If this account be duly considered, what a picture of repeated torture does it
present.
But even the cruelty of the narration is exceeded by the patient meekness with
which it was endured.
Here are no expressions of malice, no invocations, even of God's retributive
justice, not a complaint of suffering wrongfully.
On the contrary, praise to God, forgiveness of sin, and of forgiving all
the world concludes this unaffected interesting narrative.
Bonner's admiration was excited by the steadfast coolness of this martyr.
Speaking of Mr. Simpson in the consistory, he said, You see what a personable man he
is, and then of his patience.
I affirm that if he were not a heretic, he is a man of the greatest patience that
ever came before me.
Thrice in one day has he been racked in the tower.
In my house also he has felt sorrow, and yet never have I seen his patience
broken.
The day before this pious deacon was to be condemned, while in the stocks in the
bishop's coal-house, he had the vision of a glorified form which much encouraged
him.
This he certainly attested to his wife, to Mr. Austin, and others before his
death.
With this ornament of the Christian Reformation were apprehended Mr. Hugh Fox
and John Devenish.
The three were brought before Bonner, March 19, 1558, and the papistical
articles tendered.
They rejected them and were all condemned.
As they worshipped together in the same society at Islington, so they suffered
together in Smithfield, March 28, in whose death the God of Grace was
glorified and true believers confirmed.
Thomas Hudson, Thomas Carman and William Seaman were condemned by a bigoted vicar
of Aylesbury named Berry.
The spot of execution was called Lollard's Pit, without Bishop's Gate, at Norwich.
After joining together in humble petition to the Throne of Grace, they rose,
went to the stake, and were encircled with their chains.
To the great surprise of the spectators, Hudson slipped from under his chains and
came forward.
A great opinion prevailed that he was about to recant.
Others thought that he wanted further time.
In the meantime, his companions at the stake urged every promise and exultation
to support him.
The hopes of the enemies of the cross, however, were disappointed.
The good man, far from fearing the smallest personal terror at the
approaching pangs of death, was only alarmed that his Saviour's face seemed to
be hidden from him.
Falling upon his knees, his spirit wrestled with God, and God verified the
words of his son, Ask, and it shall be given.
The martyr rose in an ecstasy of joy, and exclaimed, Now I thank God I am
strong, and care not what man can do to me.
With an unruffled countenance he replaced himself under the chain, joined his
fellow-sufferers, and with them suffered death, to the comfort of the godly and the
confusion of Antichrist.
Berry, unsatiated with this demoniacal act, summoned up two hundred persons in
the town of Aylsham, whom he compelled to kneel to the cross at Pentecost,
and inflicted other punishments.
He struck a poor man for a trifling word with a flail, which proved fatal to the
unoffending object.
He also gave a woman named Alice Oxes so heavy a blow with his fist as she met him
entering the hall when he was in an ill-humour that she died with the
violence.
This priest was rich and possessed great authority.
He was a reprobate, and like the priesthood he abstained from marriage to
enjoy the more debauched and licentious life.
A Sunday after the death of Queen Mary he was revelling with one of his concubines
before Vespers.
He then went to church, administered baptism, and in his return to his
lascivious pastime he was smitten by the hand of God.
Without a moment given for repentance he fell to the ground, and a groan was the
only articulation permitted him.
In him we may behold the difference between the end of a martyr and a
persecutor.
The Story of Roger Holland In a retired close near a field in Islington,
a company of decent persons had assembled to the number of forty.
While they were religiously engaged in praying and expounding the scripture,
twenty-seven of them were carried before Sir Roger Chumley.
Some of the women made their escape.
Twenty-two were committed to Newgate, who continued in prison seven weeks.
Previous to their examination they were informed by the keeper, Alexander,
that nothing more was requisite to procure their discharge than to hear Mass.
Easy as this condition may seem, these martyrs valued their purity of
conscience more than loss of life or property.
Hence thirteen were burned, seven in Smithfield and six at Brentford,
two died in prison, and the other seven were providentially preserved.
The names of the seven who suffered were H.
Pond, R.
Esland, R.
Southern, M.
Rickerby, J.
Floyd, J.
Holliday, and Roger Holland.
They were sent to Newgate June 16, 1558, and executed on the 27th.
This Roger Holland, a merchant tailor of London, was first an apprentice with one
Master Kempchen at the Black Boy in Wattling Street, giving himself to
dancing, fencing, gaming, banqueting, and wanton company.
He had received for his Master certain money to the sum of thirty pounds,
and lost every groat at dice.
Therefore he purposed to convey himself away beyond the seas, either into France
or into Flanders.
With this resolution he called early in the morning on a discreet servant in the
house named Elizabeth, who professed the Gospel and lived a life that did honour to
her profession.
To her he revealed the loss his folly had occasioned, regretted that he had not
followed her advice, and begged her to give his Master a note of hand from him
acknowledging the debt, which he would repay if ever it were in his power.
He also entreated his disgraceful conduct might be kept secret, lest it would bring
the grey hairs of his father with sorrow to a premature grave.
The maid, with a generosity and Christian principle rarely surpassed, conscious that
his imprudence might be a ruin, brought him thirty pounds, which was part
of a sum of money recently left her by legacy.
Here, said she, is the sum requisite.
You shall take the money, and I will keep the note.
But expressly on this condition, that you abandon all lewd and vicious
company, that you neither swear nor talk immodestly, and game no more.
For should I learn that you do, I will immediately show this note to your
Master.
I also require that you shall promise me to attend the daily lecture at all
hallows, and the sermon at St. Paul's every Sunday, that you cast away all your
books of potpourri, and in their place substitute the testament and the book of
service, and that you read the scriptures with reverence and fear, calling upon God
for his grace to direct you in his truth.
Pray also fervently to God to pardon your former offences, and not to remember the
sins of your youth.
And would you obtain his favour, ever dread to break his laws or offend his
Majesty?
So shall God have you in his keeping, and grant you your heart's desire.
We must honour the memory of this excellent domestic, whose pious endeavours
were equally directed to benefit the thoughtless youth in this life,
and that which is to come.
God did not suffer the wish of this excellent domestic to be thrown upon a
barren soil.
Within half a year after, the licentious Holland became a zealous professor of the
Gospel, and was an instrument of conversion to his father and others whom
he visited in Lancashire, to their spiritual comfort and reformation from
potpourri.
His father, pleased with his change of conduct, gave him forty pounds to commence
business with in London.
Then Roger repaired to London again, and came to the maid that lent him the
money to pay his master withal, and said unto her, Elizabeth, here is thy
money I borrowed of thee, and for the friendship, goodwill, and the good counsel
I have received at thy hands, to recompense thee I am not able,
otherwise than to make thee my wife.
And soon after they were married, which was in the first year of Queen Mary.
After this he remained in the congregations of the faithful,
until the last year of Queen Mary he, with the six others aforesaid,
were taken.
And after Roger Holland there was none suffered in Smithfield for the testimony
of the Gospel, God be thanked.
Flagellations by Bonner When this Catholic hyena found that neither persuasion's
threats nor imprisonment could produce any alteration in the mind of a youth named
Thomas Hinshaw, he sent him to Fulham, and during the first night set him in the
stocks, with no other allowance than bread and water.
The following morning he came to see if this punishment had worked any change in
his mind, and finding none, he sent Dr. Harpsfield, his archdeacon, to converse
with him.
The doctor was soon out of humour at his replies, called him peevish boy,
and asked him if he thought he went about to damn his soul.
I'm persuaded, said Thomas, that you labour to promote the dark kingdom of the
devil, not for the love of the truth.
These words the doctor conveyed to the bishop, who in a passion that almost
prevented articulation, came to Thomas and said, Thus thou answer my archdeacon,
thus thou naughty boy, but I'll soon handle thee well enough for it,
be assured.
Two willow twigs were then brought him, and causing the unresisting youth to kneel
against a long bench in an arbour in his garden, he scourged him until he was
compelled to cease for want of breath and fatigue.
One of the rods was worn quite away.
