FOR FAITH AND COUNTRY!
The trial of the two brothers was a very elaborate and ceremonial
business. The Inquisition Court, with the bishop presiding, sat for
about three hours. There was reading of papers, citing of
ecclesiastical and royal decrees, and a good deal of argument between
the bishop, the Chief Inquisitor, and Brother Basil. Through all this
wordy process the two sailors stood, or lounged, or chatted quietly
together. At first they had listened, hoping to glean a little
information; but as Latin predominated over Spanish, and they
understood no word of the former and only the New World barbaric
mixture of the latter, they soon ceased to pay attention, and lawyers
and ecclesiastics droned on as long as it pleased them to do so.
In the last few minutes the interest swung round to the prisoners.
Basil ordered them to attend and answer truthfully certain questions
the court desired to put to them. The two lean, brown bodies were
straightened, and two pairs of keen, clear eyes stared into Basil's
shifty orbs.
"Are you sons of the same parents?"
"Yes."
"Names?"
"Nicodemus and Edward."
"Nationality?"
"English, God be thanked!" answered Nick.
"Amen! brother," said Ned.
"Religion?"
The two rough fellows looked at one another. The question was really a
puzzler. Living their lives out on the sea, unlettered and unlearned,
they had no knowledge of religious formularies.
"We believe in God and Jesus Christ His Son," said Nick. "Is that so,
brother?"
"That is so," said Ned; "those are the names that come in the
chaplain's prayers."
"Do you acknowledge the authority of his Holiness the Pope of Rome?"
Another look of consultation, and Ned shook his head. Nick answered.
"We do not believe in the Pope. We did as boys during Mary's reign."
"Why did you change?"
"Queen and Parliament no longer believe in him, but hate him for an
enemy. We believe in our Queen and Parliament. Will that do, brother?"
"Beautifully. Tell the truth and shame the devil. We have drunk
confusion to the Pope in many a cup of sack, and in good company
too--with Franky Drake and Jack Hawkins, Jacob Whiddon, and a host of
bonny sailor-men. No, brother, we do not believe in the Pope, although
there are some honest fellows and many rogues who do. We must stand by
the words passed to old comrades."
There was a brief consultation on the judges' bench, and the bishop
gave it as his opinion that the two men were utterly ignorant on
religious questions, and simply believed what they were told to
believe. He himself, in pursuance of the duties of his sacred office,
would expound the true faith to them, and show them the heresies of
their own lightly-held belief. Whereupon his lordship addressed the
prisoners for the better part of an hour in very dignified Spanish and
scholarly Latin. The two paid earnest attention, for the
ecclesiastic's tone was kindly, almost fatherly. They understood
little of what he said, and Basil was not allowed to interpret, as the
bishop believed that his own voice and words would have greater weight,
and it was acknowledged that the Englishmen had a fair knowledge of
Spanish.
As the good man sipped a cup of wine and fanned himself after his
episcopal exhortation, Basil briefly questioned the prisoners again.
The bishop had shown them their errors in matters of faith; were they
prepared to recant, and re-enter the fold from which they had
ignorantly strayed?
These questions were plain enough, and the brothers looked at one
another once more. Both heads shook. Nick spoke out. "We are not
able," he said, "to judge between Pope and Parliament, or between one
bishop and another. Our faith and our country are one; our home and
our Church are one. We are loyal Englishmen, and will stick to Queen,
Parliament, and friends because we love them and believe in them and
know that they will never betray or desert us. We hold the faith of
our friends, and cannot, without dishonour, turn and accept the faith
of our foes."
The bishop was angry at this sturdy answer. His vanity was piqued that
two rude sailors should be so uninfluenced by his learned discourse.
He ordered Basil to tell them what the inevitable consequences of their
obstinacy would be.
The two brothers listened calmly enough. "Will you recant now?"
"Is it 'No,' brother Ned?"
"It is 'No!'"
"No!" said Nick; "and God help us both!"
Then sentence was pronounced. It was that the next evening, an hour
before sundown, the two should be led to a stake fixed in the
market-place of the town and there publicly burnt, in the hope that the
destruction of their bodies by fire might save their souls from the
everlasting flames of hell. The bishop spoke the sentence, and Basil
translated it piece by piece. The toil-worn figures in the prisoners'
dock became more fixed and rigid as the dread words fell, one by one.
All was said. The brothers faced one another, and there was deathly
pallor whitening the tan of their cheeks. They shook hands silently,
then kissed; then hand in hand, like two children, they walked away
between the guards, and the most curious onlooker never saw even the
tremor of an eyelid.
That night earnest priests, zealous enough according to the narrow
ideas of the time, place, creed, and race, visited the doomed men and
exhorted them to forsake their errors. Always they got the same
simple, faithful, patriotic reply. They served their Queen, their
country, their captain. What these believed, they believed, and held
to be right. Faith with them was a matter of national obligation and
faithfulness to their leaders and comrades. To deny the faith was to
deny the principles that had ruled their lives. Such treason to
country and conscience was impossible. They thanked the priests for
their ministrations, and begged after a while to be left alone. A
request that they might speak with Morgan or Jeffreys was refused, but
a young monk promised to take a message of affectionate farewell. He
fulfilled the promise, and the simple, childlike, yet valiant words
cheered many a terrible hour in the months that followed.
Nicodemus Johnson, and Edward his brother, died at the stake in Panama
at the time and on the spot appointed. A curious and silent crowd
watched the agonizing passing away of the two brave, simple-hearted
fellows; and, Spaniard and Indian alike, they went away profoundly
impressed. A brighter lustre was added to the name "Englishman." It
is difficult to say whether the noble fellows were martyrs most to
religion or country. So little versed were they in religious practices
that they hardly knew a prayer for use in their last hours, and their
last thoughts and visions were not of heaven, but of the green fields
and blue waters of England.
The stakes were placed side by side, and, as the hands and arms were
left free, the brothers could touch one another.
When the fagots were lighted, and the stifling smoke rolled up into
their faces. Nick stretched out his hand and sought that of his
younger brother. "God bless us, brother, and forgive us whatever we
have done amiss!" he cried.
"God bless England and give her victory over her enemies," replied Ned.
And hand in hand--the loving, tortured grip heartening them to endure
the awful agony--the brothers died.
"_Dulce et decorum est pro patriâ--et fide--mori!_"