Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
* * * * *
[Illustration: coverpage]
[Illustration: titlepage]
For Faith and Freedom
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
[Illustration: '_Every morning Sir Christopher sat in his Justice's
chair, under the helmets and coats of armour._']
For Faith and Freedom
BY
WALTER BESANT
AUTHOR OF 'DOROTHY FORSTER' 'CHILDREN OF GIBEON'
'ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN' ETC.
[Illustration: publisher's mark]
A NEW EDITION
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. FORESTIER AND F. WADDY
LONDON
CHATTO & WINDUS
1903
_The Illustrations to this Story are reproduced by kind permission
of the Proprietors of 'The Illustrated London News'_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FAREWELL SUNDAY 1
II. IN THE VILLAGE 13
III. THE BOYS 18
IV. SIR CHRISTOPHER 23
V. THE RUNAWAY 27
VI. BENJAMIN, LORD CHANCELLOR 32
VII. MEDICINÆ DOCTOR 40
VIII. A ROYAL PROGRESS 47
IX. WITH THE ELDERS 54
X. LE ROY EST MORT 60
XI. BEFORE THE STORM 66
XII. HUMPHREY 72
XIII. ONE DAY 78
XIV. THE VISION OF THE BASKET 85
XV. A NIGHT AND MORNING 91
XVI. ON THE MARCH 104
XVII. TAUNTON 112
XVIII. THE MAIDS OF TAUNTON 117
XIX. KING MONMOUTH AND HIS CAMP 121
XX. BENJAMIN'S WARNING 130
XXI. WE WAIT FOR THE END 134
XXII. THE DAY AFTER THE FIGHT 142
XXIII. IN HIDING 149
XXIV. THE CAMP IN THE COMB 154
XXV. ILMINSTER CLINK 167
XXVI. SIR CHRISTOPHER 174
XXVII. BEFORE THE ASSIZE 180
XXVIII. BENJAMIN 186
XXIX. ON WHAT CONDITIONS? 192
XXX. A SLIGHT THING AT THE BEST 198
XXXI. THE VISION OF CONSOLATION 208
XXXII. THE MAN OF SAMARIA 214
XXXIII. ON BOARD THE 'JOLLY THATCHER' 221
XXXIV. THE GOOD SAMARITAN 228
XXXV. THE WHITE SLAVE 235
XXXVI. THE FIRST DAY OF SERVITUDE 242
XXXVII. BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON 248
XXXVIII. HUMPHREY'S NARRATIVE 255
XXXIX. FOR TEN YEARS 261
XL. WITH THE HOE 269
XLI. ON CONDITIONS 274
XLII. ALICE 283
XLIII. BARNABY HEARS THE NEWS 286
XLIV. A SCARE 291
XLV. BARNABY THE AVENGER 295
XLVI. A PERILOUS VOYAGE 299
XLVII. TORTUGA 310
XLVIII. THE ISLAND OF PROVIDENCE 313
XLIX. HOME 317
L. THE GREAT LORD CHANCELLOR 321
LI. THE CONFESSION 325
CHAPTER THE LAST 332
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
'Every morning Sir Christopher sat in his Justice's
chair, under the helmets and coats of armour' _Frontispiece_
'He was seized with a mighty wrath, and, catching his son
sharply by the ear, led him out of the throng' _To face p._ 30
'Fair White Rose of Somerset, let me be assured by a kiss
from your sweet lips' " " 52
'We played together, he on the violoncello, I upon the
spinnet' " " 56
'And Robin was come home again, and I was lying in his
arms, and he was kissing me' " " 68
'Her schoolgirls were engaged in working and embroidering
flags for the Duke's army' " " 110
'"Boys," I said, "beware; if you go up higher you will certainly
meet wild men"' " " 164
'I was standing at the wicket waiting for my basket to be
taken in' " " 182
'As I passed through the crowd, one caught me by the
arm' " " 212
'When I came to my senses the Captain gave me a glass of
cordial' " " 228
'This I did, and so stood before them all
bareheaded' " " 236
'Barnaby holding the pistol to the poor wretch's head, so
that he should not bellow and call for
assistance' " " 313
FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM
CHAPTER I.