Many other conflicts did Hinshaw undergo from the bishop, who at length,
to remove him effectually, procured false witnesses to lay articles against him,
all of which the young man denied, and in short refused to answer any
interrogatories administered to him.
A fortnight after this, the young man was attacked by a burning ague, and at the
request of his master, Mr. Pugson of St. Paul's Churchyard, he was removed,
the bishop not doubting that he had given him his death in the natural way.
He, however, remained ill above a year, and in the meantime Queen Mary died,
by which act of providence he escaped Bonner's rage.
John Willers was another faithful person on whom the scourging hand of Bonner fell.
He was the brother of Richard Willers before mentioned, burned at Brentford.
Hinshaw and Willers were confined in Bonner's coal-house together, and
afterward removed to Fulham, where he and Hinshaw remained during eight or ten days
in the stocks.
Bonner's persecuting spirit betrayed itself in his treatment of Willers during
his examinations, often striking him on the head with a stick, seizing him by the
ears, and flipping him under the chin, saying he held down his head like a thief.
This producing no signs of recantation, he took him into his orchard, and in a
small arbour there he flogged him, first with a willow rod, and then with
birch, until he was exhausted.
This cruel ferocity arose from the answer of the poor sufferer, who, upon being
asked how long it was since he had crept to the cross, replied, not since he had
come to years of discretion, nor would he, though he should be torn to pieces by wild
horses.
Bonner then bade him make the sign of the cross on his forehead, which he refused to
do, and thus was led to the orchard.
One day, when in the stocks, Bonner asked him how he liked his lodging and fare.
Well enough, said Willers, might I have a little straw to sit or lie upon.
Just at this time came in Willers' wife, then largely pregnant, and entreated the
bishop for her husband, boldly declaring that she would be delivered in the house
if he were not suffered to go with her.
To get rid of the good wife's importunity, and the trouble of a lying-in woman in his
palace, he bade Willers make the sign of the cross, and say, In nomine Patris et
Filii et Spiritus Sancti.
Amen.
Willers omitted the sign, and repeated the words, In the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
Amen.
Bonner would have the words repeated in Latin, to which Willers made no objection,
knowing the meaning of the words.
He was then permitted to go home with his wife, his kinsman Robert Ruse being
charged to bring him to St. Paul's the next day, whither he himself went,
and, subscribing to a Latin instrument of little importance, was liberated.
This is the last of the twenty-two taken at Islington.
REVEREND RICHARD YOEMAN This devout, aged person was curate to Dr. Taylor at
Hadley, and eminently qualified for his sacred function.
Dr. Taylor left him the curacy at his departure, but no sooner had Mr. Newell
gotten the benefits than he removed Mr. Yeoman and substituted a Romish priest.
After this he wandered from place to place, exhorting all men to stand
faithfully to God's word, earnestly to give themselves unto prayer, with patience
to bear the cross now laid upon them for their trial, with boldness to confess the
truth before their adversaries, and with an undoubted hope to wait for the
crown and reward of eternal felicity.
But when he perceived his adversaries lay wait for him, he went into Kent,
and with a little packet of laces, pins, points, etc., he travelled from
village to village, selling such things, and in this manner subsisted himself,
his wife and children.
At last Justice Moyle of Kent took Mr. Yeoman and set him in the stocks a day and
a night, but having no evident matter to charge him with, he let him go again.
Coming secretly again to Hadley, he tarried with his poor wife,
who kept him privately in a chamber of the town-house, commonly called the Guildhall,
more than a year.
During this time the good old father abode in a chamber, locked up all the day,
spending his time in devout prayer, in reading the scriptures, and in carding
the wool which his wife spun.
His wife also begged bread for herself and her children, by which precarious means
they supported themselves.
Thus the saints of God sustained hunger and misery, while the prophets of Baal
lived in festivity and were costly pampered at Jezebel's table.
Information being at length given to Newall that Yeoman was secreted by his
wife, he came, attended by the constables, and broke into the room where the object
of his search lay in bed with his wife.
He reproached the poor woman with being a whore, and would have indecently pulled
the clothes off, but Yeoman resisted both this act of violence and the attack upon
his wife's character, adding that he defied the Pope and Popery.
He was then taken out and set in stocks until day.
In the cage also with him was an old man named John Dale, who had sat there three
or four days, for exhorting the people during the time service was performing by
Newall and his curate.
His words were, O miserable and blind guides, will ye ever be blind leaders of
the blind?
Will ye never amend?
Will ye never see the truth of God's word?
Will neither God's threats nor promises enter into your hearts?
Will the blood of the martyrs, nothing, mollify your stony stomachs?
O obdurate, hard-hearted, perverse, and crooked generation, to whom nothing
can do good.
These words he spake in fervency of spirit against the superstitious religion of
Rome.
Wherefore, Newall caused him forthwith to be attached and set in the stocks in a
cage, where he was kept until Sir Henry Doyle, a justice, came to Hadley.
When Yeoman was taken, the parson called earnestly upon Sir Henry Doyle to send
them both to prison.
Sir Henry Doyle as earnestly entreated the parson to consider the age of the men and
their mean condition.
They were neither persons of note nor preachers, wherefore he proposed to let
them be punished a day or two, and to dismiss them, at least John Dale,
who was no priest, and therefore, as he had so long sat in the cage,
he thought it punishment enough for this time.
When the parson heard this, he was exceedingly mad, and in a great rage
called them pestilent heretics, unfit to live in the commonwealth of
Christians.
Sir Henry, fearing to appear too merciful, Yeoman and Dale were pinioned,
bound like thieves with their legs under the horse's bellies, and carried to buried
jail, where they were laid in irons.
And because they continually rebuked popery, they were carried into the lowest
dungeon, where John Dale, through the jail sickness and evil keeping, died soon
after.
His body was thrown out and buried in the fields.
He was a man of sixty-six years of age, a weaver by occupation, well learned in
the holy scriptures, steadfast in his confession of the true doctrines of
Christ, as set forth in King Edward's time, for which he joyfully suffered
prison and chains, and from this worldly dungeon he departed in Christ to eternal
glory and the blessed paradise of everlasting felicity.
After Dale's death, Yeoman was removed to Norwich prison, where after straight and
evil keeping he was examined upon his faith and religion and required to submit
himself to his holy father the Pope.
I defy him, quoth he, and all his detestable abomination.
I will no wise have to do with him.
The chief articles objected to him were his marriage and the mass sacrifice.
Finding he continued steadfast in the truth, he was condemned, degraded,
and not only burnt but most cruelly tormented in the fire.
Thus he ended this poor and miserable life, and entered into that blessed bosom
of Abraham, enjoying with Lazarus that rest which God has prepared for his elect.
Thomas Benbridge Mr. Benbridge was a single gentleman in the diocese of
Winchester.
He might have lived a gentleman's life in the wealthier possessions of this world,
but he chose rather to enter through the straight gate of persecution to the
heavenly possession of life in the Lord's kingdom than to enjoy present pleasure
with disquietude of conscience.
Manfully standing against the Papist for the defence of the sincere doctrine of
Christ's gospel, he was apprehended as an adversary to the Roman religion,
and led for examination before the Bishop of Winchester, where he underwent several
conflicts for the truth against the Bishop and his colleague, for which he was
condemned, and some time after brought to the place of martyrdom by Sir Richard
Pexall, Sheriff.
When standing at the stake he began to untie his points and to prepare himself,
then he gave his gown to the keeper by way of fee.
His jerkin was trimmed with gold lace, which he gave to Sir Richard Pexall,
the High Sheriff.
His cap of velvet he took from his head and threw away.
Then, lifting his mind to the Lord, he engaged in prayer.
When fastened to the stake, Dr. Seaton begged him to recant, and he should have
his pardon.
But when he saw that nothing availed, he told the people not to pray for him
unless he would recant, no more than they would pray for a dog.
Mr. Brenbridge, standing at the stake with his hands together in such a manner as the
priest holds his hands in the memento, Dr. Seaton came to him again and exhorted
him to recant, to whom he said, Away, Babylon, away.
