THE PILGRIMAGE TO ST. WINIFRED'S WELL.
Early on the following morning, the party, who had ridden hard, and had
paused only for a short time at Knutsford to rest their steeds,
approached the ancient and picturesque city of Chester. Skirting its
high, and then partly fortified walls, above which appeared the massive
tower of the venerable cathedral, they passed through the east-gate, and
proceeding along the street deriving its name from that entrance, were
about to halt before the door of a large hostel, called the Saint
Werburgh's Abbey, when, to their great surprise, they perceived Catesby
riding towards them.
"I thought I could not be mistaken," cried the latter, as he drew near
and saluted Viviana. "I was about to set out for Manchester with a
despatch to you from your father, Miss Radcliffe, when this most
unexpected and fortunate encounter spares me the journey. But may I ask
why I see you here, and thus attended?" he added, glancing uneasily at
Humphrey Chetham.
A few words from Father Oldcorne explained all. Catesby affected to bend
his brow, and appear concerned at the relation. But he could scarcely
repress his satisfaction.
"Sir William Radcliffe _must_ join us now," he whispered to the priest.
"He must--he _shall_," replied Oldcorne, in the same tone.
"Your father wishes you to join him at Holt, Miss Radcliffe," remarked
Catesby, turning to her, "whence the pilgrimage starts to-morrow for
Saint Winifred's Well. There are already nearly thirty devout persons
assembled."
"Indeed!" replied Viviana. "May I inquire their names."
"Sir Everard and Lady Digby," replied Catesby; "the Lady Anne Vaux and
her sister, Mrs. Brooksby; Mr. Ambrose Rookwood and his wife, the two
Winters, Tresham, Wright, Fathers Garnet and Fisher, and many others, in
all probability unknown to you. The procession started ten days ago from
Gothurst, in Buckinghamshire, Sir Everard Digby's residence, and
proceeded from thence by slow stages to Norbrook and Haddington, at each
of which houses it halted for some days. Yesterday, it reached Holt, and
starts, as I have just told you, to-morrow for Holywell. If you are so
disposed, you will be able to attend it."
"I will gladly do so," replied Viviana. "And since I find it is not
necessary to hurry forward, I will rest myself for a short time here."
So saying, she dismounted, and the whole party entered the hostel.
Viviana withdrew to seek a short repose, and glance over her father's
letter, while Catesby, Guy Fawkes, and Oldcorne, were engaged in deep
consultation. Humphrey Chetham, perceiving that his attendance was no
further required, and that he was an object of suspicion and dislike to
Catesby,--for whom he also entertained a similar aversion,--prepared to
return. And when Viviana made her appearance, he advanced to bid her
farewell.
"I can be of no further service to you, Viviana," he said, in a
mournful tone; "and as my presence might be as unwelcome to your father,
as it seems to be to others of your friends, I will now take my leave."
"Farewell, Mr. Chetham," she replied. "I will not attempt to oppose your
departure; for, much as I grieve to lose you--and that I do so these
tears will testify,--I feel that it is for the best. I owe you
much--more--far more than I can ever repay. It would be unworthy in me,
and unfair to you, to say that I do not, and shall not ever feel the
deepest interest in you; that, next to my father, there is no one whom I
regard--nay, whom I love so much."
"Love! Viviana?" echoed the young merchant, trembling.
"Love, Mr. Chetham," she continued, turning very pale; "since you compel
me to repeat the word. I avow it boldly, because--" and her voice
faltered,--"I would not have you suppose me ungrateful, and because I
never can be yours."
"I will not attempt to dissuade you from the fatal determination you
have formed of burying your charms in a cloister," rejoined Humphrey
Chetham. "But, oh! if you _do_ love me, why condemn yourself--why
condemn me to hopeless misery?"
"I will tell you why," replied Viviana. "Because you are not of my
faith; and because I never will wed a heretic."
"I am answered," replied the young merchant, sadly.
"Mr. Chetham," interposed Oldcorne, who had approached them unperceived;
"it is in your power to change Viviana's determination."