FAREWELL SUNDAY.
The morning of Sunday, August 23, in the year of grace 1662, should
have been black and gloomy with the artillery of rolling thunder,
dreadful flashes of lightning, and driving hail and wind to strip
the orchards and lay low the corn. For on that day was done a thing
which filled the whole country with grief, and bore bitter fruit
in after years, of revenge and rebellion. And, because it was the
day before that formerly named after Bartholomew, the disciple,
it hath been called the Black Bartholomew of England, thus being
likened unto that famous day (approved by the Pope) when the French
Protestants were treacherously massacred by their King. It should
rather be called 'Farewell Sunday' or 'Exile Sunday,' for on that
day two thousand godly ministers preached their last sermon in the
churches where they had laboured worthily and with good fruit, some
during the time of the Protector, and some even longer, because
among them were a few who possessed their benefices even from the
time of the late King Charles the First. And, since on that day two
thousand ministers left their churches and their houses, and laid
down their worldly wealth for conscience' sake, there were also,
perhaps, as many wives who went with them, and, I dare say, three
or four times as many innocent and helpless babes. And, further (it
is said that the time was fixed by design and deliberate malice of
our enemies), the ministers were called upon to make their choice
only a week or two before the day of the collection of their tithes.
In other words, they were sent forth to the world at the season
when their purses were at the leanest; indeed, with most country
clergymen, their purses shortly before the collection of tithes have
become well-nigh empty. It was also unjust that their successors
should be permitted to collect the tithes due to those who were
ejected.
It is fitting to begin this history with the Black Bartholomew,
because all the troubles and adventures which afterwards befell us
were surely caused by that accursed day. One know not certainly,
what other rubs might have been ordained for us by a wise Providence
(always with the merciful design of keeping before our eyes
the vanity of worldly things, the instability of fortune, the
uncertainty of life, and the wisdom of looking for a hereafter
which shall be lasting, stable, and satisfying to the soul). Still,
it must be confessed, such trials as were appointed unto us were,
in severity and continuance, far beyond those appointed to the
ordinary sort, so that I cannot but feel at times uplifted (I hope
not sinfully) at having been called upon to endure so much. Let me
not, however, be proud. Had it not been for this day, for certain,
our boys would not have been tempted to strike a blow--vain and
useless as it proved--for the Protestant religion and for liberty
of conscience: while perhaps I should now be forbidden to relate
our sufferings, were it not for the glorious Revolution which has
restored toleration, secured the Protestant ascendancy, and driven
into banishment a Prince, concerning whom all honest men pray that
he and his son (if he have, indeed, a son of his own) may never
again have authority over this realm.
This Sunday, I say, should have wept tears of rain over the havoc
which it witnessed; yet it was fine and clear, the sun riding in
splendour, and a warm summer air blowing among the orchards and over
the hills and around the village of Bradford Orcas, in the shire of
Somerset. The wheat (for the season was late) stood gold-coloured
in the fields, ready at last for the reaper; the light breeze bent
down the ears so that they showed like waves over which the passing
clouds make light and shade; the apples in the orchards were red
and yellow, and nearly ripe for the press; in the gardens of the
Manor House, hard by the church, the sunflowers and the hollyhocks
were at their tallest and their best; the yellow roses on the
wall were still in clusters; the sweet-peas hung with tangles of
vine and flower upon their stalks; the bachelors' buttons, the
sweet mignonette, the nasturtium, the gillyflowers and stocks, the
sweet-williams and the pansies, offered their late summer blossoms
to the hot sun among the lavender, thyme, parsley, sage, feverfew,
and vervain of my Lady's garden. Oh! I know how it all looked,
though I was then as yet unborn. How many times have I stood in the
churchyard and watched the same scene at the same sweet season! On a
week-day one hears the thumping and the groaning of the mill below
the church; there are the voices of the men at work--the yo-hoing
of the boys who drive; and the lumbering of the carts. You can even
hear the spinning-wheels at work in the cottages. On Sunday morning
everything is still, save for the warbling of the winged tribe in
the wood, the cooing of the doves in the cote, the clucking of the
hens, the grunting of the pigs, and the droning of the bees. These
things disturb not the meditations of one who is accustomed to them.