One that stood by said, Sir, cut his tongue out.
Another, a temporal man, railed at him worse than Dr. Seaton had done.
When they saw he would not yield, they bade the tormentors to light the pile
before he was in any way covered with faggots.
The fire first took away a piece of his beard, at which he did not shrink.
Then it came on the other side and took his legs, and the nether stockings of his
hose being leather, they made the fire pierce the sharper, so that the
intolerable heat made him exclaim, I recant, and suddenly he thrust the fire
from him.
Two or three of his friends being by wished to save him, they stepped to the
fire to help remove it, for which kindness they were sent to jail.
The sheriff, also of his own authority, took him from the stake and remitted him
to prison, for which he was sent to the fleet, and lay there some time.
Before, however, he was taken from the stake, Dr. Seaton wrote articles for him
to subscribe to.
To these Mr. Benbridge made so many objections, that Dr. Seaton ordered them
to set fire again to the pile.
Then, with much pain and grief of heart, he subscribed to them upon a man's back.
This done, his gown was given him again, and he was led to prison.
While there, he wrote a letter to Dr. Seaton, recanting those words he had
spoken at the stake, and the articles which he had subscribed, for he was
grieved that he had ever signed them.
The same day Senite, he was again brought to the stake, where the vile tormentors
rather broiled than burned him.
The Lord give his enemies repentance.
Mrs. Prest From the number condemned in this fanatical reign, it is almost
impossible to obtain the name of every martyr, or to embellish the history of all
with anecdotes and exemplifications of Christian conduct.
Thanks be to Providence, our cruel task begins to draw towards a conclusion with
the end of the reign of papal terror and bloodshed.
Monarchs who sit upon thrones possessed by hereditary right, should of all others
consider that the laws of nature are the laws of God, and hence that the first law
of nature is the preservation of their subjects.
Maxims of persecutions, of torture and of death, they should leave to those who have
effected sovereignty by fraud or by sword.
But where, except among a few miscreant emperors of Rome and the Roman pontiffs,
shall we find one whose memory is so damned to everlasting fame as that of
Queen Mary?
Nations bewail the hour which separates them forever from a beloved governor,
but with respect to that of Mary it was the most blessed time of her whole reign.
Heaven has ordained three great scourges for national sins, plague, pestilence and
famine.
It was the will of God in Mary's reign to bring a fourth upon this kingdom under the
form of papistical persecution.
It was sharp but glorious, the fire which consumed the martyrs has undermined the
popedom, and the states, at present the most bigoted and unenlightened,
are those which are sunk lowest in the scale of moral dignity and political
consequence.
May they remain so until the pure light of the gospel shall dissipate the darkness of
fanaticism and superstition.
But to return.
Mrs. Prest for some time lived about Cornwall, where she had a husband and
children, whose bigotry compelled her to frequent the abominations of the Church of
Rome.
Resolving to act as her conscience dictated, she quitted them and made a
living by spinning.
After some time returning home, she was accused by her neighbours and
brought to Exeter to be examined before Dr. Troubleville and his Chancellor
Blackstone.
As this martyr was accounted of inferior intellect, we shall put her in competition
with the Bishop and let the reader judge which had the most of that knowledge
conducive to everlasting life.
The Bishop, bringing the question to issue, respecting the bread and wine being
flesh and blood, Mrs. Prest said, I will demand of you whether you can deny
your creed which says that Christ doth perpetually sit at the right hand of his
Father, both body and soul, until he come again, or whether he be there in heaven
our advocate, and to make prayer for us unto God his Father.
If he be so, he is not here on earth in a piece of bread.
If he be not here, and if he do not dwell in temples made with hands, but in heaven,
what, shall we seek him here?
If he did not offer his body once for all, why make you a new offering?
If with one offering he made all perfect, why do you with a false offering make all
imperfect?
If he be to be worshipped in spirit and in truth, why do you worship a piece of
bread?
If he be eaten and drunk, in faith and truth, if his flesh be not profitable to
be among us, why do you say you make his flesh and blood, and say it is profitable
for body and soul?
Alas, I am a poor woman, but rather than to do as you do, I would live no longer.
I have said so." The bishop replied, I promise you, you are a jolly Protestant.
I pray you, in what school have you been brought up?
Mrs. Prest said, I have upon the Sundays visited the sermons, and there have I
learned such things as are so fixed in my breast, that death shall not separate
them.
The bishop contended, O foolish woman, who will waste his breath upon thee,
or such as thou art!
But how chanceth it that thou wentest away from thy husband?
If thou wert an honest woman, thou wouldst not have left thy husband and children,
and run about the country like a fugitive.
Mrs. Prest replied, Sir, I laboured for my living, and as my master Christ counseleth
me, when I was persecuted in one city, I fled into another.
The bishop demanded, Who persecuted thee?
Mrs. Prest answered, My husband and children.
For when I would have them to leave idolatry and to worship God in heaven,
he would not hear me, but he with his children rebuked me, and troubled me.
I fled not for whoredom, nor for theft, but because I would be no partaker with
him and his of that foul idol the mass.
And wheresoever I was, as oft as I could upon Sundays and holy days, I made excuses
not to go to the popish church.
The bishop countered, Be like then you are a good housewife, to fly from your husband
the church.
Mrs. Prest continued, My housewifery is but small, but God gave me grace to go to
the true church.
The bishop persisted, The true church, what dost thou mean?
Mrs. Prest replied, Not your popish church, full of idols and abominations,
but where two or three are gathered together in the name of God, to that
church will I go as long as I live.
The bishop pronounced, Be like then you have a church of your own.
Well, let this mad woman be put down to prison until we send for her husband.
Mrs. Prest answered, No, I have but one husband who is here already in this city,
and in prison with me, from whom I will never depart.
Some persons present endeavouring to convince the bishop she was not in her
right senses, she was permitted to depart.
The keeper of the bishop's prisoners took her into his house, where she either spun,
worked as a servant, or walked about the city, discoursing upon the sacrament of
the altar.
Her husband was sent forth to take her home, but this she refused while the cause
of religion could be served.
She was too active to be idle, and her conversation, simple as they
affected to think her, excited the attention of several Catholic priests and
friars.
They teased her with questions until she answered them angrily, and this excited a
laugh at her warmth.
Nay, said she, you have more need to weep than to laugh, and to be sorry that ever
you were born to be the chaplains of that whore of Babylon.
I defy him and all his falsehood, and get you away from me, you do but
trouble my conscience.
You would have me follow your doings.
I will first lose my life.
I pray you depart.
Why, thou foolish woman, said they, we come to thee for thy profit and souls'
health.
To which she replied, What profit ariseth by you that teach nothing but lies for
truth?
How save you souls when you preach nothing but lies and destroy souls?
How provest thou that, said they?
Do you not destroy your souls when you teach the people to worship idols,
stocks and stones, the works of men's hands, and to worship a false god of your
own making, of a piece of bread, and teach that the Pope is God's vicar,
and hath power to forgive sins?
And that there is a purgatory, when God's Son hath by his passion purged
all?
And say you make God and sacrifice him, when Christ's body was a sacrifice once
and for all?
Do you not teach the people to number their sins in your ears, and say they will
be damned if they confess not all?
When God's word saith, Who can number his sins?
Do you not promise them trentles and dirges and masses for souls, and sell your
prayers for money, and make them buy pardons, and trust to such foolish
inventions of your imaginations?
Do you not altogether act against God?
Do you not teach us to pray upon beads and to pray upon saints, and say they can pray
for us?
Do you not make holy water and holy bread to fray devils?
Do you not do a thousand more abominations?
And yet you say you come for my profit, and to save my soul.
No, no, one hath saved me.
Farewell, you, with your salvation.
During the liberty granted her by the Bishop, before mentioned, she went into
St. Peter's Church, and there found a skilful Dutchman, who was affixing new
noses to certain fine images which had been disfigured in King Edward's time,
to whom she said, What a madman art thou to make them new noses, which within a few
days shall all lose their heads.
