PEDO
Baudillas had been lowered into the pit of the _robur_, and he sank in the
slime half‐way up his calves. He waded with extended arms, groping for
something to which to cling. He knew not whether the bottom were even, or
fell into deep holes, into which he might stumble. He knew not whether he
were in a narrow well or in a spacious chamber.
Cautiously, in obscurity, he groped, uncertain even whether he went
straight or was describing a curve. But presently he touched the wall and
immediately discovered a bench, and seated himself thereon. Then he drew
up his feet out of the mire, and cast himself in a reclining position on
the stone seat.
He looked up, but could not distinguish the opening by which he had been
let down into the horrible cess‐pit. He was unable to judge to what depth
he had been lowered, nor could he estimate the extent of the dungeon in
which he was confined.
The bench on which he reposed was slimy, the walls trickled with moisture,
were unctuous, and draped with a fungous growth in long folds. The whole
place was foul and cold.
How long would his confinement last? Would food, pure water be lowered to
him? Or was he condemned to waste away in this pit, from starvation, or in
the delirium of famine to roll off from his shelf and smother in the mire?
After a while his eyes became accustomed to the dark and sensitive to the
smallest gradations in it; and then he became aware of a feeble glowworm
light over the surface of the ooze at one point. Was it that some fungoid
growth there was phosphorescent? Or was it that a ray of daylight
penetrated there by some tortuous course?
After long consideration it seemed to him probable that the light he
distinguished might enter by a series of reflections through the outfall.
He thought of examining the opening, but to do so he would be constrained
to wade. He postponed the exploration till later. Of one thing he was
confident, that although a little sickly light might be able to struggle
into this horrible dungeon, yet no means of egress for the person would be
left. Precautions against escape by this means would certainly have been
taken.
The time passed heavily. At times Baudillas sank into a condition of
stupor, then was roused to thought again, again to lapse into a comatose
condition. His cut lip was sore, his bruises ached. He had passed his
tongue over his broken teeth till they had fretted his tongue raw.
The feeble light at the surface became fainter, and this was finally
extinguished. The day was certainly at an end. The sun had set in the
west, an auroral glow hung over the place of its decline. Stars were
beginning to twinkle; the syringa was pouring forth its fragrance, the
flowering thorns their too heavy odor. Dew was falling gently and cool.
The deacon raised his heart to God, and from this terrible pit his prayer
mounted to heaven; a prayer not for deliverance from death, but for grace
to endure the last trial, and if again put to the test, to withstand
temptation. Then he recited the evening prayer of the Church, in Greek: “O
God, who art without beginning and without end, the Maker of the world by
Thy Christ, and the sustainer thereof, God and Father, Lord of the spirit,
King of all things that have reason and life! Thou who hast made the day
for the works of light, and the night for the refreshment of our
infirmity, for the day is Thine, the night is Thine: Thou hast prepared
the light and the sun—do Thou now, O Lord, lover of mankind, fountain of
all good, mercifully accept this our evening thanksgiving. Thou who hast
brought us through the length of the day, and hast conducted us to the
threshold of night, preserve us by Thy Christ, afford us a peaceful
evening, and a sinless night, and in the end everlasting life by Thy
Christ, through whom be glory, honor and worship in the Holy Spirit, for
ever, amen.”(8) After this prayer Baudillas had been wont in the church to
say, “Depart in peace!” and to dismiss the faithful. Now he said, “Into
Thy hands I commend my spirit.”
Out of that fetid abyss and its horrible darkness rose the prayer to God,
winged with faith, inspired by fervor sweet with humility, higher than the
soaring lark, higher than the faint cloud that caught the last rays of the
set sun, higher than the remotest star.
Presently a confused sound from above reached the prisoner, and a spot of
orange light fell on the water below. Then came a voice ringing hollow
down the depth, and echoed by the walls, “Thy food!” A slender rope was
sent down, to which was attached a basket that contained bread and a
pitcher of water. Baudillas stepped into the ooze and took the loaf and
the water vessel.
Then the jailer called again: “To‐morrow morning—if more be needed—I will
bring a second supply. Send up the empty jar when I lower that which is
full, if thou art in a condition to require it.” He laughed, and the laugh
resounded as a bellow in the vaulted chamber.
Few were the words spoken, and they ungracious. Yet was the deacon
sensible of pleasure at hearing even a jailer’s voice breaking the
dreadful silence. He waded back to his ledge, ate the dry bread and drank
some of the water. Then he laid himself down again. Again the door
clashed, sending thunders below, and once more he was alone.