"How?" asked the young merchant, starting.
"By being reconciled to the Church of Rome."
"Then it will remain unaltered," replied Chetham, firmly.
"And, if Mr. Chetham would consent to this proposal, _I_ would not,"
said Viviana. "Farewell," she added, extending her hand to him, which he
pressed to his lips. "Do not let us prolong an interview so painful to
us both. The best wish I can desire for you is, that we may never meet
again."
Without another word, and without hazarding a look at the object of his
affections, Chetham rushed out of the room, and mounting his horse, rode
off in the direction of Manchester.
"Daughter," observed Oldcorne, as soon as he was gone, "I cannot too
highly approve of your conduct, or too warmly applaud the mastery you
display over your feelings. But----" and he hesitated.
"But what, father?" cried Viviana, eagerly. "Do you think I have done
wrong in dismissing him?"
"By no means, dear daughter," replied the priest. "You have acted most
discreetly. But you will forgive me if I urge you--nay, implore you not
to take the veil; but rather to bestow your hand upon some Catholic
gentleman----"
"Such as Mr. Catesby," interrupted Viviana, glancing in the direction
of the individual she mentioned, who was watching them narrowly from the
further end of the room.
"Ay, Mr. Catesby," repeated Oldcorne, affecting not to notice the
scornful emphasis laid on the name. "None more fitting could be found,
nor more worthy of you. Our Church has not a more zealous servant and
upholder; and he will be at once a father and a husband to you. Such a
union would be highly profitable to our religion. And, though it is well
for those whose hearts are burthened with affliction, and who are unable
to render any active service to their faith, to retire from the world,
it behoves every sister of the Romish Church to support it at a juncture
like the present, at any sacrifice of personal feeling."
"Urge me no more, father," replied Viviana, firmly. "I will make every
sacrifice for my religion, consistent with principle and feeling. But I
will not make this; neither am I required to make it. And I beg you will
entreat Mr. Catesby to desist from further importunity."
Oldcorne bowed and retired. Nor was another syllable exchanged between
them prior to their departure.
Crossing the old bridge over the Dee, then defended at each extremity by
a gate and tower, the party took the road to Holt, where they arrived in
about an hour. The recent conversation had thrown a restraint over them,
which was not removed during the journey. Habitually taciturn, as has
already been remarked, Guy Fawkes seemed gloomier and more thoughtful
than ever; and though he rode by the side of Viviana, he did not
volunteer a remark, and scarcely appeared conscious of her presence.
Catesby and Oldcorne kept aloof, and it was not until they came in sight
of the little town which formed their destination that the former
galloped forward, and striking into the path on the right, begged
Viviana to follow him. A turn in the road shortly afterwards showed them
a large mansion screened by a grove of beech-trees.
"That is the house to which we are going," observed Catesby.
And as he spoke, they approached a lodge, the gates of which being
opened by an attendant, admitted them to the avenue.
Viviana's heart throbbed with delight at the anticipated meeting with
her father; but she could not repress a feeling of anxiety at the
distressing intelligence she had to impart to him. As she drew near the
house she perceived him walking beneath the shade of the trees with two
other persons; and quickening her pace, sprang from her steed, and
almost before he was aware of it was in his arms.
"Why do I see you here so unexpectedly, my dear child?" cried Sir
William Radcliffe, as soon as he had recovered from the surprise which
her sudden appearance occasioned him. "Mr. Catesby only left this
morning, charged with a letter entreating you to set out without
delay,--and now I behold you. What has happened?"
Viviana then recounted the occurrences of the last few days.
"It is as I feared," replied Sir William, in a desponding tone. "Our
oppressors will never cease till they drive us to desperation!"
"They will not!" rejoined a voice behind him. "Well may we exclaim with
the prophet--'How long, O Lord, shall I cry, and thou wilt not hear?