At eight o'clock in the morning, the Sexton, an ancient man and
rheumatic, hobbled slowly through the village, key in hand, and
opened the church-door. Then he went into the tower and rang the
first bell. I suppose this bell is designed to hurry housewives with
their morning work, and to admonish the men that they incline their
hearts to a spiritual disposition. This done, the Sexton set open
the doors of the pews, swept out the Squire's and the Rector's in
the chancel, dusted the cushions of the pulpit (the reading-desk
at this time was not used), opened the clasps of the great Bible,
and swept down the aisle: as he had done Sunday after Sunday for
fifty years. When he had thus made the church ready for the day's
service, he went into the vestry, which had only been used since the
establishment of the Commonwealth for the registers of birth, death,
and marriage.
At one side of the vestry stood an ancient, black oak coffer, the
sides curiously graven, and a great rusty key in the lock. The
Sexton turned the key with difficulty, threw open the lid and looked
in.
'Ay,' he said, chuckling, 'the old surplice and the old Book of
Common Prayer. Ye have had a long rest; 'tis time for both to come
out again. When the surplice is out, the book will stay no longer
locked up. These two go in and out together. I mind me, now'----Here
he sat down, and his thoughts wandered for a space; perhaps he
saw himself once more a boy running in the fields, or a young man
courting a maid. Presently he returned to the task before him, and
drew forth an old and yellow roll which he shook out. It was the
surplice which had once been white. 'Here you be,' he said. 'Put you
away for a matter of twelve year and more and you bide your time;
you know you will come back again; you are not in any hurry. Even
the Sexton dies; but you die not, you bide your time. Everything
comes again. The old woman shall give you a taste o' the suds and
the hot iron. Thus we go up and thus we go down.' He put back the
surplice and took out the great Book of Common Prayer--musty and
damp after twelve years' imprisonment. 'Fie!' he said, 'thy leather
is parting from the boards, and thy leaves they do stick together.
Shalt have a pot of paste, and then lie in the sun before thou goest
back to the desk. Whether 'tis Mass or Common Prayer, whether 'tis
Independent or Presbyterian, folk mun still die and be buried--ay,
and married and born--whatever they do say. Parson goes and Preacher
comes; Preacher goes and Parson comes; but Sexton stays'----He
chuckled again, put back the surplice and the book, and locked the
coffer.
Then he slowly went down the church and came out of the porch,
blinking in the sun, and shading his old eyes. He sat down upon the
flat stones of the old cross, and presently nodded his head and
dropped off asleep.
This was a strange indifference in the man. A great and truly
notable thing was to be accomplished that day. But he cared nothing.
Two thousand godly and learned men were to go forth into poverty
for liberty of conscience--this man's own minister was one of them.
He cared nothing. The King was sowing the seed from which should
spring a rod to drive forth his successor from the kingdom. In the
village the common sort were not moved. Nothing concerns the village
folk but the weather and the market prices. As for the good Sexton,
he was very old: he had seen the Church of England displaced by the
Presbyterians and the Presbyterians by the Independents, and now
these were again to be supplanted by the Church of England. He had
been Sexton through all these changes. He heeded them not; why, his
father, Sexton before him, could remember when the Mass was said
in the church, and the Virgin was worshipped, and the folk were
driven like sheep to confession. All the time the people went on
being born, and marrying, and dying. Creed doth not, truly, affect
these things, nor the Sexton's work. Therefore, this old gaffer,
having made sure that the surplice was in the place where it had
lain undisturbed for a dozen years, and remembering that it must be
washed and ironed for the following Sunday, sat down to bask in the
sun, his mind at rest, and dropped off into a gentle sleep.