The Dutchman accused her, and laid it hard to her charge, and she said unto him,
Thou art accursed, and so are thy images.
He called her a whore.
Nay, said she, thy images are whores, and thou art a whore-hunter.
For doth not God say, You go a-whoring after strange gods, figures of your own
making, and thou art one of them.
After this she was ordered to be confined, and had no more liberty.
During the time of her imprisonment, many visited her, some sent by the Bishop,
and some of their own will.
Among these was one Daniel, a great preacher of the Gospel in the days of King
Edward, about Cornwall and Devonshire, but who, through the grievous persecution
he had sustained, had fallen off.
Earnestly did she exhort him to repent with Peter, and to be more constant in his
profession.
Mrs. Walter Rawley and Mr. William and John Keed, persons of great
respectability, bore ample testimony of her godly conversation, declaring that
unless God were with her it were impossible she could have so ably defended
the cause of Christ.
Indeed, to sum up the character of this poor woman, she united the serpent and the
dove, abounding in the highest wisdom joined to the greatest simplicity.
She endured imprisonment, threatenings, taunts, and the vilest epithets,
but nothing could induce her to swerve.
Her heart was fixed, she had cast anchor, nor could all the wounds of persecution
remove her from the rock on which her hopes of felicity were built.
Such was her memory that without learning she could tell in what chapter any text of
Scripture was contained.
On account of this singular property, one Gregory Bassett, a rank papist,
said she was deranged and talked as a parrot, wild without meaning.
At length, having tried every manner without effect to make her nominally a
Catholic, they condemned her.
After this one exhorted her to leave her opinions and go home to her family,
as she was poor and illiterate.
True, said she, though I am not learned, I am content to be a witness of Christ's
death, and I pray you make no longer delay with me, for my heart is fixed,
and I will never say otherwise nor turn to your superstitious doing.
To the disgrace of Mr. Blackstone, treasurer of the church, he would often
send for this poor martyr from prison to make sport for him and a woman whom he
kept, putting religious questions to her and turning her answers into ridicule.
This dunny sent her back to her wretched dungeon, while he battened upon the good
things of this world.
There was, perhaps, something simply ludicrous in the form of Mrs. Prest,
as she was of a very short stature, thick-set, and about fifty-four years of
age, but her countenance was cheerful and lively, as if prepared for the day of her
marriage with the Lamb.
To mock at her form was an indirect accusation of her creator, who framed her
after the fashion he liked best, and gave her a mind that far excelled the
transient endowments of perishable flesh.
When she was offered money, she rejected it, because, said she, I am going to a
city where money bears no mastery, and while I am here God has promised to
feed me.
When sentence was read condemning her to the flames, she lifted up her voice and
praised God, adding, This day have I found that which I have long sought.
When they tempted her to recant, That will I not, said she, God forbid that
I should lose the life eternal for this carnal and short life, I will never turn
from my heavenly husband to my earthly husband, from the fellowship of angels to
mortal children, and if my husband and children be faithful, then am I theirs.
God is my father, God is my mother, God is my sister, my brother, my kinsman,
God is my friend most faithful.
Being delivered to the sheriff, she was led by the officer to the place of
execution without the walls of Exeter called Southern Hay, where again the
superstitious priests assaulted her.
While they were tying her to the stake, she continued earnestly to exclaim,
God be merciful to me, a sinner.
Patiently enduring the devouring conflagration, she was consumed to ashes,
and thus ended a life which in unshaken fidelity to the cause of Christ was not
surpassed by that of any preceding martyr.
Richard Sharp, Thomas Banyan and Thomas Hale Mr. Sharp, weaver of Bristol,
was brought the ninth day of March, 1556, before Dr. Dalby, Chancellor of the
City of Bristol, and after examination concerning the sacrament of the altar,
was persuaded to recant, and on the twenty-ninth he was enjoined to make his
recantation in the parish church.
But scarcely had he publicly avowed his backsliding before he felt in his
conscience such a tormenting fiend that he was unable to work at his occupation.
Hence shortly after, one Sunday he came into the parish church, called Temple,
and after high mass, stood up in the choir door and said with a loud voice,
Neighbours, bear me record that yonder idol, pointing to the altar, is the
greatest and most abominable that ever was, and I am sorry that ever I denied my
Lord God.
Notwithstanding, the constables were ordered to apprehend him, he was suffered
to go out of the church.
But at night he was apprehended and carried to Newgate.
Shortly after, before the Chancellor, denying the sacrament of the altar to be
the body and blood of Christ, he was condemned to be burned by Mr. Dalby.
He was burned, the seventh of May, 1558, and died godly, patiently,
and constantly, confessing the Protestant articles of faith.
With him suffered Thomas Hale, shoemaker of Bristol, who was condemned by
Chancellor Dalby.
These martyrs were bound back to back.
Thomas Banyon, a weaver, was burnt on August 27 of the same year, and died for
the sake of the evangelical cause of his Saviour.
J.
Cornford of Wortham, C.
Brown of Maidstom, J.
Hurst of Ashford, Alice Snowth, and Catherine Knight, an aged woman.
With pleasure, we have to record that these five martyrs were the last who
suffered in the reign of Mary for the sake of the Protestant cause.
But the malice of the Papists was conspicuous in hastening their martyrdom,
which might have been delayed until the event of the Queen's illness was decided.
It is reported that the Archdeacon of Canterbury, judging that the sudden death
of the Queen would suspend the execution, travelled post from London to have the
satisfaction of adding another page to the blacklist of Papistical sacrifices.
The articles against them were, as usual, the sacramental elements and the
idolatry of bending to images.
They quoted St. John's words, beware of images, and respecting the real presence,
they urged, according to St. Paul, the things which are seen are temporal.
When sentence was about to be read against them, and excommunication to take place in
the regular form, John Cornford, illuminated by the Holy Spirit,
awfully turned the latter proceeding against themselves, and in a solemn,
impressive manner, recriminated their excommunication in the following words.
In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of the Most Mighty God,
and by the power of His Holy Spirit and the authority of His holy Catholic and
Apostolic Church, we do here give into the hands of Satan to be destroyed,
the bodies of all those blasphemers and heretics that maintain any error against
His Most Holy Word, or do condemn His Most Holy Truth for heresy, to the maintenance
of any false church or foreign religion, so that by this thy judgment, O Most
Mighty God, against thy adversaries, thy true religion may be known to thy
great glory and our comfort, and to the edifying of all our nation.
Good Lord, so be it.
Amen.
This sentence was openly pronounced and registered, and as if Providence had
awarded that it should not be delivered in vain, within six days after, Queen Mary
died, detested by all good men and accursed of God.
Though acquainted with these circumstances, the archdeacon's
implacability exceeded that of his great exemplary Bonner, who, though he had
several persons at that time under his fiery grasp, did not urge their deaths
hastily, by which delay he certainly afforded them an opportunity of escape.
At the Queen's decease many were in bonds, some just taken, some examined,
and others condemned.
The writs, indeed, were issued for several burnings, but by the death of the three
instigators of Protestant murder, the Chancellor, the Bishop, and the Queen,
who fell nearly together, the condemned sheep were liberated and lived many years,
to praise God for their happy deliverance.
These five martyrs, when at the stake, earnestly prayed that their blood might be
the last shed, nor did they pray in vain.
They died gloriously, and perfected the number God had selected to bear witness of
the truth in this dreadful reign, whose names are recorded in the Book of
Life, though last, not least among the saints, made meat for immortality through
the redeeming blood of the Lamb.
Catherine Finlay, alias Knight, was first converted by her sons expounding
the scriptures to her, which wrought in her a perfect work that terminated in
martyrdom.
Alice Snowth, at the stake, sent for her grandmother and godfather, and rehearsed
to them the articles of her faith and the commandments of God, thereby convincing
the world that she knew her duty.
She died calling upon the spectators to bear witness that she was a Christian
woman, and suffered joyfully for the testimony of Christ's gospel.
Among the numberless enormities committed by the merciless and unfeeling Bonner,
the murder of this innocent and unoffending child may be ranged as the
most horrid.