Shall I cry out to thee suffering violence, and thou wilt not save? Why
hast thou showed me iniquity and grievance, to see rapine and injustice
before me? Why lookest thou upon them that do unjust things, and holdest
thy peace when the wicked devoureth the man that is more just than
himself?'"
Viviana looked in the direction of the speaker and beheld a man in a
priestly garb, whose countenance struck her forcibly. He was rather
under the middle height, of a slight spare figure, and in age might be
about fifty. His features, which in his youth must have been pleasing,
if not handsome, and which were still regular, were pale and emaciated;
but his eye was dark, and of unusual brilliancy. A single glance at this
person satisfied her it was Father Garnet, the provincial of the English
Jesuits; nor was she mistaken in her supposition.
Of this remarkable person, so intimately connected with the main events
of the history about to be related, it may be proper to offer some
preliminary account. Born at Nottingham in 1554, in the reign of Queen
Mary, and of obscure parentage, Henry Garnet was originally destined to
the Protestant Church, and educated, with a view to taking orders, at
Winchester school, whence it was intended he should be removed in due
course to Oxford. But this design was never carried into effect.
Influenced by motives, into which it is now scarcely worth while
inquiring, and which have been contested by writers on both sides of the
question, Garnet proceeded from Winchester to London, where he engaged
himself as corrector of the press to a printer of law-books, named
Tottel, in which capacity he became acquainted with Sir Edward Coke and
Chief Justice Popham,--one of whom was afterwards to be the leading
counsel against him, and the other his judge. After continuing in this
employment for two years, during which he had meditated a change in his
religion, he went abroad, and travelling first to Madrid, and then to
Rome, saw enough of the Catholic priesthood to confirm his resolution,
and in 1575 he assumed the habit of a Jesuit. Pursuing his studies with
the utmost zeal and ardour at the Jesuits' College, under the celebrated
Bellarmine, and the no less celebrated Clavius, he made such progress,
that upon the indisposition of the latter, he was able to fill the
mathematical chair. Nor was he less skilled in philosophy, metaphysics,
and divinity; and his knowledge of Hebrew was so profound that he taught
it publicly in the Roman schools.
To an enthusiastic zeal in the cause of the religion he had espoused,
Garnet added great powers of persuasion and eloquence,--a combination of
qualities well fitting him for the office of a missionary priest; and
undismayed by the dangers he would have to encounter, and eager to
propagate his doctrines, he solicited to be sent on this errand to his
own country. At the instance of Father Persons, he received an
appointment to the mission in 1586, and he secretly landed in England in
the same year. Braving every danger, and shrinking from no labour, he
sought on all hands to make proselytes to the ancient faith, and to
sustain the wavering courage of its professors. Two years afterwards, on
the imprisonment of the Superior of the Jesuits, being raised to that
important post, he was enabled to extend his sphere of action; and
redoubling his exertions in consequence, he so well discharged his
duties, that it was mainly owing to him that the Catholic party was kept
together during the fierce persecutions of the latter end of Elizabeth's
reign.
Compelled to personate various characters, as he travelled from place to
place, Garnet had acquired a remarkable facility for disguise; and such
was his address and courage, that he not unfrequently imposed upon the
very officers sent in pursuit of him. Up to the period of Elizabeth's
demise, he had escaped arrest; and, though involved in the treasonable
intrigue with the king of Spain, and other conspiracies, he procured a
general pardon under the great seal. His office and profession naturally
brought him into contact with the chief Catholic families throughout the
kingdom; and he maintained an active correspondence with many of them,
by means of his various agents and emissaries. The great object of his
life being the restoration of the fallen religion, to accomplish this,
as he conceived, great and desirable end, he was prepared to adopt any
means, however violent or obnoxious. When, under the seal of confession,
Catesby revealed to him his dark designs, so far from discouraging him,
all he counselled was caution. Having tested the disposition of the
wealthier Romanists to rise against their oppressors, and finding a
general insurrection, as has before been stated, impracticable, he gave
every encouragement and assistance to the conspiracy forming among the
more desperate and discontented of the party. At his instigation, the
present pilgrimage to Saint Winifred's Well was undertaken, in the hope
that, when so large a body of the Catholics were collected together,
some additional aid to the project might be obtained.
