"I think your reverence had better let me go for help; my comrade will stand by ye till I come again," remarked one trooper.
"Stay ye where ye are, villain! Ye do not stir from me, either of ye, not a yard! If the fiend come again the other one will run also, and I shall be slain and devoured. Lift me up, ye lazy louts! ye are well able."
By dint of tugging and lifting, eventually they set the Abbot on his legs; but he could not bear to walk, neither could he bear to be carried; and he would not be left for a moment. Slowly he made an effort to shamble along, but every step was torture to him, and he swore at the two troopers as roundly as in his extremity he had prayed to the saints. It was a most painful and protracted home-coming to all of them; for the Abbot clutched his deliverers most tenaciously, terrified almost into frenzy if there was a rustle in the bushes, and conjured up visions of the fiend and his hound in every object that met his gaze; whilst all the while he vented upon the two his spleen and rage, sometimes for their clumsiness and want of sympathy, and at other times for their having been so long in coming to his aid.
With infinite trouble they at last reached the Abbey, and the Abbot was put to bed; but when there he was obliged to lie upon his stomach, for the hound had severely mauled him behind. Two of the monks were set apart to nurse him by night, and two by day. The rest of the monks were commanded to spend so many hours of each day in prayers and in invocations, whilst penances and fasting were imposed upon all.
In time, by dint of careful nursing, the Abbot was restored. But he could not so easily forget the painful lesson he had learnt; and as he still firmly believed that it was indeed the Saxon devil Zernebock and his Hel-hound that had set upon him, he never dared venture abroad after dark until he had banished the fiend from the adjacent woods.
Then ensued the most comical part of the whole affair. A procession of the monks to the place of adventure was organised. One headed the solemn procession bearing a crucifix on which our blessed Lord was impaled. Others followed next in order bearing the sacred relics, most of which had been brought from Normandy, and consisted of bones of eminent saints of the order, also a shred of the garment of our Saviour, the identical one for which the soldiers cast lots. One carried a front tooth of the apostle Peter, said to have been broken out at the last supper of our Lord; and another had a small vial containing a portion of the tears which Peter shed at the denial, when "he went out and wept bitterly"; the last had possession of a pair of straps or leathern thongs, said to have been used to fasten the sandals of the Apostle John when he dwelt in the lonely isle of Patmos. But most laughable it was to see Badger and several of the lay brothers of the monastery following behind, with large ewers containing holy water, with which the monks plentifully besprinkled the path and its surroundings; all the while chanting psalms and repeating prayers for the exorcism of the devil and all evil spirits that haunted the woods.
One can imagine the uncontrollable delight with which Badger assisted at this solemn function. And I confess when he told me the whole story I could not help but laugh most immoderately, though such levity scarcely became my office, especially when I remembered that our sacred things had been associated with so ridiculous an exploit. Though I can scarcely undertake to excuse the deception practised upon this occasion, yet it had a most salutary effect upon the Abbot, for seldom after that incident did he venture, under cover of the night, to prosecute his villainies; though, like most vile and wicked persons, he found other means of giving rein to his lusts, which were infamous and cruel.