His father, John Fetty, of the parish of Clerkenwell, by trade a tailor and only
twenty-four years of age, had made blessed election.
He was fixed secure in eternal hope, and depended on him who so builds his
church that the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.
But, alas, the very wife of his bosom, whose heart was hardened against the
truth, and whose mind was influenced by the teachers of false doctrine,
became his accuser.
Brokenberry, a creature of the Pope and parson of the parish, received the
information of this wedded Delilah, in consequence of which the poor man was
apprehended.
But here the awful judgment of an ever-righteous God, who is of purer eyes
than to behold evil, fell upon this stone-hearted and perfidious woman,
for no sooner was the injured husband captured by her wicked contriving,
than she also was suddenly seized with madness, and exhibited an awful and
awakening instance of God's power to punish the evildoer.
This dreadful circumstance had some effect upon the hearts of the ungodly hunters,
who would eagerly grasp their prey.
But in a relenting moment, they suffered him to remain with his unworthy wife,
to return her good for evil, and to comfort two children, who, on his being
sent to prison, would have been left without a protector, or had become a
burden to the parish.
As bad men act from little motives, we may place the indulgence shown to him
to the latter account.
We have noticed in the former part of our narratives of the martyrs, some whose
affection would have led them even to sacrifice their own lives to preserve
their husbands.
But here, agreeable to scripture language, a mother proves indeed a monster in
nature.
Neither conjugal nor maternal affection could impress the heart of this
disgraceful woman.
Although our afflicted Christian had experienced so much cruelty and falsehood
from the woman who was bound to him by every tie both human and divine,
yet with a mild and forbearing spirit he overlooked her misdeeds, during her
calamity endeavouring all he could to procure relief for her malady,
and soothing her by every possible expression of tenderness.
Thus she became, in a few weeks, nearly restored to her senses.
But, alas, she returned again to her sin, as a dog returneth to his vomit.
Malice against the saints of the Most High was seated in her heart too firmly to be
removed, and as her strength returned, her inclination to work wickedness
returned with it.
Her heart was hardened by the Prince of Darkness, and to her may be applied these
afflicting and soul-harrowing words, Can the Ethiopian change his skin,
or the leopard his spots?
Then may ye also do good that are accustomed to do evil.
Weighing this text duly with another, I will have mercy on whom I will have
mercy, how shall we presume to refine away the sovereignty of God by arraigning
Jehovah at the bar of human reason, which in religious matters is too often
opposed by infinite wisdom?
Broad is the way that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in
thereat.
Narrow is the way which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.
The ways of heaven are indeed inscrutable, and it is our bounden duty to walk ever
dependent on God, looking up to Him with humble confidence and hope in His
goodness, and ever confess His justice, and where we cannot unravel there learn to
trust.
This wretched woman, pursuing the horrid dictates of a heart hardened and depraved,
was scarcely confirmed in her recovery, when stifling the dictates of honour,
gratitude, and every natural affection, she again accused her husband,
who was once more apprehended and taken before Sir John Mordaunt, Knight,
and one of Queen Mary's commissioners.
Upon examination, his judge finding him fixed in opinions which militated against
those nursed by superstition and maintained by cruelty, he was sentenced to
confinement and torture in Lollard's Tower.
Here he was put into the painful stocks, and had a dish of water set by him,
with a stone put into it, to what purpose God knoweth except it were to show that he
should look for little other subsistence, which is credible enough if we consider
their like practices upon divers before mentioned in this history, as among others
upon Richard Smith, who died through their cruel imprisonment, touching whom,
when a godly woman came to Dr. Storey to have leave she might bury him,
he asked her if he had any straw or blood in his mouth, but what he means thereby I
leave to the judgment of the wise.
On the first day of the third week of our martyr's sufferings, an object presented
itself to his view which made him indeed feel his tortures with all their force,
and to execrate with bitterness only short of cursing the author of his misery.
To mark and punish the proceedings of his tormentors, remained with the most high,
who noteth even the fall of a sparrow, and in whose sacred word it is written,
Vengeance is mine, I will repay.
This object was his own son, a child of the tender age of eight years.
For fifteen days had its hapless father been suspended by his tormentor by the
right arm and left leg, and sometimes by both, shifting his positions for the
purpose of giving him strength to bear and to lengthen the date of his sufferings.
When the unoffending innocent, desirous of seeing and speaking to its
parent, applied to Bonner for permission to do so, the poor child being asked by
the bishop's chaplain the purport of his errand, he replied he wished to see his
father.
Who is thy father?
said the chaplain.
John Fetty, returned the boy, at the same time pointing to the place where he was
confined.
The interrogating miscreant on this said, Why, thy father is a heretic.
The little champion again rejoined, with energy sufficient to raise admiration
in any breast, except that of this unprincipled and unfeeling wretch,
this miscreant, eager to execute the behest of a remorseless queen.
My father is no heretic, for you have Balaam's mark.
Irritated by reproach so aptly applied, the indignant and mortified priest
concealed his resentment for a moment, and took the undaunted boy into the house.
Where having him secure, he presented him to others, whose baseness and cruelty
being equal to his own, they stripped him to the skin, and applied their scourges to
so violent a degree, that fainting beneath the stripes inflicted on his tender frame,
and covered with the blood that flowed from them, the victim of their ungodly
wrath was ready to expire under his heavy and unmerited punishment.
In this bleeding and helpless state was the taken to his father by one of the
actors in the horrid tragedy, who while he exhibited the heart-rending spectacle,
made use of the vilest taunts and exulted in what he had done.
The dutiful child, as if recovering strength at the sight of his father,
on his knees implored his blessing.
Alas!
Will, said the afflicted parent in trembling amazement, who hath done this to
thee?
The artless innocent related the circumstances that led to the merciless
correction which had been so basely inflicted on him, but when he repeated the
reproof bestowed on the chaplain, and which was prompted by an undaunted
spirit, he was torn from his weeping parent and conveyed again to the house
where he remained a close prisoner.
Bonner, somewhat fearful that what had been done could not be justified even
among the bloodhounds of his own voracious pack, concluded in his dark and wicked
mind to release John Fetty, for a time at least, from the severities he was enduring
in the glorious cause of everlasting truth.
Whose bright rewards are fixed beyond the boundaries of time, within the confines of
eternity, where the arrow of the wicked cannot wound, even where there shall be no
more sorrowing for the blessed, who in the mansion of eternal bliss shall
glorify the Lamb for ever and ever.
He was accordingly by order of Bonner, how disgraceful to all dignity to say
bishop, liberated from the painful bonds and led from Lollard's Tower to the
chamber of that ungodly and infamous butcher, where he found the bishop bathing
himself before a great fire.
And at his first entering the chamber, Fetty said, God be here and peace.
God be here and peace, said Bonner, that is neither God's speed nor good
morrow.
If ye kick against this peace, said Fetty, then this is not the place
that I seek for.
A chaplain of the bishop, standing by, turned the poor man about, and thinking to
abash him, said in mocking wise, What have we here, a player?
While Fetty was thus standing in the bishop's chamber, he espied, hanging about
the bishop's bed, a pair of great black beads, whereupon he said, My lord,
I think the hangman is not far off, for the halter, pointing to the beads,
is here already.
At which words the bishop was in a marvellous rage.
Then he immediately after espied also, standing in the bishop's chamber,
in the window, a little crucifix.
Then he asked the bishop what it was, and he answered that it was Christ.
Was he handled as cruelly as he is here pictured, said Fetty?
Yea, that he was, said the bishop.
And even so cruelly will you handle such as come before you, for you are unto God's
people, as Caiaphas was unto Christ.
The bishop, being in a great fury, said, Thou art a vile heretic,
and I will burn thee, or else I will spend all I have unto my gown.
Nay, my lord, said Fetty, you are better to give it to some poor body that he may
pray for you.
Bonner, notwithstanding his passion which was raised to the utmost by the calm and
pointed remarks of this observing Christian, thought it most prudent to
dismiss the father on account of the nearly murdered child.