One of the most mysterious and inexplicable portions of Garnet's history
is that relating to Anne Vaux. This lady, the daughter of Lord Vaux of
Harrowden, a rigid Catholic nobleman, and one of Garnet's earliest
patrons and friends, on the death of her father, in 1595, attached
herself to his fortunes,--accompanied him in all his missions,--shared
all his privations and dangers,--and, regardless of calumny or reproach,
devoted herself entirely to his service. What is not less singular, her
sister, who had married a Catholic gentleman named Brooksby, became his
equally zealous attendant. Their enthusiasm produced a similar effect on
Mr. Brooksby; and wherever Garnet went, all three accompanied him.
By his side, on the present occasion, stood Sir Everard Digby. Accounted
one of the handsomest, most accomplished, and best-informed men of his
time, Sir Everard, at the period of this history only twenty-four, had
married, when scarcely sixteen, Maria, heiress of the ancient and
honourable family of Mulshoe, with whom he obtained a large fortune, and
the magnificent estate of Gothurst, or Gaythurst, in Buckinghamshire.
Knighted by James the First at Belvoir Castle, on his way from Scotland
to London, Digby, who had once formed one of the most brilliant
ornaments of the court, had of late in a great degree retired from it.
"Notwithstanding," writes Father Greenway, "that he had dwelt much in
the Queen's court, and was in the way of obtaining honours and
distinction by his graceful manners and rare parts, he chose rather to
bear the cross with the persecuted Catholics, _et vivere abjectus in
domo Domini_, than to sail through the pleasures of a palace and the
prosperities of the world, to the shipwreck of his conscience and the
destruction of his soul." Having only when he completed his minority
professed the Catholic religion, he became deeply concerned at its
fallen state, and his whole thoughts were bent upon its restoration.
This change in feeling was occasioned chiefly, if not altogether, by
Garnet, by whom his conversion had been accomplished.
Sir Everard Digby was richly attired in a black velvet doublet, with
sleeves slashed with white satin, and wore a short mantle of the same
material, similarly lined. He had the enormous trunk hose, heretofore
mentioned as the distinguishing peculiarity of the costume of the
period, and wore black velvet shoes, ornamented with white roses. An
ample ruff encircled his throat. His hat was steeple-crowned, and
somewhat broader in the leaf than was ordinarily worn, and shaded with a
plume of black feathers. His hair was raven black, and he wore a pointed
beard, and moustaches. His figure was tall and stately, and his features
grave and finely formed.
By this time the group had been joined by the others, and a friendly
greeting took place. Guy Fawkes was presented by Catesby to Sir William
Radcliffe and Sir Everard Digby. To Garnet he required no introduction,
and Father Oldcorne was known to all. After a little further
conversation, the party adjourned to the house, which belonged to a
Welsh Catholic gentleman, named Griffiths, who, though absent at the
time, had surrendered it to the use of Sir Everard Digby and his
friends.
On their entrance, Viviana was introduced by her father to Lady Digby,
who presided as hostess, and welcomed her with great cordiality. She was
then conducted to her own room, where she was speedily joined by Sir
William; and they remained closeted together till summoned to the
principal meal of the day. At the table, which was most hospitably
served, Viviana found, in addition to her former companions, a large
assemblage, to most of whom she was a stranger, consisting of Anne Vaux,
Mr. Brooksby and his wife, Ambrose Rookwood, two brothers named Winter,
two Wrights, Francis Tresham,--persons of whom it will be necessary to
make particular mention hereafter,--and several others, in all amounting
to thirty.
The meal over, the company dispersed, and Viviana and her father,
passing through an open window, wandered forth upon a beautiful and
spreading lawn, and thence under the shade of the beech-trees. They had
not been long here, anxiously conferring on recent events, when they
perceived Garnet and Catesby approaching.
