A Tale of the Kloster: A Romance of the German Mystics of the CocalicoJabez, Brother
Religion
A Tale of the Kloster: A Romance of the German Mystics of the Cocalico
Jabez, Brother
Christian fiction; Ephrata Cloister -- Fiction; Seventh-Day Baptists -- Fiction
Thus matters at last having been settled, another problem stared our
enemies in the face. They demanded that we provide some conveyance in
which to be taken to Lancaster, which was some thirteen miles from us.
To this I replied that we had none; that we always traveled afoot.
Knowing this to be true, they had no more to say other than that they
would furnish conveyances at their own expense, wherein we could ride to
Lancaster. This also we said we could not do because it was our custom
never to ride but always to walk, with staff in hand like the early
pilgrims. When this conclusion was made known to the constable I
thought, in all truth, he would now surely die in a fit; for he howled
and stormed and raged like some one possessed with a thousand devils;
but we merely stood quiet, saying not a word until the storm had
somewhat subsided and he was sufficiently sensible to understand that if
we were to go to Lancaster it would be on foot and not otherwise. Thus
we departed after--with some misgivings it is true--I had first had a
promise from Brother Beissel that he would look after Sonnlein until I
came back again, the constable and his deputies in the lead, and we
following in single file, with our staffs in hand, quietly and
peacefully.
At first our captors were disposed to heap on us all the indignities and
insults they could think of, pulling us by our long beards which they in
their humor were pleased to liken to goats' beards, and calling us
"he-goats," "men with women's frocks on," "bleached fools," "Beissel's
lambs," and spitting on us every now and then; to all of which we raised
not our hands or opened our mouths but followed meekly, as was our
custom to bear all insult and indignity. Uphill and down again, through
dale and valley, long stretches of forest broken only at rare intervals
by some little clearing with its humble log cabin, we trudged along
patiently and uncomplainingly only that the constable and his deputies
who at first set out with such a high pace as though they intended to
devour the way in a few steps soon found that even their spite and anger
could not furnish endurance for such a pace. Gradually they slackened,
the constable, by reason of his great bulk and this unaccustomed
exercise puffing most violently and every now and then growling at our
stubbornness and our pig-headedness in making them travel afoot and
roaring and swearing most vile oaths that we should pay dear for this
great contempt of the law.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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