His coward self trembled for the consequences which might ensue.
Fear is inseparable from little minds, and this dastardly pampered priest
experienced its effects so far as to induce him to assume the appearance of
that he was an utter stranger to, namely, mercy.
The father, on being dismissed by the tyrant Bonner, went home with a heavy
heart with his dying child, who did not survive many days the cruelties which had
been inflicted on him.
How contrary to the will of our great king and prophet, who mildly taught his
followers, was the conduct of this sanguinary and false teacher, this vile
apostate from his god to Satan!
But the archfiend had taken entire possession of his heart and guided every
action of the sinner he had hardened, who, given up to terrible destruction,
was running the race of the wicked, marking his footsteps with the blood of
the saints as if eager to arrive at the goal of eternal death.
Deliverance of Dr. Sands This eminent prelate, Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge,
at the request of the Duke of Northumberland, when he came down to
Cambridge in support of Lady Jane Grey's claim to the throne, undertook at a few
hours' notice to preach before the Duke and the University.
The text he took was such as presented itself in opening the Bible, and a more
appropriate one he could not have chosen, namely the three last verses of Joshua.
As God gave him the text, so he gave him also such order and utterance that it
excited the most lively emotions in his numerous auditors.
The sermon was about to be sent to London to be printed, when news arrived that the
Duke had returned and Queen Mary was proclaimed.
The Duke was immediately arrested, and Dr. Sands was compelled by the
University to give up his office.
He was arrested by the Queen's order, and when Mr. Mildmay wondered that so
learned a man could willfully incur danger and speak against so good a princess as
Mary, the doctor replied, If I would do as Mr. Mildmay has done, I need not fear
bonds.
He came down armed against Queen Mary, before a traitor, now a great friend.
I cannot with one mouth blow hot and cold in this manner.
A general plunder of Dr. Sands's property ensued, and he was brought to London upon
a wretched horse.
Various insults he met on the way from the bigoted Catholics, and as he passed
through Bishop's Gate Street, a stone struck him to the ground.
He was the first prisoner that entered the Tower in that day on a Bible, but his
shirts and other articles were taken from him.
On Mary's coronation day, the doors of the dungeon were so laxly guarded that it was
easy to escape.
A Mr. Mitchell, like a true friend, came to him, afforded him his own clothes
as a disguise, and was willing to abide the consequence of being found in his
place.
This was a rare friendship, but he refused the offer, saying, I know no cause why I
should be in prison.
To do this were to make myself guilty.
I will expect God's goodwill, yet do I think myself much obliged to you.
And so Mr. Mitchell departed.
With Dr. Sands was imprisoned Mr. Bradford.
They were kept close in prison twenty-nine weeks.
John Fowler, their keeper, was a perverse papist, yet by often persuading him,
at length he began to favour the Gospel, and was so persuaded in the true religion
that on a Sunday, when they had Mass in the chapel, Dr. Sands administered the
communion to Bradford and to Fowler.
Thus Fowler was their son begotten in bonds.
To make room for Wyatt and his accomplices, Dr. Sands and nine other
preachers were sent to the Marshalsea.
The keeper of the Marshalsea appointed to every preacher a man to lead him in the
street.
He caused them to go on before, and he and Dr. Sands followed,
conversing together.
By this time, potpourri began to be unsavoury.
After they'd passed the bridge, the keeper said to Dr. Sands, I perceive
the vain people would set you forward to the fire.
You're as vain as they, if you, being a young man, will stand in your own
conceit, and prefer your own judgment before that of so many worthy prelates,
ancient, learned, and grave men as be in this realm.
If you do so, you shall find me a severe keeper, and one that utterly dislikes your
religion.
Dr. Sands answered, I know my years to be young, and my learning but small.
It is enough to know Christ crucified, and he hath learned nothing who seeth not
the great blasphemy that is in potpourri.
I will yield unto God, and not unto man.
I have read in the scriptures of many godly and courteous keepers.
May God make you one.
If not, I trust he will give me strength and patience to bear your hard usage.
Then said the keeper, Are you resolved to stand to your religion?
Yes, quoth the doctor, by God's grace.
Truly, said the keeper, I love you the better for it.
I did but tempt you.
What favour I can show you, you shall be assured of, and I shall think myself happy
if I might die at the stake with you.
He was as good as his word, for he trusted the doctor to walk in the fields alone,
where he met with Mr. Bradford, who was also a prisoner in the king's
bench, and had found the same favour from his keeper.
At his request, he put Mr. Saunders in along with him to be his bedfellow,
and the communion was administered to a great number of communicants.
When Wyatt, with his army, came to Southwark, he offered to liberate all the
imprisoned Protestants, but Dr. Sands and the rest of the preachers refused to
accept freedom on such terms.
After Dr. Sands had been nine weeks prisoner in the Marshall Sea, by the
mediation of Sir Thomas Holcroft, Knight Marshal, he was set at liberty.
Though Mr. Holcroft had the queen's warrant, the bishop commanded him not to
set Dr. Sands at liberty, until he had taken sureties of two gentlemen with him,
each one bound in five hundred pounds, that Dr. Sands should not depart out of
the realm without licence.
Mr. Holcroft immediately after met with two gentlemen of the north, friends and
cousins to Dr. Sands, who offered to be bound for him.
After dinner the same day, Sir Thomas Holcroft sent for Dr. Sands to his
lodgings at Westminster, to communicate to him all he had done.
Dr. Sands answered, I give God thanks who hath moved your heart to mind me so well,
that I think myself most bound unto you.
God shall requite you, nor shall I ever be found unthankful.
But as you have dealt friendly with me, I will also deal plainly with you.
I came a free man into prison, I will not go forth a bondman.
As I cannot benefit my friends, so will I not hurt them.
And if I be set at liberty, I will not tarry six days in this realm, if I may get
out.
If therefore I may not get free forth, send me to the Marshalsea again,
and there you shall be sure of me.
This answer Mr. Holcroft much disapproved of, but like a true friend, he said,
Seeing you cannot be altered, I will change my purpose and yield unto you.
Come of it what will, I will set you at liberty, and seeing you have a mind to go
oversea, get you gone as quick as you can.
One thing I require of you, that while you are there you write nothing to me hither,
for this may undo me." Dr. Sands, having taken an affectionate farewell of
him, and his other friends in bonds, departed.
He went by Winchester House, and there took boat, and came to a friend's house in
London, called William Banks, and tarried there one night.
The next night he went to another friend's house, and there he heard that strict
search was making for him by Gardner's express order.
Dr. Sands now conveyed himself by night to one Mr. Bertie's house, a stranger who was
in the Marshallsea prison with him a while.
He was a good Protestant, and dwelt in Mark Lane.
There he was six days, and then removed to one of his acquaintances in Corn Hill.
He caused his man Quinton to provide two geldings for him, resolved on the morrow
to ride into Essex to Mr. Sands's father-in-law, where his wife was,
which after a narrow escape he affected.
He had not been there two hours before Mr. Sands was told that two of the guards were
that night apprehend Dr. Sands.
That night Dr. Sands was guided to an Honest Farmer's near the sea, where he
tarried two days and two nights in a chamber without company.
After that he removed to one James Mower's, a shipmaster who dwelt at Milton
Shore, where he waited for a wind to Flanders.
While he was there, James Mower brought to him forty or fifty mariners to whom he
gave an exhortation.
They liked him so well that they promised to die rather than he should be
apprehended.
The sixth of May, Sunday, the wind served.
In taking leave of his hostess, who had been married eight years without
having a child, he gave her a fine handkerchief and an old royale of gold,
and said, be of good comfort, before that one whole year be past, God shall give you
a child, a boy.
This came to pass, for that day twelve months, wanting one day, God gave her a
son.
Scarcely had he arrived at Antwerp when he learned that King Philip had sent to
apprehend him.
He next flew to Augsburg in Cleveland, where Dr. Sands tarried fourteen days,
and then travelled towards Strasbourg, where, after he had lived one year,
his wife came to him.
