Ernst and A'Dale were led through many passages, in which the air was
close and heavy, and their nostrils were assailed with many foul odours.
At length the jailer unlocked a door at the end of a long passage, and,
pointing to the inside of the room, told them they might walk in. With
sinking hearts they entered, and the man, without more ado, turned the
lock upon them.
The room was almost destitute of furniture, and dirty in the extreme,
evidently not having been cleaned out since its last occupant was
dismissed. In one corner was a truckle bed, covered with a cloth and a
pile of loose straw. There was a rickety table of rough boards, with
three legs, and a couple of stools of the same character. The window
was long and narrow, with bars across it; though a moderately stout man
could not have squeezed through, even had the bars been wanting. It was
only by standing on one of the stools they could look out of the window,
whence, as the warden had told them, they could see the muddy waters of
the Fleet flowing by, with Fleet Street beyond, winding its way to
Temple Bar.
"This is a scurvy place to put us in," observed A'Dale, "we who are
innocent of any crime."
"Better men have been placed in a worse situation," answered Ernst. "In
my country hundreds, nay thousands, of persons, for no crime but that of
worshipping God according to their consciences, have been not only
committed to prison and tortured, but burned, and otherwise put to
death."
"Surely the people of England would never submit to such tyranny as
that!" exclaimed A'Dale.
"I know not," observed Ernst; "may be they will have no choice. Had
there been more men of true heart among them, they would have rescued
that sweet Lady Jane Grey and her young and handsome husband. When I
found that the Queen had the heart to allow them to be put to death, I
felt sure that she would not hesitate to destroy all who might oppose
her will."
"I hope we may escape from her power," observed A'Dale. "Who was the
gallant gentleman who spoke to you? Do you think he can help us?"
Ernst told his friend. "I know little of him," he added; "but he seems
to be a man of influence, and kindly disposed towards me."
The warden fulfilled his promise to the lads, though not exactly as they
desired. A mattress was brought them, and a coarse and not over-clean
covering; food also on a trencher, and a mug of ale was sent in, but the
food was badly cooked, and the ale was none of the best. There was,
however, a sufficiency to satisfy hunger and thirst; and they hoped for
little more than that. They had been on foot all day. They were glad,
when it grew dark, to throw themselves on their rough bed, and there in
a short time they forgot their anxiety in sleep. The next day they
waited anxiously for news from Sir John De Leigh, but none came. Ernst
hoped also that some messenger might arrive from Lady Anne, trusting
that Sir John had fulfilled his promise by informing her what had
happened to them. They were doomed, however, to be disappointed.
Towards evening, Master Babbington, the sub-warden, failed not to make
his appearance.
"You remember my remark of yesterday evening, my young masters," he
observed. "I have to demand a further payment, or I must place another
person in this chamber instead of you, and remove you to one below,
which may not be so pleasant."
"We are willing to pay yet further, Master Warden," answered Ernst; "but
I would beg you also to give us more liberty. We neither desire nor
have the power of quitting the prison, having reason to believe that our
friends will intercede in our behalf; but to be shut up all day in this
room is far from pleasant; and we will pass our words not to escape for
the next week, should we be confined as long."
The warden laughed grimly. "That were a pretty way of looking after
prisoners," he observed. "However, on payment of another mark each, you
may perchance obtain the liberty of taking the air, on passing your word
that you will make no attempt to leave the prison."
The money and the promise were at once given, and the boys were told
that at certain hours of the day they would have liberty to take the air
in the courtyard below.
The very thought of this gave the boys considerable satisfaction. They
did not sleep soundly that night, and both were awoke, it might have
been about midnight, by hearing groans, as of a person in pain,
proceeding apparently from the chamber below them. They listened
attentively, and now they heard a human voice; it seemed lifted up in
prayer. Getting out of bed, and putting their ears to the floor, they
could distinguish the very words. Fervent and earnest was the prayer.
It was addressed neither to the Virgin nor to saints, but to One always
ready to hear prayer--to One who "so loved the world that He gave His
only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish,
but have everlasting life." The voice was deep-toned and earnest.
Sometimes it trembled like that of a man advanced in life, or suffering
from great bodily sickness. The boys felt almost that they had no right
to listen to words which were spoken to God alone. Still they felt
their own spirits revive, and their courage strengthened. The speaker
seemed to think that the hour of his death was fast approaching, that he
might have to stand before a tribunal of his fellow-men, and he prayed
that strength might be given him to make a good confession, to hold fast
to the faith. At length the prayer ceased, and once more the boys lay
down in their beds, and were soon again asleep.
The following day, at the hour of noon, the door of their ward opened,
and the red nose of Master Babbington appeared at it.
"You may go forth, young masters," he observed; "but remember you are
watched, and if you are seen spying about, instead of the leniency you
have hitherto experienced, you will be treated with no small amount of
rigour." Saying this, the warden went on his way to visit other
prisoners.
