Men pressed upward towards the railing; women wept.
And through it all the Prophet stood unmoved.

He stood like a rock against which the clamorous human sea beat wildly.

With a quiet movement he drew his robe across his breast, hiding the unsightly scars, but otherwise he made no motion.

At last the red-haired man who had first claimed him, stepped forward to his side.
"Speak to them, Master!" he said.
The words roused the Prophet.

With a calm gesture he raised his head, his eyes confronting the mass of strained, excited faces lifted to his.
"My People," he said again, in his deep voice.