He was sick of a flux nine months, and had a child which died of the plague.
His amiable wife at length fell into a consumption, and died in his arms.
When his wife was dead, he went to Zurich, and there was in Peter Martyr's house for
the space of five weeks.
As they sat at dinner one day, word was suddenly brought that Queen Mary
was dead, and Dr. Sands was sent for by his friends at Strasbourg, where he
preached.
Mr. Grindel and he came over to England, and arrived in London the same day that
Queen Elizabeth was crowned.
This faithful servant of Christ, under Queen Elizabeth, rose to the highest
distinction in the Church, being successively Bishop of Worcester,
Bishop of London, and Archbishop of York.
Queen Mary's Treatment of Her Sister, the Princess Elizabeth The preservation of
Princess Elizabeth may be reckoned a remarkable instance of the watchful eye
which Christ had over his Church.
The bigotry of Mary regarded not the ties of consanguinity, of natural affection,
of natural successions.
Her mind, physically morose, was under the dominion of men who possessed not the milk
of human kindness, and whose principles were sanctioned and enjoined by the
idolatrous tenets of the Romish pontiff.
Could they have foreseen the short date of Mary's reign, they would have imbrued
their hands in the Protestant blood of Elizabeth, and as a sine qua none of the
Queen's salvation, have compelled her to bequeath the kingdom to some Catholic
prince.
The contest might have been attended, with the horrors incidental to a religious
civil war, and calamities might have been felt in England, similar to those under
Henry the Great in France, whom Queen Elizabeth assisted in opposing his
priest-ridden Catholic subjects.
As if Providence had the perpetual establishment of the Protestant faith in
view, the difference of the duration of the two reigns is worthy of notice.
Mary might have reigned many years in the course of nature, but the course of grace
willed it otherwise.
Five years and four months was the time of persecution allotted to this weak,
disgraceful reign, while that of Elizabeth reckoned a number of years among the
highest of those who have sat on the English throne, almost nine times that of
her merciless sister.
Before Mary attained the crown, she treated Elizabeth with a sisterly
kindness, but from that period her conduct was altered, and the most imperious
distance substituted.
Though Elizabeth had no concern in the rebellion of Sir Thomas Wyatt,
yet she was apprehended and treated as a culprit in that commotion.
The manner, too, of her arrest was similar to the mind that dictated it.
The three Cabinet members, whom she deputed to see the arrest executed,
rudely entered the chamber at ten o'clock at night, and though she was extremely
ill, they could scarcely be induced to let her remain until the following morning.
Her enfeebled state permitted her to be moved only by short stages in a journey of
such length to London, but the Princess, though afflicted in person, had a
consolation in mind which her sister never could purchase.
The people through whom she passed on her way pitied her, and put up their prayers
for her preservation.
Arrived at court, she was made a close prisoner for a fortnight, without knowing
who was her accuser, or seeing anyone who could console or advise her.
The charge, however, was at length unmasked by Gardiner, who, with nineteen
of the Council, accused her of abetting Wyatt's conspiracy, which she religiously
affirmed to be false.
Failing in this, they placed against her the transactions of Sir Peter Carey in the
West, in which they were as unsuccessful as in the former.
The Queen now signified that it was her pleasure she should be committed to the
Tower, a step which overwhelmed the Princess with the greatest alarm and
uneasiness.
In vain she hoped the Queen's Majesty would not commit her to such a place,
but there was no lenity to be expected, her attendants were limited, and a hundred
Northern soldiers appointed to guard her day and night.
On Palm Sunday she was conducted to the Tower.
When she came to the Palace Garden, she cast her eyes towards the windows,
eagerly anxious to meet those of the Queen, but she was disappointed.
A strict order was given in London that everyone should go to church and carry
palms, that she might be conveyed without clamour or commiseration to her prison.
At the time of passing under London Bridge, the fall of the tide made it very
dangerous, and the barge sometimes stuck fast against the starlings.
To mortify her the more, she was landed at Traitor's Stairs.
As it rained fast, and she was obliged to step in the water to land, she hesitated.
But this excited no complaisance in the Lord-in-waiting.
When she set her foot on the step, she exclaimed, "'Here lands as true a
subject, being prisoner, as ever landed at these stairs, and before thee,
O God, I speak it, having no friend but thee alone.'" A large number of the
wardens and servants of the Tower were arranged in order, between whom the
Princess had to pass.
Upon inquiring the use of this parade, she was informed it was customary to do
so.
"'If,' said she, "'it is on account of me, I beseech you that they may be
dismissed.'" On this the poor men knelt down and prayed that God would preserve
her grace.
For which they were the next day turned out of their employments.
The tragic scene must have been deeply interesting, to see an amiable and
irreproachable Princess sent like a lamb to languish in expectation of cruelty and
death, against whom there was no other charge than her superiority in Christian
virtues and acquired endowments.
Her attendants openly wept as she proceeded with a dignified step to the
frowning battlements of her destination.
"'Alas,' said Elizabeth, "'what do you mean?
I took you to comfort, not to dismay me, for my truth is such that no one shall
have cause to weep for me.'" The next step of her enemies was to procure evidence by
means which, in the present day, are accounted detestable.
Many poor prisoners were racked to extract, if possible, any matters of
accusation which might affect her life, and thereby gratify Gardiner's sanguinary
disposition.
He himself came to examine her, expecting her removal from her house at
Ashbridge to Dunnington Castle a long while before.
The Princess had quite forgotten this trivial circumstance, and Lord Arundel,
after the investigation, kneeling down, apologised for having troubled her in such
a frivolous matter.
"'You sift me narrowly,' replied the Princess, "'but of this I am assured that
God has appointed a limit to your proceedings, and so God forgive you all.'"
Her own gentlemen, who ought to have been her purveyors and served her provision,
were compelled to give place to the common soldiers, at the command of the Constable
of the Tower, who was in every respect a servile tool of Gardiner.
Her Grace's friends, however, procured an Order of Council which regulated this
petty tyranny more to her satisfaction.
After having been a whole month in close confinement, she sent for the Lord
Chamberlain and Lord Chandos, to whom she represented the ill state of her health
from a want of proper air and exercise.
Application being made to the Council, Elizabeth was with some difficulty
admitted to walk in the Queen's lodgings, and afterwards in the garden, at which
time the prisoners on that side were attended by their keepers, and not
suffered to look down upon her.
Their jealousy was excited by a child of four years who daily brought flowers to
the Princess.
The child was threatened with a whipping, and the father ordered to keep him from
the Princess's chambers.
On the 5th of May, the Constable was discharged from his office, and Sir Henry
Benefield appointed in his room, accompanied by a hundred ruffian-looking
soldiers in blue.
This measure created considerable alarm in the mind of the Princess, who imagined it
was preparatory to her undergoing the same fate as Lady Jane Grey upon the same
block.
Assured that this project was not in agitation, she entertained an idea that
the new keeper of the Tower was commissioned to make away with her
privately, as his equivocal character was in conformity with the ferocious
inclination of those by whom he was appointed.
A report now obtained that her grace was to be taken away by the new Constable and
his soldiers, which in the sequel proved to be true.
An order of counsel was made for her removal to the Manor of Woodstock,
which took place on Trinity Sunday, May 13, under the authority of Sir Henry
Benefield and Lord Tame.
The ostensible cause of her removal was to make room for other prisoners.
Richmond was the first place they stopped at, and here the Princess slept,
not, however, with much alarm at first, as her own servants were superseded by the
soldiers, who were placed as guards at her chamber door.
Upon representation, Lord Tame overruled this indecent stretch of power,
and granted her perfect safety while under his custody.
In passing through Windsor, she saw several of her poor, dejected servants
waiting to see her.
"'Go to them,' said she to one of her attendants, "'and say these words from me,
Tam Quim Ovis, that is like a sheep to the slaughter.'" The next night her grace
lodged at the house of a Mr. Dormer, in her way to which the people manifested
such tokens of loyal affection that Sir Henry was indignant, and bestowed on them
very liberally the names of rebels and traitors.