"Father, dear father!" cried Viviana, hastily, "I was about to warn you;
but I have not time to do so now. Some dark and dangerous plot is in
agitation to restore our religion. Mr. Catesby is anxious to league you
with it. Do not--do not yield to his solicitations!"
"Fear nothing on that score, Viviana," replied Sir William, "I have
already perplexities enow, without adding to them."
"I will leave you, then," she replied. And, as soon as the others came
up, she made some excuse for withdrawing, and returned to the house. The
window of her chamber commanded the avenue, and from it she watched the
group. They remained for a long time pacing up and down, in earnest
conversation. By and by, they were joined by Oldcorne and Fawkes. Then
came a third party, consisting of the Winters and Wrights; and, lastly,
Sir Everard Digby and Tresham swelled the list.
The assemblage was then harangued by Catesby, and the most profound
attention paid to his address. Viviana kept her eye fixed upon her
father's countenance, and from its changing expression inferred what
effect the speech produced upon him. At its conclusion, the assemblage
separated in little groups; and she perceived, with great uneasiness,
that Father Garnet passed his arm through that of her father, and led
him away. Some time elapsed, and neither of them re-appeared.
"My warning was in vain; he _has_ joined them!" she exclaimed.
"No, Viviana!" cried her father's voice behind her. "I have _not_ joined
them. Nor _shall_ I do so."
"Heaven be praised!" she exclaimed, flinging her arms around his neck.
Neither of them were aware that they were overheard by Garnet, who had
noiselessly followed Sir William into the room, and muttered to himself,
"For all this, he _shall_ join the plot, and she _shall_ wed Catesby."
He then coughed slightly, to announce his presence; and, apologizing to
Viviana for the intrusion, told her he came to confess her previously to
the celebration of mass, which would take place that evening, in a small
chapel in the house. Wholly obedient to the command of her spiritual
advisers, Viviana instantly signified her assent; and, her father having
withdrawn, she laid open the inmost secrets of her heart to the Jesuit.
Severely reprobating her love for a heretic, before he would give her
absolution, Garnet enjoined her, as a penance, to walk barefoot to the
holy well on the morrow, and to make a costly offering at the shrine of
the saint. Compliance being promised to his injunction, he pronounced
the absolution, and departed.
Soon after this, mass was celebrated by Garnet, and the sacrament
administered to the assemblage.
An hour before daybreak, the party again assembled in the chapel, where
matins were performed; after which, the female devotees, who were
clothed in snow-white woollen robes, with wide sleeves and hoods, and
having large black crosses woven in front, retired for a short time, and
re-appeared, with their feet bared, and hair unbound. Each had a large
rosary attached to the cord that bound her waist.
Catesby thought Viviana had never appeared so lovely as in this costume;
and as he gazed at her white and delicately formed feet, her small
rounded ankles, her dark and abundant tresses falling in showers almost
to the ground, he became more deeply enamoured than before. His
passionate gaze was, however, unnoticed, as the object of it kept her
eyes steadily fixed on the ground. Lady Digby, who was a most beautiful
woman, scarcely appeared to less advantage; and, as she walked side by
side with Viviana in the procession, the pair attracted universal
admiration from all who beheld them.
Everything being at last in readiness, and the order of march fully
arranged, two youthful choristers, in surplices, chanting a hymn to
Saint Winifred, set forth. They were followed by two men bearing silken
banners, on one of which was displayed the martyrdom of the saint whose
shrine they were about to visit, and on the other a lamb carrying a
cross; next came Fathers Oldcorne and Fisher, each sustaining a large
silver crucifix; next, Garnet alone, in the full habit of his order;
next, the females, in the attire before described, and walking two and
two; next, Sir Everard Digby and Sir William Radcliffe; and lastly, the
rest of the pilgrims, to the number of fourteen. These were all on foot.
But at the distance of fifty paces behind them rode Guy Fawkes and
Catesby, at the head of twenty well-armed and well-mounted attendants,
intended to serve as a guard in case of need.