At ten o'clock the bell-ringers came tramping up the stone steps
from the road, and the Sexton woke up. At ten they used to begin
their chimes, but at the hour they ring for five minutes only,
ending with the clash of all five bells together. At a quarter-past
ten they chime again, for the service, which begins at half-past ten.
At the sound of these chimes the whole village begins to move
slowly towards the church. First come the children, the bigger ones
leading those who are little by the hand; the boys come next, but
unwillingly, because the Sexton is diligent with his cane, and some
of those who now go up the steps to the church will come down with
smarting backs, the reward of those who play or laugh during the
service. Then come the young men, who stand about the churchyard and
whisper to each other. After them follow the elders and the married
men, with the women and the girls. Five minutes before the half hour
the ringers change the chime for a single bell. Then those who are
outside gather in the porch and wait for the Quality.
When the single bell began, there came forth from the Rectory the
Rector himself, Mr. Comfort Eykin, Doctor of Divinity, who was this
day to deliver his soul and lay down his charge. He wore the black
gown and Geneva bands, for the use of which he contended. At this
time he was a young man of thirty--tall and thin. He stooped in the
shoulders because he was continually reading; his face was grave
and austere; his nose thin and aquiline; his eyes bright--never was
any man with brighter eyes than my father; his hair, which he wore
long, was brown and curly; his forehead high, rather than broad; his
lips were firm. In these days, as my mother hath told me, and as I
well believe, he was a man of singular comeliness, concerning which
he cared nothing. Always from childhood upwards he had been grave
in conversation and seriously inclined in mind. If I think of my
father as a boy (no one ever seems to think that his father was once
a boy), I am fain to compare him with Humphrey, save for certain
bodily defects, my father having been like a Priest of the Altar for
bodily perfection. That is to say, I am sure that, like Humphrey,
he had no need of rod or ferule to make him learn his lessons, and,
like that dear and fond friend of my childhood, he would willingly
sit in a corner and read a book while the other boys played and went
a-hunting or a-nesting. And very early in life he was smitten with
the conviction of sin, and blessed with such an inward assurance of
salvation as made him afterwards steadfast in all afflictions.
He was not a native of this country, having been born in New
England. He came over, being then eighteen years of age, to study
at Oxford, that university being purged of malignants (as they
were then called), and, at the time, entirely in the hands of the
godly. He was entered of Balliol College, of which Society he became
a Fellow, and was greatly esteemed for his learning, wherein he
excelled most of the scholars of his time. He knew and could read
Hebrew, Chaldee, and the ancient Syriac, as well as Latin and Greek.
Of modern languages he had acquired Arabic, by the help of which
he read the book which is called the Koran of the False Prophet
Mohammed: French and Italian he also knew and could read easily. As
for his opinions, he was an Independent, and that not meekly or with
hesitation, but with such zeal and vehemence that he considered all
who differed from him as his private enemies--nay, the very enemies
of God. For this reason, and because his personal habits were too
austere for those who attained not to his spiritual height, he was
more feared than loved. Yet his party looked upon him as one of
their greatest and stoutest champions.
He left Oxford at the age of five or six and twenty, and accepted
the living of Bradford Orcas, offered him by Sir Christopher Challis
of that place. Here he had preached for six years, looking forward
to nothing else than to remain there, advancing in grace and wisdom,
until the end of his days. So much was ordered, indeed, for him;
but not quite as he had designed. Let no man say that he knoweth
the future, or that he can shape out his destiny. You shall hear
presently how Benjamin arrogantly resolved that his future should be
what he chose; and what came of that impious resolution.
My father's face was always austere; this morning it was more
serious and sterner than customary, because the day was to him
the most important in his life, and he was about to pass from a
condition of plenty (the Rectory of Bradford Orcas is not rich but
it affords a sufficiency) to one of penury. Those who knew him,
however, had no doubt of the course he was about to take. Even
the rustics knew that their minister would never consent to wear
a surplice or to read the Book of Common Prayer, or to keep holy
days--you have seen how the Sexton opened the box and took out the
surplice; yet my father had said nothing to him concerning his
intentions.
