"But always there was lack of water there.Whereas,upon a time,the holy abbot prayed,and for answer a great stream of clear water burst forth by miracle in a desert place.Now were the fickle monks tempted of the Fiend,and they wrought with their abbot unceasingly by beggings and beseechings that he would construct a bath;and when he was become aweary and might not resist more,he said have ye your will,then,and granted that they asked.Now mark thou what 'tis to forsake the ways of purity the which He loveth,and wanton with such as be worldly and an offense.These monks did enter into the bath and come thence washed as white as snow;and lo,in that moment His sign appeared,in miraculous rebuke!for His insulted waters ceased to flow,and utterly vanished away.""They fared mildly,Sandy,considering how that kind of crime is regarded in this country.""Belike;but it was their first sin;and they had been of perfect life for long,and differing in naught from the angels.Prayers,tears,torturings of the flesh,all was vain to beguile that water to flow again.Even processions;even burnt-offerings;even votive candles to the Virgin,did fail every each of them;and all in the land did marvel.""How odd to find that even this industry has its financial panics,and at times sees its assignats and greenbacks languish to zero,and everything come to a standstill.Go on,Sandy.""And so upon a time,after year and day,the good abbot made humble surrender and destroyed the bath.And behold,His anger was in that moment appeased,and the waters gushed richly forth again,and even unto this day they have not ceased to flow in that generous measure.""Then I take it nobody has washed since.""He that would essay it could have his halter free;yes,and swiftly would he need it,too.""The community has prospered since?"
"Even from that very day.The fame of the miracle went abroad into all lands.From every land came monks to join;they came even as the fishes come,in shoals;and the monastery added building to building,and yet others to these,and so spread wide its arms and took them in.And nuns came,also;and more again,and yet more;and built over against the monastery on the yon side of the vale,and added building to building,until mighty was that nunnery.And these were friendly unto those,and they joined their loving labors together,and together they built a fair great foundling asylum midway of the valley between.""You spoke of some hermits,Sandy."
"These have gathered there from the ends of the earth.A hermit thriveth best where there be multitudes of pilgrims.Ye shall not find no hermit of no sort wanting.If any shall mention a hermit of a kind he thinketh new and not to be found but in some far strange land,let him but scratch among the holes and caves and swamps that line that Valley of Holiness,and whatsoever be his breed,it skills not,he shall find a sample of it there."I closed up alongside of a burly fellow with a fat good-humored face,purposing to make myself agreeable and pick up some further crumbs of fact;but I had hardly more than scraped acquaintance with him when he began eagerly and awkwardly to lead up,in the immemorial way,to that same old anecdote --the one Sir Dinadan told me,what time I got into trouble with Sir Sagramor and was challenged of him on account of it.I excused myself and dropped to the rear of the procession,sad at heart,willing to go hence from this troubled life,this vale of tears,this brief day of broken rest,of cloud and storm,of weary struggle and monotonous defeat;and yet shrinking from the change,as remembering how long eternity is,and how many have wended thither who know that anecdote.
Early in the afternoon we overtook another procession of pilgrims;but in this one was no merriment,no jokes,no laughter,no playful ways,nor any happy giddiness,whether of youth or age.Yet both were here,both age and youth;gray old men and women,strong men and women of middle age,young husbands,young wives,little boys and girls,and three babies at the breast.Even the children were smileless;there was not a face among all these half a hundred people but was cast down,and bore that set expression of hopelessness which is bred of long and hard trials and old acquaintance with despair.They were slaves.Chains led from their fettered feet and their manacled hands to a sole-leather belt about their waists;and all except the children were also linked together in a file six feet apart,by a single chain which led from collar to collar all down the line.They were on foot,and had tramped three hundred miles in eighteen days,upon the cheapest odds and ends of food,and stingy rations of that.They had slept in these chains every night,bundled together like swine.They had upon their bodies some poor rags,but they could not be said to be clothed.
Their irons had chafed the skin from their ankles and made sores which were ulcerated and wormy.Their naked feet were torn,and none walked without a limp.Originally there had been a hundred of these unfortunates,but about half had been sold on the trip.The trader in charge of them rode a horse and carried a whip with a short handle and a long heavy lash divided into several knotted tails at the end.With this whip he cut the shoulders of any that tottered from weariness and pain,and straightened them up.
He did not speak;the whip conveyed his desire without that.None of these poor creatures looked up as we rode along by;they showed no consciousness of our presence.And they made no sound but one;that was the dull and awful clank of their chains from end to end of the long file,as forty-three burdened feet rose and fell in unison.The file moved in a cloud of its own making.