In such order, this singular procession moved forward at a slow pace,
taking its course along a secluded road leading to the ridge of hills
extending from the neighbourhood of Wrexham to Mold, and from thence, in
an almost unbroken chain, to Holywell.
Along these heights, whence magnificent views were obtained of the broad
estuary of the Dee and the more distant ocean, the train proceeded
without interruption; and though the road selected was one seldom
traversed, and through a country thinly peopled, still, the rumour of
the pilgrimage having gone abroad, hundreds were stationed at different
points to behold it. Some expressions of disapprobation were
occasionally manifested by the spectators; but the presence of the large
armed force effectually prevented any interference.
Whenever such a course could be pursued, the procession took its way
over the sward. Still the sufferings of the females were severe in the
extreme; and before Viviana had proceeded a mile, her white, tender feet
were cut and bruised by the sharp flints over which she walked; every
step she took leaving a bloody print behind it. Lady Digby was in little
better condition. But such was the zeal by which they, in common with
all the other devotees following them, were animated, that not a single
murmur was uttered.
Proceeding in this way, they reached at mid-day a small stone chapel on
the summit of the hill overlooking Plas-Newydd, where they halted, and
devotions being performed, the females bathed their lacerated limbs in a
neighbouring brook, after which they were rubbed with a cooling and
odorous ointment. Thus refreshed, they again set forward, and halting a
second time at Plas-Isaf, where similar religious ceremonies were
observed, they rested for the day at a lodging prepared for their
reception in the vicinity of Mold.
The night being passed in prayer, early in the morning they commenced
their march in the same order as before. When Viviana first set her feet
to the ground, she felt as if she were treading on hot iron, and the
pain was so excruciating, that she could not repress a cry.
"Heed not your sufferings, dear daughter," observed Garnet,
compassionately; "the waters of the holy fountain will heal the wounds
both of soul and body."
Overcoming her agony by a powerful effort, she contrived to limp
forward; and the whole party was soon after in motion. Halting; for two
hours at Pentre-Terfyn, and again at Skeviog, the train, towards
evening, reached the summit of the hill overlooking Holywell, at the
foot of which could be seen the ruins of Basingwerk Abbey, and the roof
of the ancient chapel erected over the sacred spring. At this sight,
those who were foremost in the procession fell on their knees; and the
horsemen dismounting, imitated their example. An earnest supplication to
Saint Winifred was then poured forth by Father Garnet, in which all the
others joined, and a hymn in her honour chanted by the choristers.
Their devotions ended, the whole train arose, and walked slowly down the
steep descent. As they entered the little town, which owes its name and
celebrity to the miraculous spring rising within it, they were met by a
large concourse of people, who had flocked from Flint, and the other
neighbouring places to witness the ceremonial. Most of the inhabitants
of Holywell, holding their saintly patroness in the deepest veneration,
viewed this pilgrimage to her shrine as a proper tribute of respect,
while those of the opposite faith were greatly impressed by it. As the
procession advanced, the crowd divided into two lines to allow it
passage, and many fell on their knees imploring a blessing from Garnet,
which he in no instance refused. When within a hundred yards of the
sacred well, they were met by a priest, followed by another small train
of pilgrims. A Latin oration having been pronounced by this priest, and
replied to in the same language by Garnet, the train was once more put
in motion, and presently reached the ancient fabric built over the
sacred fountain.
The legend of Saint Winifred is so well known, that it is scarcely
necessary to repeat it. For the benefit of the uninformed, however, it
may be stated that she flourished about the middle of the seventh
century, and was the daughter of Thewith, one of the chief lords of
Wales. Devoutly educated by a monk named Beuno, who afterwards received
canonization, she took the veil, and retired to a small monastery (the
ruins of which still exist), built by her father near the scene of her
subsequent martyrdom. Persecuted by the addresses of Caradoc, son of
Alan, Prince of Wales, she fled from him to avoid his violence. He
followed, and inflamed by fury at her resistance, struck off her head.
