastly, the tall, stern figure of an evident leader, who stood near
the others, but seemingly aloof in thought, being, for some reason,
little moved by the gale of mirth.
The dawning light of the next day showed a picture widely
different in conception.

CHAPTER VI

“Die life, fly soul, tongue curse thy fill, and die!”

—Marlowe, in The Jew of Malta.

 The trial of the pilot for the instigation of mutiny was conducted in
the fly-boat’s main cabin with strict secrecy, in order that faint-
hearted ones might be spared the disheartening anxiety which a
knowledge of the conspiracy would have brought to them. The ship’s
commander, Captain Pomp by name, who had appeared greatly
flurried and genuinely amazed on hearing Vytal’s story, presided at
the inquiry. Beside him at the long table sat Vytal on the one hand
and Ananias Dare, now sober but forlorn, on the other.
The pilot, brought in by Hugh Rouse, came stolidly, without a
struggle, and during the trial faced his judges with defiance, turning
now and then an expectant look on Ananias Dare. For, preceding this
investigation, the assistant had gone to the deck at sunrise and held
a conversation in whispers with the guilty man, telling Hugh, who
would have questioned his authority, that he but sought to elicit
further information from the captive. What he had actually said was
this: “An you betray me, we’re both lost. Make no accusation at the
trial. Even though I testify against you, I will save you in the end.”
But the pilot’s eyes gazed at him with little trustfulness. “You
swear it?”
“I swear it.”
“So be it, then. But at the last an you fail me, Master Sot, look to
your own salvation.”
The trial proceeded in a perfunctory manner, and would have been
but a routine affair save for the increasing nervousness of Ananias,
who concealed the cause by holding both hands to his head as
though only the night’s intemperance had unstrung him; and by the
sudden appearance of Roger Prat, who, with the captain’s
permission, held a whispered conference with Vytal. “I pray you,
captain, make no charge against the others. I have charmed them
with a flute and tabor. They are hot against the pilot, being but
hirelings, and, like sheep, easily led. We can count our force the
richer by a score. ‘I have saved your necks,’ said I,’and have talked
with Captain Vytal. An we oppose him we surely dangle from the
yard-arm. Welladay, welladay, I know what I know,’ and I sang them
a song, then played at dice, and lost three angels a-purpose, then
drank and warmed their chicken hearts. In another week they will be
ready to die for us,” and, making a grimace at the sullen pilot, as
who should say,“Be more cheerful, sir,” Roger swaggered from the
cabin.
On the testimony of Vytal, who told of St. Magil’s conversation
with Ferdinando concerning his bribe to the pilot, and on the oath of
Ananias Dare, who testified to having heard the defendant plotting
with St. Magil, the culprit was speedily condemned. The pale face of
Dare, the faltering voice, the nervous effort with which he forced
himself to stand erect while bearing witness, were readily set down
to his bibulous tendencies, already well known to the fly-boat’s