The boys, glad to find themselves in the enjoyment of even such limited
liberty as was given them, hastened from the room and found their way
into the courtyard. There were several other persons brought into the
prison, for slight offences probably. Most of them were engaged in
various games, some of ball or tennis, while others were content to walk
up and down, to stretch their legs and to inhale such air, close and
impure as it was, as they were allowed to breathe.
As Ernst and A'Dale were on their way back to their chamber, the hour of
their liberty having expired, they met a venerable personage,
accompanied by a guard, proceeding along the passage. He stopped and
gazed at them with an air of commiseration, and inquired for what cause,
they, so young and innocent-looking, had been committed to prison.
"On a false accusation, sir," answered Ernst; and in a few words he
explained what had happened to them.
"There are many who are brought here on false accusations," observed the
venerable-looking stranger. "However, you are young, and may, I hope,
bear your imprisonment with less suffering than I do. Better far that
you should be brought here innocent than guilty; and yet, my young
friends, let me ask you--How do you stand before God, innocent or
guilty?"
"Very guilty, I am afraid, sir," answered Ernst, looking up.
"If you are judged by your own merits, yes," answered the stranger; "but
if by faith you have put on Christ's righteousness, you stand free and
guiltless in the sight of the Judge of all things."
"Oh yes, sir! yes!" answered Ernst; "I know that the just shall live by
faith."
"Well answered, my boy," replied the stranger. "Trust not to works, not
to ordinances, not to forms, not to creeds, but simply to the
all-sufficient merit of Christ. You must take Him as your own Saviour,
as He offers salvation, and rely on Him, and Him alone through faith.
It is an important truth; and happy are you that you have been brought
into this prison if you accept it."
"Come, move on, move on!" exclaimed a rough voice. "We cannot let you
teach your heresy to these boys, albeit the fire will probably purge you
and them of it ere long."
Ernst, looking round, saw the burly form of Master Babbington, the
warden of the prison, approaching.
He and A'Dale, respectfully wishing the old man farewell, hurried on,
that they might avoid an encounter with the jailer. The stranger was no
other than the venerable John Hooper, late Bishop of Worcester and
Gloucester. Ernst afterwards learned much about him from one who wrote
the lives of many martyrs of the true faith. It was his prayer which
they had heard on the second night of their coming to the prison. The
room in which he was lodged was foul and damp; and there he was kept for
many months suffering from disease, till he was finally led forth and
carried to Gloucester, where he was cruelly put to death by fire,
holding to the true faith to the last moment of his life.
Ernst and A'Dale, in consequence of their speaking to the good bishop,
were deprived of their liberty; but it mattered little, for in two days
officers arrived at the prison to carry up numerous persons to be
examined before the Bishop of Winchester. Among others, Ernst and
A'Dale were summoned. They went willingly, thinking that they could
surely with ease free themselves.
Many of the prisoners as they were led forth looked sick and pale, as if
they had been kept in unwholesome wards, with scanty food. Some were
weeping, not knowing what might be the result of their trial. It was
rumoured, not without reason, that the Queen proposed to crush out the
Reformed religion with fire and sword; and they remembered that in King
Henry's time, that sweet young lady--Anne Askew--had been burned at
Smithfield; and it was evident that Queen Mary had much of the nature of
her father. The prisoners were led over London Bridge to the Church of
Saint Mary Overy--the very place in which the priest declared that Ernst
had been seen with other rioters attacking the altar.
The Bishop of Winchester and other bishops, among whom was Bonner,
Bishop of London, were seated in great state, when the prisoners were
brought up before them. A few were faint-hearted, and when asked their
opinions on the supremacy of the Pope, on transubstantiation and other
points, declared themselves believers in the doctrine of Rome. Others,
however, boldly denied that the Pope had any authority in this realm of
England, while they as bravely asserted the Protestant doctrine for
which they had been cast into prison. Many of them, of all ranks, some
poor and illiterate, did in no wise shrink from the abuse heaped on them
by Gardiner and Bonner especially.
And now the priest who had accused Ernst and A'Dale appeared in court.
He fixed his eyes sternly on them, as if he would frighten them into
submission, and pointing at them a finger of scorn, declared that they
were among the worst of those present, having committed sacrilege and
robbery, as he could clearly show. In vain the boys looked round for
any one to plead their cause.
"Off with them to prison!" shouted Gardiner; "they are fit food for the
flames, which ere long they must be given to feed."
The rest of the accused were sent back to their prison, King Philip
being still in the country, and the Queen not being, as yet, willing to
commence the burning of her loving subjects. It was not till she was
left alone, deserted by her husband, that she gave full way to the
spirit of bigotry which dwelt in her heart.
"As for these lads," exclaimed the bishop, "let them be put in the
foulest dungeon in the Fleet, and that, I wot, is bad enough! In a few
days they will have the means of drying their clothes and limbs too, if
I mistake not."
The hearts of the two boys, which had hitherto held up bravely, now sunk
very low; but just at that moment, as Ernst cast one more imploring
glance round the court, a gentleman in a rich suit entered, and at once
going up to the lads, led them before Gardiner, the Chancellor. He
exchanged a few words with him, and seemed, by his gestures and the
expression of his countenance, to be pleading hard in their favour.