For this atrocity, the earth instantly opened and swallowed him alive,
while from the spot where the head had fallen gushed forth a fountain of
unequalled force and purity, producing more than a hundred tons a
minute. The bottom of this miraculous well is strewn with pebbles
streaked with red veins, in memory of the virgin saint from whose blood
it sprung. On its margin grows an odorous moss, while its gelid and
translucent waters are esteemed a remedy for many disorders.
Winifred's career did not terminate with her decapitation.
Resuscitated by the prayers of Saint Beuno, she lived many years a life
of the utmost sanctity, bearing, as a mark of the miracle performed in
her behalf, a narrow crimson circle round her throat.
Passing the chapel adjoining the well, built in the reign of Henry the
Seventh by his mother, the pious Countess of Richmond, the pilgrims came
to the swift clear stream rushing from the well. Instead of ascending
the steps leading to the edifice built over the spring, they plunged
into the stream, and crossing it entered the structure by a doorway on
the further side. Erected by the Countess of Richmond at the same period
as the chapel, this structure, quadrangular in form, and of great
beauty, consists of light clustered pillars and mouldings, supporting
the most gorgeous tracery and groining, the whole being ornamented with
sculptured bosses, pendent capitals, fretwork, niches, and tabernacles.
In the midst is a large stone basin, to receive the water of the
fountain, around which the procession now grouped, and as soon as all
were assembled, at the command of Father Garnet they fell on their
knees.
It was a solemn and striking sight to see this large group prostrated
around that beautiful fountain, and covered by that ancient
structure,--a touching thing to hear the voice of prayer mingling with
the sound of the rushing water. After this, they all arose. A hymn was
then chanted, and votive offerings made at the shrine of the saint. The
male portion of the assemblage then followed Garnet to the chapel, where
further religious rites were performed, while the female devotees,
remaining near the fountain, resigned themselves to the care of several
attendants of their own sex, who, having bathed their feet in the water,
applied some of the fragrant moss above described to the wounds; and,
such was the faith of the patients, or the virtue of the application,
that in a short time they all felt perfectly restored, and able to join
their companions in the chapel. In this way the evening was spent, and
it was not until late that they finished their devotions, and departed
to the lodgings provided for them in the town.
Impressed with a strange superstitious feeling, which he could scarcely
acknowledge to himself, Guy Fawkes determined to pass the night near the
well. Accordingly, without communicating his intention to his
companions, he threw a small knapsack over his shoulder, containing a
change of linen, and a few articles of attire, and proceeded thither.
It was a brilliant moonlight night, and, as the radiance, streaming
through the thin clustered columns of the structure, lighted up its
fairy architecture, and fell upon the clear cold waves of the fountain,
revealing the blood-streaked pebbles beneath, the effect was
inexpressibly beautiful. So charmed was Guy Fawkes by the sight, that he
remained for some time standing near the edge of the basin, as if
fascinated by the marvellous spring that boiled up and sparkled at his
feet. Resolved to try the efficacy of the bath, he threw off his clothes
and plunged into it. The water was cold as ice; but on emerging from it
he felt wonderfully refreshed. Having dressed himself, he wrapped his
cloak around him, and, throwing himself on the stone floor, placed the
knapsack under his head, and grasping a petronel in his right hand, to
be ready in case of a surprise, disposed himself to slumber.
[Illustration: _Vision of Guy Fawkes at Saint Winifred's Well_]
Accustomed to a soldier's couch, he soon fell asleep. He had not long
closed his eyes when he dreamed that from out of the well a female
figure, slight and unsubstantial as the element from which it sprang,
arose. It was robed in what resembled a nun's garb; but so thin and
vapoury, that the very moonlight shone through it. From the garments of
the figure, as well as from the crimson circle round its throat, he knew
that it must be the patroness of the place, the sainted Winifred, that
he beheld. He felt no horror, but the deepest awe. The arm of the figure
was raised,--its benignant regards fixed upon him,--and, as soon as it
gained the level of the basin, it glided towards him.