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Now and then a system of regularity is introduced, as if the fossor, or digger, who was a recognized officer of the early Church, had had the leisure for preparing graves before they were needed. Here, there is a range of little graves for the youngest children, so that all infants should be laid together, then a range for older children, and then one for the grown up.
His complexion was blanched and pallid, like that of one who has long been imprisoned, and his whole appearance at once arrested the glance of the young soldier. He stepped up to him, and laying his hand upon his shoulder said, "You are a fossor. Come with me." The man looked up. He saw a stern face. The sight of the officer's dress terrified him.
The fossor declares that the Christians must have fled, and so takes back the soldiers to the starting point." "Are none resolute enough to continue on till they find the Christians?" "If they insist upon continuing the search the fossor will lead them on forever. But he merely leads them through the countless passages which intersect some particular district."
The fossor stays there." "You were going to the Catacombs then with him?" "What business would I have there at such a time as this?" said the boy innocently. "That is what I want to know. Were you going there?" "How would I dare to go there when it is forbidden by the laws?" "It is now evening," said Marcellus abruptly, "come with me to the evening service at yonder temple." The boy hesitated.
These men have lived there all their lives, and are not only familiar with the passages, but they have a kind of instinct to guide them." "Were you ever in the Catacombs?" "Once, long ago, a fossor guided me. I remained but a short time. My impression was that it was the most terrible place in all the world." "I have heard of the Catacombs, but never before knew anything about them.
The place was illuminated with the glare of torches which threw a lurid glow upon the assembly. The people were careworn and emaciated, and their faces were characterized by the same pallor which Marcellus had observed in the fossor. But the expression which now rested upon them was not of sorrow, or misery, or despair. Hope illumined their eyes, their upturned faces spoke of joy and triumph.
Come," and he led him away toward an open space out of the way of the passers-by. "Now," said he, stopping and confronting the boy, "tell me the truth. Who are you?" "My name is Pollio," said the boy. "Where do you live?" "In Rome." "What are you doing here?" "I was out on an errand." "Who was that man?" "A fossor." "What were you doing with him?" "He was carrying a bundle for me."
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