captain.
In a grandiose manner Captain Pomp arose and drew himself up
to his full height.
“Incarcerate the prisoner,” he said to Rouse, “in the hold. At
midnight I shall send for him. Our sentence is that he shall be
hanged at the yard-arm until dead.” Whereupon, with an important
air, not devoid of true dignity, he bowed to Vytal.
“It is well,” said the soldier. And the three judges filed slowly from
the room.
At the hour of midnight, when the voyagers were sleeping in their
cabins, a sailor appeared in the hatchway of the hold, and soon the
pilot stood beneath the main-mast, guarded by two dusky figures
with drawn swords. A third approached him gravely. It was the
Oxford preacher, offering consolation. But his offices were undesired.
The pilot greeted him with a low curse, then laughed scornfully.
Vytal, who had come hither, realized the stubborn nature of the
condemned man, and drew the pastor aside.
The moon, now full, had risen high, eclipsing with her brilliancy a
host of stars. The sea lay glassy, a pool of shining mercury, its
currents gliding on in silence, faster than the ship herself. The
stillness was profound, broken only by the far-off cry of an unseen
gull.
The night was a night for serenades of love, for lutes, for ardent
whispers, for anything but work like this.
The noose was thrown over the pilot’s head carelessly, as though
the sailor were casting a quoit upon a peg. The captive opened his
lips as though to speak, but the rope was tight-drawn, and the effort
ended in a gulp, vainly. Suddenly there was a guttural, inarticulate
cry, a choking sound, and a bulky form went up half-way to the
yard-arm. In that instant, hurrying, uncertain footsteps scraped
along the deck, and Ananias Dare reeled into the silent circle. He
gesticulated and moved his arms, striving to point steadily at the
swaying figure in the moonlight. But he uttered only a gibberish of
broken, unmeaning syllables, and then, lurching to the bulwark,
went deathly sick in unrestrainable nausea.
The figure above, still rocking slightly from the upward swing, held
out a thick forefinger and pointed to the new-comer, while a smile,
ghastly in the moonshine, and triumphant even in the last agony,
crossed its bestial face.
Vytal turned and looked at Ananias, who was now but a
mumbling, terror-stricken heap upon the deck. Vytal had looked at
the man before, but now for the first time seemed to gaze into him.
“Ugh!” muttered Roger Prat, shuddering. “Goodman Thong did his
work well, but the pilot has done his duty even better.”
The sun, several hours later, peering through the grayness, saw a
heavy thing, limp and motionless, depending from the yard-arm of a
lonely ship. It was a man of revolting countenance, black from
strangulation, and pitted with the marks of a disease. Over the brow
a shock of coarse red hair hung in strands like streaks of fire, and
from the chin a ruddy beard flared across the chest. On one of the
broad shoulders sat a great white gull, its beak buried in the flame.
But soon a sailor appeared on deck, whistling cheerily in the
morning watch. He cut the thing down, and, grumbling over its
weighty bulk, cast it headlong into the sea.

