"Nay;" and then, looking up with repentance writ all over him, he said, "May I go? I can walk and I won't mind the water. Thou knowest I am fond of water," which was the truth, for when he was not with me he was swimming or fishing in the Cocalico, or hunting in the woods when the Cocalico was too cold.
Indeed, I doubted not he could endure the journey as well as most of us, for he was a hardy, active boy, and with our healthful life had never known a day of sickness. I liked no better to be separated from him than did he, and had he quietly taken my suggestion to remain I had been greatly disappointed; but when I broached the matter to my brother pilgrims they at first demurred, and yet they loved my boy, for with all his mischievousness he was always ready and willing to do the bidding of any of them. Finally, upon my persuasions, they acknowledged it would be safe for him to make the journey. Accordingly I prepared a little pilgrim's staff for him and saw that he had a stout pair of sandals, and with a little bag of provisions for him we started out at six o'clock of that Sabbath evening on our journey, the assembled Brotherhood and Sisterhood watching us from Mount Zion until we were out of sight.
But once fairly upon our way, we walked, as was our custom, bareheaded and silently, in single file, Prior Onesimus at the head and myself at the rear, all except Sonnlein, who neither kept silence nor in file, almost exhausting me with his innumerable questions; at one moment he would be ahead of us and the next in the rear, now stopping to gather a handful of nuts that had dropped from the trees along our way or else to pluck the wild grapes that hung in royal purple from the luxuriant vines, and then rushing after me, tempting me to share his feast.
At first our course led us through the settlements of our German brethren in the eastern part of Lancaster County; thence among our English brethren in Nantmill, where we stopped for a few days and held several missionary meetings. From the Falls of French Creek we took the road among the German families; thence across the Schuylkill to the German settlements along the roadside leading to Germantown. A somewhat prolonged stop was made with our brother mystics on the Wissahickon, among whom we found much solace and comfort; thence a short visit to the brethren of the faith in the city of Philadelphia; thence our missionary tour took us to the Pennepack.
Thus far our pilgrimage had taken us mainly among the brethren of our own belief, and yet wherever we went our bare, cropped heads, long beards, white cloaks and cowls, our silence and manner of traveling, attracted considerable attention and even ridicule and grossest insults. Sonnlein, however, being never late in informing the curious ones who we were; and while I admonished him frequently against his too great freedom with strangers, there is no doubt that by his frankness he saved us much annoyance, for I have long ago learned that one will be forgiven much if he only be open and candid, no matter how wicked he be; but if, like a turtle, he keep within his shell and mind his own business like a good, honest turtle, every idler and good-for-naught must hurl stones at him to crack his shell.
After crossing the Neshaminy Creek at the falls we were ferried across the Delaware—a wonderful sight to Sonnlein—and entered our sister province of New Jersey. Arriving at Amwell, we were greatly rejoiced to find the converts baptized some six years before by some of our brethren still keeping up their organization and considering themselves a branch of the parent community at Ephrata.
We remained here for some time and then parted from our dear brethren in mutual sadness, for we knew not whether we should ever see each other again.
And now our journey took us through long stretches of forest and for miles and miles our way was but a narrow path among tall, solemn pines so thickly grown and so crowded with brush and vines underneath as to have a most gloomy and depressing effect even upon the most cheerful of us. Now and then we came upon some little stream or pond that looked almost black under the shadows of the bordering pines. These streams and ponds were the only changes in the landscape excepting the occasional sand hills, and the only sound to break the monotony would be the note of some bird. Houses we saw not for hours and even for days, and many a night we slept within the folds of these dark and gloomy forests, our roof the thick, heavy branches of the pines, through which, on clear nights, the stars smiled down cheerily.
But though the nights were already cold and frosty and I feared exceedingly Sonnlein would suffer from the exposure, still with a fire burning all night to keep us warm and to frighten away wild beasts we minded not the hard, rough earth with the thin carpet of pine twigs and needles any more than our hard benches in our Kammers. Sonnlein invariably slept between me and Brother Timotheus, thus being sheltered somewhat from the winds that even the thick forest could not entirely keep from us.
After some days' travel in this wise we finally came to the region between the Shark and Squan Rivers, where we found a little community of about fifteen adult members, Sabbatarians, who had migrated from Stonington, Connecticut, and Westerly, Rhode Island, and who had signed a covenant binding themselves to live and walk together as Christian people, although they had no church or pastor. A number of meetings were arranged in our honor, and at these I preached and admonished them to remain steadfast in their faith, so that I was gratified to note our efforts resulted in a church's being organized, Brother William Davis, the elder, although in his eighty-first year, being chosen pastor.