In some villages they rang the bells for joy, imagining the Princess's arrival
among them was from a very different cause.
But this harmless demonstration of gladness was sufficient with the
persecuting Benefield to order his soldiers to seize and set these humble
persons in the stocks.
The day following her grace arrived at Lord Tame's house, where she stayed all
night and was most nobly entertained.
This excited Sir Henry's indignation, and made him caution Lord Tame to look
well to his proceedings, but the humanity of Lord Tame was not to be frightened,
and he returned a suitable reply.
At another time this official prodigal, to show his consequence and disregard of
good manners, went up into a chamber where was appointed for her grace a chair,
two cushions, and a foot-carpet, wherein he presumptuously sat and called
his man to pull off his boots.
As soon as it was known to the ladies and gentlemen they laughed him to scorn.
When supper was done he called to his Lordship and directed that all gentlemen
and ladies should withdraw home, marvelling much that he would permit such
a large company, considering the great charge he had committed to him.
Sir Henry, said his Lordship, content yourself.
All shall be avoided, your men and all.
Nay, but my soldiers, replied Sir Henry, shall watch all night.
Lord Tame answered, there is no need.
Well, said he, need or need not, they shall do so.
The next day her grace took her journey from thence to Woodstock, where she was
enclosed as before in the Tower of London, the soldiers keeping guard within and
without the walls every day to the number of sixty, and in the night without the
walls were forty during all the time of her imprisonment.
At length she was permitted to walk in the gardens, but under the most severe
restrictions, Sir Henry keeping the keys himself, and placing her always under many
bolts and locks, when she was induced to call him a jailor, at which he felt
offended and begged her to substitute the word officer.
After much earnest entreaty to the Council, she obtained permission to write
to the Queen, but the jailor who brought her pen, ink, and paper stood by her while
she wrote, and when she left off he carried the things away until they were
wanted again.
He also insisted upon carrying it himself to the Queen, but Elizabeth would not
suffer him to be the bearer, and it was presented by one of her gentlemen.
After the letter, Doctors Owen and Wendy went to the Princess as the state of her
health rendered medical assistance necessary.
They stayed with her five or six days, in which time she grew much better.
They then returned to the Queen and spoke flatteringly of the Princess's submission
and humility, at which the Queen seemed moved, but the bishops wanted a concession
that she had offended Her Majesty.
Elizabeth spurned this indirect mode of acknowledging herself guilty.
If I have offended, said she, and am guilty, I crave no mercy but the law,
which I am certain I should have ere this, if anything could have been proved against
me.
I wish I were as clear from the peril of my enemies, then should I not be thus
bolted and locked up within walls and doors.
Much question arose at this time, respecting the propriety of uniting the
Princess to some foreigner that she might quit the realm with a suitable portion.
One of the Council had the brutality to urge the necessity of beheading her if the
King, Philip, meant to keep the realm in peace, but the Spaniards, detesting such a
base thought, replied, God forbid that our King and Master should consent to such an
infamous proceeding.
Stimulated by a noble principle, the Spaniards from this time repeatedly
urged to the King that it would do him the highest honour to liberate the Lady
Elizabeth, nor was the King impervious to their solicitation.
He took her out of prison, and shortly after she was sent forth to Hampton Court.
It may be remarked in this place that the fallacy of human reasoning is shown in
every moment.
The barbarian who suggested the policy of beheading Elizabeth little contemplated
the change of condition which his speech would bring about.
In her journey from Woodstock, Benefield treated her with the same
severity as before, removing her on a stormy day, and not suffering her old
servant who had come to Cornbrook, where she slept, to speak to her.
She remained a fortnight, strictly guarded and watched, before anyone dared to speak
with her.
At length, the vile Gardiner, with three more of the Council, came with great
submission.
Elizabeth saluted them, remarked that she had been for a long time kept in solitary
confinement, and begged they would intercede with the King and Queen to
deliver her from prison.
Gardiner's visit was to draw from the Princess a confession of her guilt,
but she was guarded against his subtlety, adding that, rather than admit she had
done wrong, she would lie in prison all the rest of her life.
The next day Gardiner came again, and, kneeling down, declared that the
Queen was astonished she would persist in affirming that she was blameless,
whence it would be inferred that the Queen had unjustly imprisoned her grace.
Gardiner further informed her that the Queen had declared that she must tell
another tale before she could be set at liberty.
Then, replied the high-minded Elizabeth, I'd rather be in prison with honesty and
truth than have my liberty and be suspected by Her Majesty.
What I have said I will stand to, nor will I ever speak falsehood.
The Bishop and his friends then departed, leaving her locked up as before.
Seven days after, the Queen sent for Elizabeth at ten o'clock at night.
Two years had elapsed since they had seen each other.
It created terror in the mind of the Princess, who at setting out desired her
gentlemen and ladies to pray for her as her return to them again was uncertain.
Being conducted to the Queen's bedchamber, upon entering it the Princess knelt down,
and having begged of God to preserve Her Majesty, she humbly assured her that Her
Majesty had not a more loyal subject in the realm, whatever reports might be
circulated to the contrary.
With a haughty ungraciousness the imperious Queen replied, You will not
confess your offence, but stand stoutly to your truth.
I pray God it may so fall out.
If it do not, said Elizabeth, I request neither favour nor pardon at Your
Majesty's hands.
Well, said the Queen, you stiffly still persevere in your truth.
Besides, you will not confess that you have not been wrongfully punished.
I must not say so if it pleases Your Majesty to you.
Why then, said the Queen, be like you will to others?
No, if it pleases Your Majesty, I have borne the burden and must bear it.
I humbly beseech Your Majesty to have a good opinion of me, and to think me to be
your subject, not only from the beginning hitherto, but for ever as long as life
lasteth.
They departed without any heartfelt satisfaction on either side, nor can we
think the conduct of Elizabeth displayed that independence and fortitude which
accompanies perfect innocence.
Elizabeth submitting that she would not say neither to the Queen nor to others
that she had been unjustly punished, was in direct contradiction to what she
had told Gardiner, and must have arisen from some motive, at this time
inexplicable.
King Philip is supposed to have been secretly concealed during the interview,
and to have been friendly to the Princess.
In seven days from the time of her return to imprisonment, her severe jailer and his
men were discharged, and she was set at liberty, under the constraint of being
always attended and watched by some of the Queen's Council.
Four of her gentlemen were sent to the Tower, without any other charge against
them than being zealous servants of their mistress.
This event was soon after followed by the happy news of Gardiner's death,
for which all good and merciful men glorified God, in as much as it had taken
the chief tiger from the den, and rendered the life of the Protestant successor of
Mary more secure.
This miscreant, while the Princess was in the Tower, sent a secret writ signed by a
few of the Council for her private execution, and had Mr. Bridges,
Lieutenant of the Tower, been as little scrupulous of dark assassination as this
pious prelate was, she must have perished.
The warrant not having the Queen's signature, Mr. Bridges hastened Her
Majesty to give her information of it, and to know her mind.
This was a plot of Winchester's, who, to convict her of treasonable
practices, caused several prisoners to be racked, particularly Mr. Edmund Tremayne
and Smithwick, were offered considerable bribes to accuse the guiltless Princess.
Her life was several times in danger.
While at Woodstock, fire was apparently put between the boards and ceiling under
which she lay.
It was also reported strongly that one Paul Penny, the keeper of Woodstock,
a notorious ruffian, was appointed to assassinate her.
But however this might be, God counteracted in this point the nefarious
designs of the enemies of the Reformation.
James Bassett was another appointed to perform the same deed.
He was a peculiar favourite of Gardiner, and had come within a mile of Woodstock,
intending to speak with Benefield on the subject.
The goodness of God, however, so ordered it, that while Bassett was travelling to
Woodstock, Benefield, by an order of council, was going to London, in
consequence of which he left a positive order with his brother that no man should
be admitted to the Princess during his absence, not even with a note from the
Queen.
His brother met the murderer, but the latter's intention was frustrated,
as no admission could be obtained.