The next day was like a cried fair in St. Andrews. All the country from
ayont Cupar, and many reformed and godly persons even from Dundee and
Perth, were gathered into the city to hear the trial of Master Walter
Mill. The streets were filled with horses and men with whips in their
hands and spurs at their heels, and there was a great going to and fro
among the multitude; but, saving in its numbers, the congregation of the
people was in no other complexion either like a fair or a tryst. Every
visage was darkened with doure thoughts; none spoke cheerfully aloud;
but there was whispering and muttering, and ever and anon the auld men
were seen wagging their heads in sorrow, while the young cried often
"Shame! shame!" and with vehement gestures clave the air with their
right hands, grasping their whips and staffs with the vigour of
indignation.
At last the big bell of the cathedral began to jow, at the doleful sound
of which there was, for the space of two or three minutes, a silence and
pause in the multitude as if they had been struck with panic and
consternation, for till then there was a hope among them that the
persecutors would relent; but the din of the bell was as the signal of
death and despair, and the people were soon awakened from their
astonishment by the cry that "the bishops are coming," whereat there
was a great rush towards the gates of the church, which was presently
filled, leaving only a passage up the middle aisle.
In the quire a table was spread with a purple velvet cloth, and at the
upper end, before the high place of the mass, was a stool of state for
the Archbishop; on each side stood chairs for the Bishops of Murray,
Brechin and Caithness and his other suffragans, summoned to sit in
judgment with him.
My grandfather, armed and wearing the Archbishop's livery, was with
those that guarded the way for the cruel prelates, and by the pressure
of the throng in convoying them into their place, he was driven within
the screen of the quire, and saw and heard all that passed.
When they had taken their seats, Master Mill was brought before them
from the prior's chamber, whither he had been secretly conducted early
in the morning, to the end that his great age might not be seen of the
people to work on their compassion. But, notwithstanding the forethought
of this device, when he came in, his white hair and his saintly look and
his feeble, tottering steps softened every heart. Even the very legate
of Antichrist, the Archbishop himself, my grandfather said, was
evidently moved, and for a season looked at the poor infirm old man as
he would have spared him, and a murmur of universal commiseration ran
through the church.
On being taken to the bottom of the table and placed fornent the
Archbishop, Master Mill knelt down and prayed for support in a voice so
firm and clear and eloquent that all present were surprised, for it rung
to the farthest corner of that great edifice, and smote the hearts of
his oppressors as with the dread of a menacing oracle.
Sir Andrew Oliphant, who acted as clerk and chancellor on the occasion,
began to fret as he heard him thus strengthened of the Lord, and cried
peevishly,--
"Sir Walter Mill, get up and answer, for you keep my lords here too
long."
He, however, heeded not this command, but continued undisturbed till he
had finished his devotion, when he rose and said,--
"I am bound to obey God more than man, and I serve a mightier Lord than
yours. You call me Sir Walter, but I am only Walter. Too long was I one
of the Pope's knights; but now say what you have to say."
Oliphant was somewhat cowed by this bold reply, and he bowed down, and
turning over his papers, read a portion of one of them to himself, and
then raising his head, said,--
"What thinkest thou of priests' marriage?"
The old man looked bravely towards the bishops, and answered with an
intrepid voice,--
"I esteem marriage a blessed bond, ordained by God, approved by Christ,
and made free to all sorts of men; but you abhor it, and in the meantime
take other men's wives and daughters; you vow chastity, and keep it
not."
My grandfather at these words looked unawares towards the Archbishop,
thinking of what he had seen in the lodging of Mistress Kilspinnie, and
their eyes chancing to meet, his Grace turned his head suddenly away as
if he had been rebuked.
Divers other questions were then put by Oliphant touching the
sacraments, the idolatry of the mass, and transubstantiation, with other
points concerning bishops and pilgrimages, and the worshipping of God in
unconsecrated places, to all which Master Mill answered in so brave a
manner, contrary to the papists, that even Oliphant himself often looked
reproved and confounded. At last the choler of that sharp weapon of
persecution began to rise, and he said to him sternly,--
"If you will not recant I will pronounce sentence against you."
"I know," replied Master Mill, with an apostolic constancy and
fortitude, "I know that I must die once, and therefore, as Christ said
to Judas, What thou doest do quickly. You shall know that I will not
recant the truth, for I am corn and not chaff. I will neither be blown
away by the wind nor burst with the flail, but will abide both."