CHAPTER VII

“What shall I call thee? brother?”

—Marlowe, in Tamburlaine.

The voyage of the fly-boat proceeded thenceforward more

uneventfully. The men who had been planning insubordination, now
that their ringleader had been so summarily disposed of, changed
their front and avowed themselves genuinely the followers of Vytal
and the captain. For this transition Roger Prat, winning them with his
humor and good-fellowship, was largely responsible, and after his
own humbly boastful manner took no care to conceal the fact from
Rouse, whom he loved in a railing, mocking fashion.
Vytal and Marlowe were much together, the dull days affording
them the chance for many conversations, by the aid of which their
intimacy grew and deepened into a strong friendship. There was that
in the poet which appealed to Vytal—the facility of expression, the
fervor and the impetuosity, all of which his own nature had lost in
the grim realities of war and privation. Also, there was sometimes a
profundity in Marlowe’s thought which touched his silent depths.
Neither of the two saw Eleanor Dare again while on the voyage,
save for an occasional glimpse of her, when, with her maid-servant,
who was the wife of Dyonis Harvie, she came upon the deck for a
breath of air.
Ananias approached the two men now and then with whispered
protestations of his innocence, that grew more calm and earnest in
his sober moments. Finally, however, he vaguely confessed a slight
complicity, to Vytal only, and followed the acknowledgment with a
convincing assurance that at heart he had ever been loyal to his
father-in-law, Governor White, and to Sir Walter Raleigh. Vytal,
hiding his contempt, received this assertion with a promise to leave
the matter as it stood so long as there were no signs of further
culpability, and gave the assistant his hand with a strong effort. He
then instructed his men to preserve a like secrecy.
For many weeks the ship pursued her solitary course without once
sighting the Admiral. It was feared by many that Ferdinando’s vessel
had met some misfortune, and foul play was suggested by but a few
of the most suspicious voyagers.
Only one incident in all these weeks seems worthy of record.
Vytal was standing alone at mid-day, down on the orlop deck,
examining the ship’s cables and spare rigging, when a light footstep,
almost inaudible, approached him from behind. Turning, he saw the
Indian, Manteo, who, it will be remembered, was returning to
Virginia after a stay of several years in England. He held a finger to
his lips and looked about him cautiously. “We are betrayed,” he said,
in a low voice, “by the son of a warlike country. Ferdinando leaves
his children to perish. The great ship seeks us not, but would make
her way to my land alone.”
Vytal scrutinized the impassive face for the first time with a deep
interest. He had seen the Indian’s tall figure, now and again,
standing silently aloof in the bow, his dark eyes always gazing off to
the westward. But until now he had not seen those eyes alert and
troubled, the supple form prescient with meaning.
“What brings you this suspicion, Manteo?”
“I know it as birds know that winter comes, as vultures that a
warrior is dead.”
There was a marked similarity in the bearing of the two men. They
were both tall, dignified, and slow to speak, both evidently
perceptive, strong, and masterful, both almost childlike in their direct
simplicity. Perhaps each realized the likeness, for into the eyes of
both there came a look of understanding that gave promise of a
bond between them stronger than the stout cables the one had
been examining, stronger even than the other’s ties of blood.
“My brother,” said Manteo, at length, “you, too, know the truth,
but in a different way. I came to thy country as Master Barlow’s
interpreter, many moons ago. I return to my people, but I have
learned among thine to interpret more than words. Thus, and by my
own heart, I know that we are left behind. I have spoken.”
“You have spoken no lie.”
“I am Manteo, and lie not.”
“My brother,” rejoined Vytal, “listen.” And he told the chief the tale
succinctly, omitting only the complicity of Ananias Dare. “An you
learn more,” he said, in conclusion, “you will tell me, I trust, and
none other.”
“Only to thee have I spoken, or shall speak. For thou art a chief,
as I am, among men.”
There remains no more to be told concerning life on the fly-boat.
As to the voyage of the Admiral, it is recorded on accessible pages of
history. An excerpt from these may not be inadmissible as a record
of bare fact. In the journal of John White, the colony’s governor, we
find the following true description of the voyage:

MAY.
The sixteenth, Simon Ferdinando, Master of our
Admiral, lewdly forsook our fly-boat, leaving her
distressed in the bay of Portugal.
JUNE.
The nineteenth we fell with Dominica, and the same
evening we sailed between it and Guadaloupe.
…
 The twenty-eighth we weighed anchor at Cottea and
presently came to St. John’s in Mosquito’s Bay, where
we spent three days unprofitable in taking in fresh
water, spending in the mean time more beer than the
quantity of water came unto.
JULY.
…
About the sixteenth of July we fell with the main of
Virginia, which Simon Ferdinando took to be the Island
of Croatan, where we came to anchor and rode there
two or three days: but finding himself deceived, he
weighed, and bore along the coast.
The two-and-twentieth of July we arrived safe at
Hatarask.…
The twenty-fifth our fly-boat and the rest of our
planters arrived all safe at Hatarask, to the great joy
and comfort of the whole company: but the Master of
our Admiral—Ferdinando—grieved greatly at their safe-
coming: for he purposely left them in the bay of
Portugal, and stole away from them in the night,
hoping that the Master thereof … would hardly find the
place, or else being left in so dangerous a place as that
was, by means of so many men-of-war, as at that time
were abroad, they should surely be taken or slain, but
God disappointed his wicked pretences.

Here the account of the days at sea ends. Thus the fly-boat,
thanks to the watchfulness and care of Dyonis Harvie, came at last
to her haven.
 CHAPTER VIII

“Triumph, my mates, our travels are at end.”

—Marlowe, in Dido, Queen of Carthage.

