The Hidden Servants and Other Very Old Stories

Then raised his head, and began to speak,
With tears on his wrinkled, sun-browned cheek.
"If you could remember even one
Good deed that you in your life have done,
I need not go in despair away.
Think well; and if you can find one, say!"

"Once," said the mountebank, "that was all,
I did for the Lord a service small,
And never yet have I told the tale!
But if you wish it, I will not fail.
A few of our men had gone one day —
'T was less for plunder, I think, than play —
To a certain convent, small and poor,
Where a dozen sisters lived secure
For very poverty! dreaming not
That any envied their humble lot.
There, finding the door was locked and barred,
They climbed the wall of a grass-grown yard.
Some vines were planted along its side,
Their trailing branches left room to hide;
Where, neither by pity moved nor shame,
They crouched, till one of the sisters came
To gather herbs for the noonday meal;
Then out from under the leaves they steal!
So she was taken, poor soul, and bound,
And carried off to our camping ground.
A harmless creature, who knew no more
Of the world outside her convent door,
Than you or I of the moon up there!
A shame, to take her in such a snare!

"But, Father, I wished that I had been
Ten miles away, when they brought her in,
To hold for ransom; or if that failed —
Oh, well, we knew when the pirates sailed!
We knew their captain, who paid us well,
And carried our prisoners off to sell.
They never beheld their country more,
Being bought for slaves on a foreign shore.

"But oh! 't was enough the tears to bring,
To see that innocent, frightened thing,
Looking, half hopeful, from face to face,
As if she thought, in that wicked place,
There might be one who would take her part!
She looked at me, and it stung my heart.
But I, with a hard, disdainful air,
Turned from her as one who did not care,
I heard her sighing: she did not know
That her gentle look had hurt me so!

"That night they set me the watch to keep;
And when the others were all asleep,
And I had been moving to and fro,
With branches keeping the fire aglow,
I crept along to the woman's side, —
She sat apart, and her arms were tied, —
And said, – 't was only a whispered word;
We both were lost if the others heard, —
'If you will trust me and with me come,
I 'll bring you safe to your convent home.'
She started, into my face she gazed;
Said she, 'I'll trust you – the Lord be praised!'

"I very quickly the cords unbound.
She rose; I led her without a sound
Between the rows of the sleeping men,
Till we left the camp behind; and then
I found my horse, that was tied near by.
The woman mounted, and she and I
Set off in haste, through the midnight shade,
On the wildest journey I ever made!
By wood and thicket the horse I led,
And over a torrent's stony bed, —
For along the road I dared not go,
For fear that the others our flight should know,
And follow after; the woman prayed.
I, quick and cautious, but not afraid,
Went first, with the stars for guide, until
We saw the convent, high on a hill.
We reached the door as the east grew red.
'God will remember!' was all she said;
Her face was full of a sweet content.
She knocked, they opened, and in she went.
The door was closed – she was safe at last!
I heard the bolt as they made it fast —
And I in the twilight stood alone,
With the lightest heart I had ever known!

"So, Father, my robber days were o'er;
I could not be what I was before.
I wandered on with a thankful mind,
For I left the old bad life behind,
And tried, as I journeyed day by day,
To gain my bread in an honest way.
But little work could I find to do;
And so, as some juggling tricks I knew,
I took this business which now you see:
'T is good enough for a man like me!"