"Well, well, Sir John, you must have your way," answered the Bishop.
"If I mistake not, they will very soon be again within the power of the
court; and another time, remember, they will not escape so easily." The
priest, seeing that his victims were about to escape him, addressed the
Chancellor, but was quickly silenced; and Sir John De Leigh, in triumph,
led the boys out of the building. The priest scowled fiercely at them
as they passed.
"I know that Father Overton--he will try to work you mischief," observed
Sir John; "but you must keep out of his way. These vultures, when once
they fix their talons on their prey, like not to have it torn away from
them, and will follow it eagerly, in the hopes of regaining it."
Ernst and A'Dale found a horse in readiness, held by a groom, on which
Sir John told them to mount; and together they rode back over London
Bridge, between the row of houses which rose up above them on either
side.
On their arrival at the house in Lombard Street, the Lady Anne hurried
downstairs, cordially welcoming Ernst, while little Richard followed,
and threw his arms round his neck in his joy at his recovery.
"I cannot thank you enough, Sir John, for all you have done for us," she
said, as the knight saluted her. "My husband desires to see you, and to
thank you also. Our young friend here must also come up, though, as he
is older than Ernst, we cannot help being angry with him, believing that
he may have led his companion into mischief."
"No, no, I led him!" exclaimed Ernst, quickly and boldly. "I am ready
to suffer punishment, but blame not him, for I deserve it more than he
does."
"We will not talk of punishment," said Sir John, smiling. "Most people
would think that you had had enough, with a week's sojourn in the Fleet
Prison. I hope that you may never again in the course of your lives see
the inside of it. It is difficult in the present time for even honest
men to keep outside, if there are any who have a desire to put them in."
These words were spoken as they were proceeding upstairs. Lady Anne
opened the door of the usual sitting-room, and there, reclining in a
chair, suffering apparently somewhat from sickness, they beheld Master
Gresham himself. He rose to welcome Sir John, and to thank him for the
favour which he had done him. It was no less, indeed, than having
procured his acquittal from the charges which Lord Winchester and others
had brought against him. Not only this, but the Queen's Council,
finding their affairs in the Netherlands greatly disordered, and it
being necessary to raise further loans, had looked about for a fit
person to fill the post of Royal agent, and none was found in whom all
could confide so completely as in Master Gresham. Instead, therefore,
of being committed to the Fleet, and perchance left to die there of
disease, he had received this honourable appointment, the notice of
which had only just before been sent him by Sir John De Leigh.
Master Gresham received Ernst very kindly, but admonished him to be
careful in future, and on no account to allow himself to be led away by
his feelings, or to mingle in any popular disturbance. "Patience and
forbearance will, in the end, gain more than haste and violence," he
observed. "It is seldom that a short road can be found to any great
object--at least, if that object is to be secured permanently. I do not
say that there are not times and seasons when men must fight for objects
they hold dear, but in most cases those objects are most likely to be
secured with the sword sheathed--by perseverance and firm language."
Ernst expected to be sent back to Saint Paul's School, to which A'Dale
had to return; but, by the advice of Sir John De Leigh, Master Gresham
agreed to take him back to Antwerp.
"He will be no longer recognised there," observed the knight; "but that
priest, whom I know well, and who has accused him, will not rest till he
has again got him into trouble. Why he has thus marked him down I know
not, but that he has done so I am certain. Till you commence your
journey, I would advise that he remains in the house, or only goes forth
under your charge, and no one will now dare molest you. Had they not
required your services, I fear that my influence would have availed
little; but, being fully aware of your value, they are too wise to cut
down the tree from which they hope to pluck golden fruit. Now,
farewell, my friend; I must hie me back to court, there to attend on my
loving sovereign." The knight spoke in a somewhat satirical tone.
"Remember, my good friend, that there are some persons from whom
faithful service obtains but a scant recompense," observed Master
Gresham. "As a tree, too, is known by its fruit, surely, judging by its
produce, the Church of Rome must be of a very bitter nature, and not
such as a man like you would desire to support."
"I was brought up a faithful son of the Church of Rome; and as that
appears to have the upper hand at present, I see no reason why I should
quit it," answered the knight; "and if I did so, I should have little
chance of helping myself, much less my friends; so you, at all events,
should not advise me to take any such step."
Master Gresham sighed.
"Such principles as these will soon bring ruin on our country," he said
to himself; for he could not utter such thoughts aloud. The knight
seemed to divine them, however.
"It is well that all people do not think as Bishops Gardiner and Bonner,
or, forsooth, as the Queen's majesty herself, or perchance there might
be as many burnings and hangings in fair England as there have been in
the Netherlands. We cannot stop the tide altogether, but we can help to
quell its fury. However, farewell, honest friend; I am glad to have
done thee a service."
Saying this, the knight took a cordial farewell of Master Gresham and of
Lady Anne, giving Ernst a kind shake of the hand.