The Marian Martyrs of Rosica

122 The Marian Martyrs of Rosica “Father, it’s here. Look at the signs” I said. “Thank God,” he replied. Enthusiasm doubled our strength. We were hammering at the wall in turns. We picked out one brick, then another, but in vain. The vessels were not hidden there. Father Czeczott thought a little. Finally, he questioned a local friend of ours who worked in the town hall and was now helping us: “Mr. Joseph, where exactly were the children baptized during the winter here?” “Here, in the sacristy,” he replied. “Was there a stove?” “Yes.” “So let’s look for the chimney flue,” Father concluded. We looked at the wall carefully. Finally, we noticed a differ- ent shade of plaster. It marked the flue. “Move the table. Now the chair,” Father said. He swiftly jumped on the scaffolding and ordered: “A hammer!” He knocked on the wall. “Yes. Here is the chimney. Chip away.” He hit hard. The plaster between the bricks was yielding. Slowly, he pulled out a brick. “Climb up. Keep hitting,” Father told me. I took out another brick, then a third one. A hole appeared. I put an arm in. My heart was pounding hard. I could hear it. There it is, there it is. Slowly I took something out, carefully wrapped in linen towels. It was a chalice — a beautiful, heavy chalice, silver, with thick gilding. It also had a paten that matched it. Father Czeczott now took my place and kept searching. He took out another chalice, then a third one, then a fourth. He also found a large ciborium, a smaller one, and finally a cross. Tears were flowing down Mr. Joseph’s face. These were the relics of