In his hand he carried his Bible--his own copy, I have it still,
the margins covered with notes in his writing--bound in black
leather, worn by constant handling, with brass clasps. Upon his head
he had a plain black silk cap, which he wore constantly in his study
and at meals to keep off draughts. Indeed, I loved to see him with
the silk cap rather than with his tall steeple hat, with neither
ribbon nor ornament of any kind, in which he rode when he afterwards
went about the country to break the law in exhorting and praying
with his friends.
Beside him walked my mother, holding in her hand her boy, my brother
Barnaby, then three years of age. As for me, I was not yet born.
She had been weeping; her eyes were red and swollen with tears; but
when she entered the church she wept no more, bravely listening to
the words which condemned to poverty and hardship herself and her
children, if any more should be born to her. Alas, poor soul! What
had she done that this affliction should befall her? What had her
innocent boy done? For upon her--not upon her husband--would fall
the heavy burden of poverty, and on her children the loss. Yet never
by a single word of complaint did she make her husband sorry that he
had obeyed the voice of conscience, even when there was nothing left
in the house, not so much as the widow's cruse of oil. Alas, poor
mother, once so free from care! what sorrow and anxiety wert thou
destined to endure for the tender conscience of thy husband!
At the same time--namely, at the ringing of the single bell--there
came forth from the Manor House hard by the church, his Honour, Sir
Christopher, with his family. The worthy knight was then about fifty
years of age, tall and handsome still--in his later years there was
something of a heavenly sweetness in his face, created, I doubt
not, by a long life of pious thoughts and worthy deeds. His hair
was streaked with grey, but not yet white; he wore a beard of the
kind called stiletto, which was even then an ancient fashion, and
he was dressed more soberly than is common with gentlemen of his
rank, having no feather in his hat, but a simple ribbon round it,
and though his ruffles were of lace and the kerchief round his neck
was lace, the colour of his coat was plain brown. He leaned upon a
gold-headed cane on account of an old wound (it was inflicted by a
Cavalier's musket-ball when he was a Captain in the army of Lord
Essex). The wound left him somewhat lame, yet not so lame but that
he could very well walk about his fields and could ride his horse,
and even hunt with the otter-hounds. By his side walked Madam, his
wife. After him came his son, Humphrey, newly married, and with
Humphrey his wife; and last came his son-in-law, the Reverend Philip
Boscorel, M.A., late Fellow of All Souls' College, Oxford, also
newly married, with his wife, Sir Christopher's daughter, Patience.
Mr. Boscorel, like my father, was at that time thirty years of age.
Like him, too, his face was comely and his features fine; yet they
lacked the fire and the earnestness which marked my father. And in
his silken cassock, his small white bands, his lace ruffles, and
his dainty walk, it seemed as if Mr. Boscorel thought himself above
the common run of mankind and of superior clay. 'Tis sometimes the
way with scholars and those who survey the world from the eminence
of a library.
Sir Christopher's face was full of concern, because he loved the
young man who was this day to throw away his livelihood; and
although he was ready himself to worship after the manner prescribed
by law, his opinions were rather Independent than Episcopalian. As
for Mr. Boscorel, who was about to succeed to the ejected minister,
his face wore no look of triumph, which would have been ungenerous.
He was observed, indeed, after he had silently gone through the
Service of the day with the help of the Common Prayer-book, to
listen diligently unto the preacher.
The people, I have already said, knew already what was about to
happen. Perhaps some of them (but I think not) possessed a copy
of the old Prayer-book. This, they knew, was to be restored, with
the surplice, and the observance of Holy days, Feasts, and Fasts,
and the kneeling at the administration of the Holy Communion. Our
people are craftsmen as much as they are rustics; every week the
master-clothiers' men drive their packhorses into the village laden
with wool, and return with yarn; they are not, therefore, so brutish
and sluggish as most country folk; yet they made no outward show
of caring whether Prelacy or Independency was to have the sway.
