And she knelt down on the sands, and almost for the first time since their capture burst into a passion of tears. Baithene knelt down beside her, and tried to soothe and comfort her. But she was already comforted. The glow of sacred hopes and memories had melted away the icy weight on her heart, or she could not have wept. Instinctively they were drawn towards the sacred sound, creeping noiselessly through the rocky halls, till through an opening like a little arched window they caught a glimpse of the sandy bay on the other side, and above it, on a sandy ridge, of a little building of rough-hewn stones, scarcely larger than the cabins near it, but distinguished by a low bell-tower, within which their friend the Christian bell was slowly swinging. It was a little church, afterwards for centuries buried in the sands.
More surprises awaited them that day. From their post at the rocky window they saw a congregation gather and disperse, and then some of them cluster round a man in a long dark robe, like a priest or a monk. Most of the congregation dispersed in various directions, but a few followed the monk straight across the sands to the cavern where they were; and, to their inexpressible delight, they heard from the lips of the strange priest words in their own Irish language. The voice drew nearer and nearer, and, hidden as they were in a dark recess of the cave, they distinctly caught the name of their own Patrick.
“Patrick the great bishop has sent me,” said the voice of the stranger, in the speech so familiar to them. “I have sought you across Britain, Coroticus and his followers, to fulfil my embassy; and at last I have found you, and you shall hear the message of the great bishop, the Apostle of the Irish.” Many of the sailors and armed followers of the expedition were gathered around, half awed by the solemn tones of the priest, half deriding. But they seemed so far spell-bound as to be constrained to listen. The letter was in Latin, which the men understood, being Britons, until lately under Roman sway, and, to their great satisfaction, Ethne and Baithene found they could also grasp his meaning well.
“‘I, Patrick,’” the priest began, reading from the parchment, “‘a sinner and unlearned, declare that I was made bishop in Ireland. I most certainly hold that it was from God I received what I am, and therefore for the love of God I dwell a pilgrim and an exile among a barbarous people. He is my witness that I speak the truth. It is not my wish to use language so harsh and so severe, but I am compelled by zeal for God and the truth of Christ, Who stirred me up for the love of my neighbours and sons, for whom I have given up country and parents, and am ready to give my life also, if I am worthy.’”
“He calls us his sons!” murmured the captives, “he has given up country and parents for us!”
“‘With my own hand I have written these words, to be delivered to the soldiers of Coroticus, no more my fellow-citizens, nor the fellow-citizens of the Roman saints, but fellow-citizens of demons, shedding the blood of innocent Christians, multitudes of whom I have begotten to God, and confirmed in Christ. Cruel slaughter and massacre was committed by them on some neophytes while still in their white robes the day after they had been anointed with the chrism, while it was yet visible on their foreheads.’”
“Then there are others captured besides ourselves,” groaned Baithene, “and some slain. Who? Shall we ever know?”
“‘I sent a letter by a holy presbyter whom I taught from his infancy, accompanied by other clergymen, to entreat they would restore some of the baptized captives whom they had taken, but they turned them into ridicule. Therefore I know not for whom I should rather grieve, whether for those who were slain, or those whom they took captive, or those whom Satan so grievously ensnared, and who shall be delivered over like himself, to the eternal pains of hell; “for whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin, and the child of the devil.” Wherefore let every one who fears God know that these strangers to me and to Christ my God, Whose ambassador I am, are parricides and fratricides. Wherefore I earnestly beseech those who are lowly and humble of heart, not to eat or drink with them or receive alms from them, until they repent with bitter tears, and make satisfaction to God, and set free those servants and baptized handmaids of Christ for whom He was crucified and died.
“‘Avarice is a deadly crime. The Most High rejects the offerings of the unjust. He who offers a sacrifice from the substance of the poor, is like one who offers a son as a victim in the sight of his father. Do I show a true compassion for that nation which formerly took me captive? I was free born!’”
“Patrick understands captivity!” murmured Baithene. The voice of the priest had been ringing like a trumpet, now it deepened and softened.