As his hand traveled along the wall it encountered a hard round knot. He
drew his hand away precipitately, but then, moved by curiosity, groped for
it again. Then he discovered that this seeming excrescence was a huge
snail, there hibernating. He dislodged it, threw it from him and it
plashed into the mire.
Time dragged. Not a sound could be heard save the monotonous drip of some
leak above. Baudillas counted the falling drops, then wearied of counting,
and abandoned the self‐imposed task.
Now he heard a far‐away rushing sound, then came a blast of hot vapor
blowing in his face. He started into a sitting posture, and clung to his
bench. In another moment he heard the roar of water that plunged from
above; and a hot steam enveloped him. What was the signification of this?
Was the pit to be flooded with scalding water and he drowned in it? In a
moment he had found the explanation. The water was being let off from the
public baths. There would be no more bathers this night. The tide of tepid
water rose nearly level with the ledge on which he was crouching, and then
ebbed away and rolled forth at the vent through which by day a pale halo
had entered.
Half suffocated, part stupefied by the warm vapor, Baudillas sank into a
condition without thought, his eyes looking into the blackness above, his
ears hearing without noting the dribble from the drain through which the
flood had spurted. Presently he was roused by a sense of irritation in
every nerve, and putting his hand to his face plucked away some hundred‐
legged creature, clammy and yet hard, that was creeping over him. It was
some time before his tingling nerves recovered. Then gradually torpor
stole over him, and he was perhaps unconscious for a couple of hours, when
again he was roused by a sharp pain in his finger, and starting, he heard
a splash, a rush and squeals. At once he knew that a swarm of rats had
invaded the place. He had been bitten by one; his start had disconcerted
the creatures momentarily, and they had scampered away.
Baudillas remained motionless, save that he trembled; he was sick at
heart. In this awful prison he dared not sleep, lest he should be devoured
alive.
Was this to be his end—to be kept awake by horror of the small foes till
he could endure the tension no longer, and then sink down in dead
weariness and blank indifference on his bench, and at once be assailed
from all sides, to feel the teeth, perhaps to attempt an ineffectual
battle, then to be overcome and to be picked to his bones?
As he sat still, hardly breathing, he felt the rats again. They were
rallying, some swimming, some swarming up on to the shelf. They rushed at
him with the audacity given by hunger, with the confidence of experience,
and the knowledge of their power when attacking in numbers.
He cried out, beat with his hands, kicked out with his feet, swept his
assailants off him by the score; yet such as could clung to his garment by
their teeth and, not discomfited, quickly returned. To escape them he
leaped into the mire; he plunged this way, then that; he returned to the
wall; he attempted to scramble up it beyond their reach, but in vain.
Wherever he went, they swam after him. He was unarmed, he could kill none
of his assailants; if he could but decimate the horde it would be
something. Then he remembered the pitcher and felt for that. By this time
he had lost his bearings wholly. He knew not where he had left the vessel.
But by creeping round the circumference of his prison, he must eventually
reach the spot where he had previously been seated, and with the
earthenware vessel he would defend himself as long as he was able.
Whilst thus wading, he was aware of a cold draught blowing in his face,
and he knew that he had reached the opening of the sewer that served as
outfall. He stooped and touched stout iron bars forming part of a grating.
He tested them, and assured himself that they were so thick set that it
was not possible for him to thrust even his head between them.
All at once the rats ceased to molest him. They had retreated, whither he
could not guess, and he knew as little why. Possibly, they were shrewd
enough to know that they had but to exercise patience, and he must
inevitably fall a prey to their teeth.
Almost immediately, however, he was aware of a little glow, like that of a
spark, and of a sound of splashing. He was too frightened, too giddy, to
collect his thoughts, so as to discover whence the light proceeded, and
what produced the noise.
Clinging to the grating, Baudillas gazed stupidly at the light, that grew
in brightness, and presently irradiated a face. This he saw, but he was
uncertain whether he actually did see, or whether he were a prey to an
illusion.
Then the light flashed over him, and his eyes after a moment recognized
the face of his old slave, Pedo. A hand on the further side grasped one of
the stanchions, and the deacon heard the question, “Master, are you safe?”
“Oh, Pedo, how have you come into this place?”
“Hush, master. Speak only in a whisper. I have waded up the sewer
(_cloaca_), and have brought with me two stout files. Take this one, and
work at the bar on thy side. I will rasp on the other. In time we shall
cut through the iron, and then thou wilt be able to escape. When I heard
whither thou hadst been cast, then I saw my way to making an effort to
save thee.”
