But the soldiers were not yet satisfied with the agony which they had created in the Father’s heart.  One grabbed his rifle and lowering the bayonet in a threatening manner ordered the priest to pick up his sacred treasures.  The priest stooped down to obey the instructions, but this was not sufficient for his persecutors.  He was driven to his knees and forced to grope among the repulsive mud for his revered religious tokens.  With great difficulty he recovered them, battered, crushed, and covered with the filthy accumulation upon the floor.  As the Reverend Father drew himself once more to his full height, clasping his treasures desperately, he brought his hands together, and closing his eyes, we saw his lips moving in prayer.

This was the last straw.  Grating our teeth, our faces white with passion, and our fingers itching to seize those barbarians round their throats to choke their lives out of them, we nearly threw discretion to the winds.  Had one of us made a forward movement we should have sprung upon them with the ferocity of bull-dogs.  Those four soldiers never knew how near they were to meeting their deserts upon that day.  As it was we merely scraped our feet in impotent rage.  It was this fidgeting which aroused their attention.  They turned and must have read our innermost intentions written in our faces, for they instantly grabbed their rifles and rounded upon us.  With a motion which could not be misunderstood, and uttering fierce curses, they ordered us to get outside.  We refused to move, although confronted by ugly pointed bayonets.  It was a tense and critical moment.  The soldiers undoubtedly saw that we were now thoroughly roused, and, strange to say, they appeared to lose their heads, for they stood stock still, apparently frightened by our determined appearance.

One of our party, although as enraged as any of us, yet had maintained more complete control over his feelings.  He saw the utter uselessness of our making a display of physical protest.  With a quiet “Come on, boys!” he stepped towards the door.  It saved an ugly situation; the movement to the door and the crisis had passed.  Fiercely glaring at the soldiers, with our jaws ominously set, and our fists clenched we retreated.  Our action revived the courage of the guards.  They at once sprang forward to jostle us out, prodding and attempting to club us right and left.

As we hurried through the open door we gave a final glance at the priest.  He had turned his head and was looking steadily at us, and if ever conversation were carried out by looks there were volumes in his gaze.  His eyes told us how impotent we were in the hands of these brutes who were brave because they had their loaded rifles.  They told us of his appreciation of our sympathy in his hour of humiliation and torment.  They extended us heartfelt thanks for our willingness to come to his assistance, combined with a mute instruction not to lift a finger on his behalf since the plight of one and all would become infinitely worse.  We passed into the street and the door was slammed upon us.