The landing and unlading of the fly-boat was a task requiring

much exertion. But now that the dangers of the ocean were past,
every man, woman, and child of the little colony lent aid with a
hearty will. They were in high spirits. The mid-day sun shone down
in summer warmth, the skies were blue and cloudless. The island of
Roanoke, emerald green in all its summer verdure, seemed a
veritable land of promise. A number of the most youthful colonists
ran along the shore to prove their freedom from the confines of the
deck—ran, calling to one another, and sang for sheer happiness.
Others, more devout, gathered about the preacher, who offered a
prayer of thanksgiving. Some, with whom labor was at all times
paramount, went busily to and fro in the small boats and the
pinnace, which had again been manned, conveying the cargo from
ship to shore. The main body, who had arrived earlier on the
Admiral, came down with tears of joy in welcome, and a babble of
questions concerning the fly-boat’s voyage. The scene was varied.
Here stood Hugh Rouse with a great bag of salt on his broad
shoulders; here Roger Prat, arm-in-arm with his newly regained
friend, the bear, and pointing at Rouse with some remark to King
Lud of raillery; here Marlowe, the poet, surveying with eager eyes
the luxuriant foliage farther inland and listening with enthralment to
the songs of forest birds; there Gyll Croyden running toward him
joyously, with a fresh-plucked nosegay of unknown, fragrant flowers
in her hand; here Ananias Dare overlooking a couple of sailors who
rolled a cask of wine across the beach; there Simon Ferdinando,
important with a hundred directions, and furtive as he glanced
toward Vytal; here Governor White, for a moment leaving the
management to his assistants, and here, too, beside him, his
daughter Eleanor, her face pale as if with illness, her long cloak still
about her. She was clasping his arm with both hands, as though to
make sure of no renewed separation. “Father, I thank God we are
once more together. The days were very long, and almost
unendurable.”
But there was no rejoinder, for John Vytal stood before them, with
a question of evident importance on his lips. “Where is Sir Walter St.
Magil?”
“In truth I know not,” and the governor’s kindly face turned to the
men at work near by. “He hath gone out to the Admiral, perhaps.”
Vytal left them with a grave, almost indifferent bow to Eleanor,
and, boarding the pinnace, was about to return to Ferdinando’s ship
in quest of St. Magil; but he felt a hand on his arm drawing him
gently backward, and, turning, he saw Manteo, the Indian, who
drew him aside beyond a bend in the shore. “My brother, he hath
gone.”

CHAPTER IX

“From forth her ashes shall advance her head,

And flourish once again that erst was dead.”

—Marlowe, in Dido, Queen of Carthage.