At these brave words a sough of admiration sounded through the church,
but, instead of deterring the prelates from proceeding with their wicked
purpose, it only served to harden their hearts and to rouse their anger,
for when they had conferred a few minutes apart, Oliphant was ordered to
condemn him to the fire, and to deliver him over to the temporal
magistrates to see execution done.
No sooner was the sentence known, than a cry like a howl of wrath rose
from all the people, and the provost of the town, who was present with
the bailies, hastily quitted the church and fled, abhorring the task,
and fearful it would be put upon him to see it done, he being also
bailie of the Archbishop's regalities.
When the sentence was pronounced, the session of the court was
adjourned, and the bishops, as they were guarded back to the castle,
heard many a malison from the multitude who were ravenous against them.
The aged martyr being led back to the prior's chamber, was, under cloud
of night, taken to the castle; but my grandfather saw no more of him,
nor of Master Meldrum, the seneschal; for there was a great fear among
the bishops' men that the multitude would rise and attempt a rescue; and
my grandfather, not being inclined to go so far with his disguise as to
fight against that cause, took occasion, in the dusk of the evening, to
slip out of the castle, and to hide himself in the town, being resolved,
after what he had witnessed, no longer to abide, even as a spy, in a
service which his soul loathed.
All the night long there was a great commotion in the streets, and
lights in many houses, and a sound of lamentation mingled with rage. The
noise was as if some dreadful work was going on. There was no shouting,
nor any sound of men united together, but a deep and hoarse murmur rose
at times from the people, like the sound of the bandless waves of the
sea when they are driven by the strong impulses of the tempest. The
spirit of the times was indeed upon them, and it was manifest to my
grandfather that there wanted that night but the voice of a captain to
bid them hurl their wrath and vengeance against the towers and
strongholds of the oppressors.
At the dawn of day the garrison of the castle came forth, and, on the
spot where the martyrdom of Mr George Wishart had been accomplished, a
stake was driven into the ground, and faggots and barrels of tar were
placed around it, piled up almost as high as a man; in the middle, next
to the stake, a place was left for the sufferer.
But when all things were prepared, no rope could be had--no one in all
the town would give or sell a cord to help that sacrifice of iniquity,
nor would any of the magistrates come forth to see the execution done,
so it was thought for a time that the hungry cruelty of the persecutors
would be disappointed of its banquet. One Somerville, however, who was
officer of the Archbishop's guard, bethought himself, in this extremity,
of the ropes wherewith his master's pavilion was fastened, and he went
and took the same; and then his men brought forth the aged martyr, at
the sight of whom the multitude set up a dreadful imprecation, the roar
and growling groan of which was as if a thousand furious tigresses had
been robbed of their young. Many of Somerville's halberdiers looked
cowed, and their faces were aghast with terror; and some cried,
compassionately, as they saw the blessed old man brought, with his hands
tied behind him, to the stake, "Recant, recant!"
The monks and friars of the different monasteries, who were all there
assembled around, took up the word, and bitterly taunting him, cried
likewise, "Recant, recant and save thyself!" He, however, replied to
them with an awful austerity,--
"I marvel at your rage, ye hypocrites, who do so cruelly pursue the
servants of God. As for me, I am now fourscore and two years old, and by
course of nature cannot live long; but hundreds shall rise out of my
ashes who shall scatter you, ye persecutors of God's people."
Sir Andrew Oliphant, who was that day the busiest high priest of the
horrible sacrifice, at these words pushed him forward into the midst of
the faggots and fuel around the stake. But, nothing moved by this
remorseless indignity, the martyr looked for a moment at the pile with a
countenance full of cheerful resignation, and then requested permission
to say a few words to the people.
"You have spoken too much," cried Oliphant, "and the bishops are
exceedingly displeased with what you have said."
But the multitude exclaimed, "Let him be heard! let him speak what he
pleases! Speak, and heed not Oliphant." At which he looked towards them
and said,--
"Dear friends, the cause why I suffer this day is not for any crime laid
to my charge, though I acknowledge myself a miserable sinner, but only
for the defence of the truths of Jesus Christ, as set forth in the Old
and New Testaments."
He then began to pray, and while his eyes were shut, two of Somerville's
men threw a cord with a running loop round his body, and bound him to
the stake. The fire was then kindled, and at the sight of the smoke the
multitude uttered a shriek of anguish, and many ran away, unable to bear
any longer the sight of that woful tragedy. Among others, my grandfather
also ran, nor halted till he was come to a place under the rocks on the
south side of the town, where he could see nothing before him but the
lonely desert of the calm and soundless ocean.