“Pedo! I will give thee thy liberty!”
“Master! it is I who must first manumit thee.”
Then the slave began to file, and as he filed he muttered, “What is
liberty to me? At one time, indeed! Ah, at one time, when I was young, and
so was Blanda! But now I am old and lame. I am well treated by a good
master. Well, well! Sir! work at the bar where I indicate with my finger.
That is a transversal stanchion and sustains the others.”
Hope of life returned. The heart of Baudillas was no longer chilled with
fear and his brain stunned with despair. He worked hard, animated by
eagerness to escape. There was a spring of energy in the little flame of
the lamp, an inspiring force in the presence of his slave. The bar was
thick, but happily the moisture of the place and the sour exhalations had
corroded it, so that thick flakes of rust fell off under the tool.
“Yesterday, nothing could have been done for you, sir,” said Pedo, “for
the inundation was so extensive that the sewer was closed with water that
had risen a foot above the opening into the river. But, thanks be to God,
the flood has fallen. Those who know the sky declare that we shall have a
blast of the _circius_ (the mistral) on us suddenly, and bitter weather.
The early heat has dissolved the snows over‐rapidly and sent the water
inundating all the low land. Now with cold, the snows will not melt.”
“Pedo,” said the deacon, “hadst thou not come, the rats would have
devoured me. They hunted me as a pack of wolves pursue a deer in the
Cebennæ.”
“I heard them, master, as I came up the sewer. There are legions of them.
But they fear the light, and as long as the lamp burns will keep their
distance.”
“Pedo,” whispered Baudillas again, after a pause, whilst both worked at
the bar. “I know not how it was that when I stood before the duumvir, I
did not betray my Heavenly Master. I was so frightened. I was as in a
dream. They may have thought me firm, but I was in reality very weak.
Another moment, or one more turn of the rack and I would have fallen.”
“Master! God’s strength is made perfect in weakness.”
“Yes, it is so. I myself am a poor nothing. Oh, that I had the manhood of
Marcianus!”
“Press against the bar, master. With a little force it will yield.”
Pedo removed the lamp that he had suspended by a hook from the crossbar.
Baudillas threw himself with his full weight against the grating, and the
stanchion did actually snap under the impact, at the place where filed.
“That is well,” said the slave. “Thy side of the bar is also nearly rasped
through. Then we must saw across this upright staff of iron. To my
thinking it is not fastened below.”
“It is not. I have thrust my foot between it and the paving. Methinks it
ends in a spike and barbs.”
“If it please God that we remove the grating, then thou must follow me,
bending low.”
“Is the distance great?”
“Sixty‐four paces of thine; of mine, more, as I do but hobble.”
“Hah! this is ill‐luck.”
With the energy of filing, and owing to the loosened condition of the bar,
the lamp had been displaced, and it fell from where it had been suspended
and was extinguished in the water.
Both were now plunged in darkness as of Erebus, and were moreover exposed
to danger from the rats. But perhaps the grating of the files, or the
whispers of the one man to the other, alarmed the suspicious beasts, and
they did not venture to approach.
“Press, master! I will pull,” said the slave. His voice quivered with
excitement.
Baudillas applied his shoulder to the grating, and Pedo jerked at it
sharply.
With a crack it yielded; with a plash it fell into the water.
“Quick, my master—lay hold of my belt and follow. Bow your head low or you
will strike the roof. We must get forth as speedily as may be.”
“Pedo! the jailer said that if alive I was to give a sign on the morrow.
He believes that during the night I will be devoured by rats, as doubtless
have been others.”
“Those executed in the prison are cast down there.”
“Perhaps,” said Baudillas, “if he meet with no response in the morning he
will conclude that I am dead, and I do not think he will care to descend
and discover whether it be so.”
After a short course through the arched passage, both stood upright; they
were to their breasts in water, but the water was fresh and pure. Above
their heads was the vault of heaven, not now spangled with stars but
crossed by scudding drifts of vapor.
Both men scrambled out of the river to the bank, and then Baudillas
extended his arms, and said, with face turned to the sky:
“I waited patiently for the Lord, and He inclined unto me, and heard my
calling. He hath brought me also out of the horrible pit, out of the mire
and clay, and hath set my feet upon the rock. And He hath put a new song
in my mouth, even a thanksgiving unto our God.”(9)