Perhaps the abstruse doctrines which my father loved to discuss were
too high for them; perhaps his austerity was too strict for them,
so that he was not beloved by them. Perhaps, even, they would have
cared little if they had heard that Bishop Bonner himself was coming
back. Religion, to country folk, means, mostly, the going to church
on Sunday morning. That done, man's service of Prayer and Praise to
his Creator is also done. If the form be changed the church remains,
and the churchyard; one shepherd followeth another, but the flock
is always the same. Revolutions overthrow kings, and send great
heads to the block; but the village heedeth not unless civil war
pass that way. To country folk, what difference? The sky and the
fields are unchanged. Under Queen Mary they are Papists; under Queen
Elizabeth they are Protestants. They have the Prayer-book under King
James and King Charles; under Oliver they have had the Presbyterian
and Independent; now they have the Book of Common Prayer and the
surplice again. Yet they remain the same people, and tell the same
stories, and, so far as I know, believe the same things--viz., that
Christ Jesus saves the soul of every man who truly believes in Him.
Why, if it were not for his immortal soul--concerning which he takes
but little thought--the rustic might be likened unto the patient
beast whom he harnesseth to his plough and to his muck-cart. He
changeth no more; he works as hard; he is as long-enduring; his eyes
and his thoughts are as much bound by the hedge, the lane, and the
field; he thinks and invents and advances no more. Were it not, I
say, for the Church, he would take as little heed of anything as
his ox or his ass; his village would become his country; his squire
would become his king; the nearest village would become the camp of
an enemy; and he would fall into the condition of the Ancient Briton
when Julius Cæsar found every tribe fighting against every other.
I talk as a fool. For sometimes there falls upon the torpid soul
of the rustic a spark which causes a mighty flame to blaze up and
burn fiercely within him. I have read how a simple monk, called
Peter the Hermit, drew thousands of poor, illiterate, credulous
persons from their homes, and led them, a mob armed with scythes
and pikes, across Europe to the deserts of Asia Minor, where they
miserably perished. I have read also of Jack Cade, and how he drew
the multitudes after him, crying aloud for justice or death. And I
myself have seen these sluggish spirits suddenly fired with a spirit
which nothing could subdue. The sleeping soul I have seen suddenly
starting into life; strength and swiftness have I seen suddenly put
into sluggish limbs; light and fire have I seen gleaming suddenly
in dull and heavy eyes. Oh! it was a miracle: but I have seen it.
And having seen it, I cannot despise these lads of the plough, these
honest boys of Somerset, nor can I endure to hear them laughed at or
contemned.
* * * * *
Bradford Orcas, in the Hundred of Horethorne, Somerset, is a village
so far from the great towns, that one would think a minister might
have gone on praying and preaching after his own fashion without
ever being discovered. But the arm of the Law is long.
The nearest town is Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, to which there is
a bridle-path across the fields; it is the market-town for the
villages round it. Bradford Orcas is an obscure little village,
with no history and no antiquities. It stands in the south-eastern
corner of the county, close to the western declivity of the Corton
Hills, which here sweep round so as to form a valley, in which the
village is built along the banks of a stream. The houses are for
the most part of stone, with thatched roofs, as is the custom in
our country; the slopes of the hills are covered with trees, and
round the village stand goodly orchards, the cider from which cannot
be surpassed. As for the land, but little of it is arable; the
greater part is a sandy loam or stone brash. The church, which in
the superstitious days was dedicated to St. Nicolas, is built upon a
hillock, a rising ground in the west of the village. This building
of churches upon hillocks is a common custom in our parts, and
seemeth laudable, because a church should stand where it can be seen
by all the people, and by its presence remind them of Death and of
the Judgment. The practice doth obtain, for example, at Sherborne,
where there is a very noble church, and at Huish Episcopi, and at
many other places in our county. Our church is fair and commodious,
not too large for the congregation, having in the west a stone
tower embattled, and consisting of a nave and chancel with a very
fine roof of carved woodwork. There is an ancient yew-tree in the
churchyard, from which in old times bows were cut; some of the bows
yet hang in the great hall of the Manor House. Among the graves is
an ancient stone cross, put up no man knows when, standing in a
six-sided slab of stone, but the top was broken off at the time of
the Reformation; two or three tombs are in the churchyard, and the
rest is covered with mounds, beneath which lie the bones and dust of
former generations.