Vytal frowned and bit his lip. “When did he go, and whither?”
“When, I can say, for I have heard. It was yesterday, the day after
the great ship and our father, the governor, came to Roanoke, before
we ourselves arrived. But whither I know not, save that it was
toward the great forest of the South.”
 “Alone?”
The Indian’s brow clouded. “Nay, I grieve that he went with
Towaye, my kinsman, who came from England on the Admiral. I
await thy word to follow the trail by which Towaye, for some
unknown purpose, guides thine enemy.”
“I thank you, but I am glad that he is gone. He has no knowledge
of the fly-boat’s arrival, and thus will miscalculate our strength. He is
bound, an I mistake not, for the Spanish city of St. Augustine. Is it
not accessible from here by land?”
“It is,” replied Manteo, “for men of a kindred race came hither that
way at the beginning of the world, and were slain as foes. But the
trail hides itself as the trail a dead man follows. It runs through an
endless forest, our forefathers have said, and over the face of angry
waters. The white man must be brave, though evil, and my kinsman
but one of many guides. For passing through Secotan, five-and-
twenty leagues to the southward, they must go, with many
windings, as serpents go, to the land of Casicola, lord of ten
thousand. Also they must pass the Weroances, Dicassa, and Toupee
Kyn, of whom our men know nothing save the sound of their names,
which comes like an echo without meaning. And they will come to La
Grande Copal, where there are stars in the earth your people call
jewels, and buy with cloth.”
Vytal’s face grew more troubled as the Indian proceeded. “It is
impossible that he has gone so far.”
“Yes, but there may be yet another way. The river called
Waterin[4] is a trail itself, leading perhaps to the Spanish towns.”
Vytal seemed but half satisfied. “Are you sure he has left the
island?”
“No, but I will see.”
“Go, then, Manteo.”
“I return not,” said the Indian, “until I know,” and in a minute he
was lost in the adjacent woods.
 For a week the foremost consideration in Vytal’s mind, after the
cargo had been landed, was to ascertain, if possible, the
whereabouts of the fifteen men who, being the stoutest spirits of an
earlier colony, had been left the year before to hold the territory for
England. The inadequacy of this arrangement, by which a garrison
that would not have sufficed to defend a small fortress was left to
guard a boundless acquisition, is perhaps unparalleled in history. But
to many of the newly arrived colonists the utter futility of the plan
was not apparent. They had not yet experienced the desperate
hardships of an infant settlement, nor realized the extent and latent
ferocity of the savage hordes that overran the continent.
Furthermore, the magnitude and nature of the territory which fifteen
men had been appointed to hold was by no means appreciated.
Nevertheless, in the minds of men who had played their games of
life against odds and could justly estimate the hazards of existence,
the likelihood of finding the little company seemed very small. Vytal,
for one, felt far from sanguine, but the kindly, impractical governor,
although he had already searched the whole Island of Roanoke in
vain, still held out hope of ultimate success.
“I doubt not we shall find them yet,” he said one evening to Vytal,
“on some adjacent island.”
The soldier shook his head. “Let us go once again and inspect the
site of their settlement.”
“It is a most dismal scene,” declared the governor, leading the way
to a road running inward from the shore. “But my men can soon
make the place habitable.”
“Habitable!” exclaimed a voice behind them; “’tis a perfect Eden,”
and the speaker joined them.
“Ay, Master Marlowe,” returned the governor, glancing at the new-
comer with a look of indulgent admiration. “But Eden is forsook.”
“’Tis the old story,” observed the poet, “of an enforced exodus, but
wherein lay the fatal sin? Are birds evil? Nay, but their little fate in a
falcon’s guise destroys them.”
 The governor looked at him askance. “I have heard of your loose
theology, sir, but pray you to restrain it here. We are a lonely people,
and need God.”
The poet made no answer. The unquestioning faith of men like
Vytal and the governor—the faith direct, plain, and utterly free from
the cant he hated—caused him at times to covet their deep
simplicity; again, he would rail against religion, and wander with vain
eagerness through the mazes of a complex Pantheism. But at last,
poetry, pure and undefiled by sophistries, would return to him with
her quieting, magical touch, and restore the sunshine to his world.
“Dreamed you ever of such verdure?” he said, at length. “Nature is
prodigal here, a spendthrift in a far country.”
They were now on an eminence dominating the bay and sea. Vytal
stood still and looked inland, then turned and faced the water. He
spoke no word, but only gazed off to the distant shore. At last,
catching sight of the busy group beneath him, he turned again and
rejoined the others. “He knows it all,” thought Marlowe, “even better
than I, yet says nothing.”
The road, overgrown with weeds and scarcely visible in places, led
them at last to a number of huts in a wide clearing at the north end
of the island. Here a scene of decay and desolation met their eyes.
The sun, now setting, shot long, slanting rays across the oval, as
though to exhibit every detail of the picture in one merciless
moment and then be gone. “’Tis an impious revelation,” said
Marlowe, glancing about drearily at the numerous deserted huts.
“Look at that hovel; ’tis but the corpse of a house. And that! Its
windows leer like the eye-holes of a skull. And this one, the least
decayed. It stands to prove itself a home, with the mere memory of
protection. How vacantly they stare at us, like melancholy madmen!
Come, let us begone.” He would have started back, but seeing that
Vytal and the governor had not yet finished their more practical
investigation, followed them in silence.
Most of the hovels had been torn down to within about eight feet
of the ground. The small boards which had served to barricade their
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