Close to the churchyard, and at the north-east corner, is the Manor
House, as large as the church itself, but not so ancient. It was
built in the reign of Henry VII. A broad arched gateway leads into
a court, wherein is the entrance to the house. Over the gateway is
a kind of tower, but not detached from the house. In the wall of
the tower is a panel, lozenge-shaped, in which are carved the arms
of the Challis family. The house is stately, with many gables, and
in each are casement windows set in richly-carved stone tracery.
As for the rooms within the house, I will speak of them hereafter.
At present I have the churchyard in my mind. There is no place
upon the earth which more I love. To stand in the long grass among
the graves; to gaze upon the wooded hills beyond, the orchards,
the meadows, the old house, the venerable church, the yew-tree: to
listen to the murmur of the stream below and the singing of the lark
above; to feel the fresh breeze upon my cheek--oh! I do this daily.
It makes me feel young once more; it brings back the days when I
stood here with the boys, and when Sir Christopher would lean over
the wall and discourse with us gravely and sweetly upon the love of
God and the fleeting joys of earth (which yet, he said, we should
accept and be happy withal in thankfulness), and the happiness
unspeakable that awaiteth the Lord's Saints. Or, if my thoughts
continue in the past, the graveyard brings back the presence and the
voice of Mr. Boscorel.
'In such a spot as this,' he would say, speaking softly and slowly,
'the pastorals of Virgil or Theocritus might have been written. Here
would the shepherds hold their contests. Certainly they could find
no place, even in sunny Sicily or at Mantua itself, where (save for
three months in the year) the air is more delightful. Here they
need not to avoid the burning heat of a sun which gently warms, but
never burns; here they would find the shade of the grove pleasant in
the soft summer season. Innocent lambs instead of kids (which are
tasteless) play in our meadows; the cider which we drink is, I take
it, more pleasing to the palate than was their wine flavoured with
turpentine. And our viols, violins, and spinets are instruments more
delightful than the oaten pipe, or the cithara itself.' Then would
he wave his hand, and quote some poet in praise of a country life--
There is no man but may make his paradise,
And it is nothing but his love and dotage
Upon the world's foul joys that keeps him out on't.
For he that lives retired in mind and spirit
Is still in Paradise.
'But, child,' he would add, with a sigh, 'one may not always wish to
be in Paradise. The world's joys lie elsewhere. Only, when youth is
gone--then Paradise is best.'
The service began, after the manner of the Independents, with a
long prayer, during which the people sat. Mr. Boscorel, as I have
said, went through his own service in silence, the Book of Common
Prayer in his hand. After the prayer, the minister read a portion
of Scripture, which he expounded at length and with great learning.
Then the congregation sang that Psalm which begins--
Triumphing songs with glorious tongues
Let's offer unto Him.
This done, the Rector ascended the pulpit for the last time, gave
out his text, turned his hour-glass, and began his sermon.
He took for his text those verses in St. Paul's second epistle to
the Corinthians, vi., 3-10, in which the Apostle speaks of his own
ministry as if he was actually predicting the tribulation which
was to fall upon these faithful preachers of a later time--'In
much patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in distresses, in
stripes, in imprisonments, in tumults, in labours, in watchings, in
fastings,'--could not the very words be applied to my father?
He read the text three times, so that everybody might fully
understand the subject upon which he was to preach--namely, the
faithfulness required of a minister of the gospel. I need not set
down the arguments he used or the reasons he gave for his resolution
not to conform with the Act of Uniformity. The rustics sat patiently
listening, with no outward sign of assent or of sympathy. But their
conduct afterwards proved abundantly to which side their minds
inclined.
It behoves us all to listen with respect when scholars and wise
men inquire into the reasons of things. Yet the preachings and
expositions which such as my father bestowed upon their flocks did
certainly awaken men's minds to consider by themselves the things
which many think too high for them. It is a habit which may lead to
the foundation of false and pernicious sects. And it certainly is
not good that men should preach the doctrines of the Anabaptists,
the Fifth Monarchy men, or the Quakers. Yet it is better that some
should be deceived than that all should be slaves. I have been
assured by one--I mean Humphrey--who hath travelled, that in those
countries where the priest taketh upon himself the religion of
the people, so that they think to be saved by attending mass, by
fasting, confession, penance, and so forth, not only does religion
itself become formal, mechanical, and inanimate, but in the very
daily concerns and business of life men grow slothful and lack
spirit. Their religion, which is the very heat of the body, the
sustaining and vital force of all man's actions, is cold and dead.
Therefore, all the virtues are cold also, and with them the courage
and the spirit of the people. Thus it is that Italy hath fallen
aside into so many small and divided kingdoms. And for this reason,
Spain, in the opinion of those who know her best, is now falling
rapidly into decay.
I am well assured, by those who can remember, that the intelligence
of the village folk greatly increased during the period when they
were encouraged to search the Scriptures for themselves. Many taught
themselves to read, others had their children taught, in order that
they might read or hear, daily, portions of the Scriptures. It is
now thirty years since Authority resumed the rule; the village
folk have again become, to outward seeming, sheep who obey without
questioning. Yet it is observed that when they are within reach of
a town--that is to say, of a meeting-house--they willingly flock to
the service in the afternoon and evening.
It was with the following brave words that my father concluded his
discourse:--
'Seeing, therefore, my brethren, how clear is the Word of God on
these points; and considering that we must always obey God rather
than man; and observing that here we plainly see the finger of God
pointing to disobedience and its consequences, I am constrained to
disobey. The consequence will be to me that I shall stand in this
place no more: to you, that you will have a stranger in your church.
I pray that he may be a godly person, able to divide the Word,
learned and acceptable.
'As for me, I must go forth, perhaps from among you altogether.
If persecutions arise, it may behove me and mine to seek again
that land beyond the seas whither my fathers fled for the sake of
religious liberty. Whatever happens, I must fain preach the gospel.
It is laid upon me to preach. If I am silent, it will be as if Death
itself had fallen upon me. My brethren, there have been times--and
those times may return--when the Elect have had to meet, secretly,
on the sides of barren hills, and in the heart of the forest, to
pray together and to hear the Word. I say that these times may
return. If they do, you will find me willing, I hope and pray,
to brave for you the worst that our enemies can devise. Perhaps,
however, this tyranny may pass over. Already the Lord hath achieved
one great deliverance for this ancient Realm. Perhaps another may be
in His secret purposes when we have been chastened, as, for our many
sins, we richly deserve. Whether in affliction or in prosperity, let
us always say, "The Lord's name be praised!"
'Now, therefore, for the sand is running low and I may not weary the
young and the impatient, let me conclude. Farewell, sweet Sabbaths!
Farewell, the sweet expounding of the Word! Farewell, sweet pulpit!
Farewell, sweet faces of the souls which I have yearned to present
pure and washed clean before the Throne! My brethren, I go about,
henceforth, as a dog which is muzzled; another man will fill this
pulpit; our simple form of worship is gone; the Prayer-book and
the surplice have come back again. Pray God we see not Confession,
Penance, the Mass, the Inquisition, the enslavement of conscience,
the stake, and the martyr's axe!'
Then he paused and bowed his head, and everybody thought that he had
finished.
He had not. He raised it again, and threw out his arms and shouted
aloud, while his eyes glowed like fire:
'_No!_ I will not be silent. I WILL NOT. I am sent into the world
to preach the gospel. I have no other business. I must proclaim the
Word as I hope for everlasting life. Brethren, we shall meet again.
In the woods and on the hills we shall find a Temple; there are
houses where two or three may be gathered together, the Lord Himself
being in their midst. Never doubt that I am ready, in season and out
of season, whatever be the law, to preach the gospel of the Lord!'
He ended, and straightway descended the pulpit stair, and stalked
out of the church, the people looking after him with awe and wonder.
But Mr. Boscorel smiled and wagged his head, with a kind of pity.