Once again the fires at Smithfield, as well as in other parts of the
country, never long together extinguished, burned up brightly and
frequently.
The people submitted, though with an ill grace.
One day A'Dale came and told me there was to be another great burning.
We had heard that several persons--priests, laymen, and women--were
about to be committed to the flames.
"The people have been murmuring more than ever, and would, I believe, if
led on by bold men, attempt to rescue the prisoners. What say you,
Verner? I am ready to risk my life if there is a prospect of success."
"And I likewise," I answered, after a moment's thought. "Well then,
there is no time to be lost. Get your cloak and sword, and if there is
an opportunity we will not let it pass by."
We hurried on. Large crowds were collecting from all quarters. It is
strange that human beings should desire to see the sufferings of their
fellow-creatures. Many, however, were going, we hoped, like ourselves,
to sympathise with the sufferers, or to afford them assistance. As we
went along, we judged from the words we heard uttered that we should not
lack support.
I have had so often before to describe the scenes at Smithfield, that I
will not do so again.
As we arrived at the place, we found the wide space entirely surrounded
by a dense crowd, while every window and other elevated spot in the
neighbourhood was thronged with people, who might gaze upon what was
going forward. There was the platform with the great officers who had
been directed to superintend the executions, and the pulpit for the
friars who were to preach, and the stakes with chains and piles of
faggots.
We heard it again asserted by other bystanders that two priests were to
be burned, and some said there was a little girl. On hearing this,
A'Dale and I started, and inquired earnestly of the speaker if he knew
that what he said was true.
"Too true, I fear me, young masters," he answered. "These people would
burn infants if they could get no others to burn."
"Are men with hearts in their bosoms, and swords in their hands, to see
such things take place, and not attempt to prevent it?" exclaimed
A'Dale, in a determined voice.
I seconded him; for at once the fearful suspicion came across me that
our little Aveline might be the child spoken of. We were rejoiced to
find that several bystanders echoed our sentiments. The feeling that
something should be done to rescue the prisoners spread through the
crowd. I wondered that such had not been done before: it might have
saved the lives of many innocent men; for those tyrant priests would
never have dared to inflict punishment on their victims if the nation
had boldly risen up against them.
We were at too great a distance from the platform clearly to distinguish
the features of the prisoners; but when the guards opened out a little,
so as to expose them to view, we saw two persons in the dress of
priests, and in a group of women a young girl, whose figure was exactly
that of Aveline. My heart sank as I saw her, and then it seemed to rise
again and throb and boil with indignation. I felt capable of daring and
doing everything to save the dear little girl. Even should it not be
Aveline, I would do much; but I would risk liberty and life, and run
every prospect of suffering the same fate, for the sake of rescuing her.
And now the priests were led up to the platform, where stood a Bishop--
whom we supposed to be Bonner himself--with several other ecclesiastics
round him. These seized the unhappy priests, and tore their robes from
their backs, and then scraped on the crown of their heads and the tips
of their fingers: this being to signify that the oil of anointing was
scraped off. This operation occupied some time. It seemed as if the
Bishop and his vile myrmidons took pleasure in prolonging the torment of
their victims. Fierce words were spoken to the priests in loud tones.
Though we could not hear the words, we knew this by the gestures and by
the occasional sounds which reached our ears.
At length, one by one, the martyrs were led down again from the platform
towards the stakes to which they were to be secured for burning.
Again they were asked if they would recant.
Their reply was a stern refusal to give up what they knew to be the
truth. Having stirred up the people round us, A'Dale and I, knowing
full well the risk we ran, worked our way up still nearer to the
platform, waiting here and there to ascertain the temper of the
multitude. As far as we could judge, they were all in the same mood;
all equally hating Rome and its fearful proceedings. As we got nearer,
we had no longer any doubts as to who were the intended victims. In one
of the priests I recognised my friend Overton; in the other, Friar
Roger, whom I had wrongfully suspected; and there too stood with the
females our little Aveline. She seemed perfectly undismayed. Her eyes
were cast upward, and, so it seemed to me, an angelic smile played over
her countenance. Could those demons in human shape have the heart to
burn so young and innocent a creature? A'Dale and I, seeing this, began
to speak more boldly to the people round us. We asked them if they were
men to submit to such tyranny. Would they wish to see their own
daughters, and wives, and sisters, burn before their eyes?
"You see those innocent people about to be put to a cruel death!"
exclaimed A'Dale; "after burning them, the same men will proceed on to
burn those you love. Strike a brave blow now, and you will make them
quail before you."
The people applauded us, but few seemed disposed to move. They had no
weapons except thick sticks, and the guards were well-armed. Whether
notice of the temper of the crowd reached the ears of the authorities, I
know not, but they seemed eager to hasten on with the executions. A
band of vile ruffians, who for wretched pay would commit any atrocity,
were engaged in surrounding each stake with faggots. In a few minutes
more, fire would be set to the piles.
"There is no time to be lost!" I exclaimed to A'Dale; "we must make the
venture now, or it will avail nothing."
"Men, Englishmen, countrymen, will you allow those innocent ones to
perish before your eyes, and not endeavour to save them?" exclaimed
A'Dale. "On, men, on!" but the crowd stood back.
A few bold spirits joined us in urging on the rest; but unless a general
rush were made, nothing could be done. I felt as if my heart would
burst with indignation and dread--indignation that strong men should see
innocent ones suffer, dread lest our efforts might be unavailing.
A'Dale and I rushed among the crowd, calling on them to come on. Our
actions were perceived, though our words may not have been heard, by
those in authority. Guards were advancing towards us. The magistrates
ordered the executioners to proceed with their work.
Already the victims were chained to the stakes, and the ruffian
assistants hurried forward with faggots. We shouted--we implored the
people to face the guards, and to rescue the prisoners. All our
efforts, we feared, would be in vain. The magistrates shouted to the
executioners to bring forward the torches. Happily they had been
forgotten, and no one was ready with a light. The Bishop and the
priests stormed and raged. At length some ruffians were seen in the
distance, waving torches and hurrying on towards the stakes, where the
victims were thus cruelly kept. But their hearts were lifted up in
prayer, their eyes turned towards heaven. They heeded not what was
taking place around them. The young Aveline knew that there her sainted
mother had yielded up her life, and she was sure that the pathway she
was about to tread would carry her in the same direction.
And now there was a loud cry, and a man on horseback was seen galloping
towards the spot. We could not hear the words spoken, but there seemed
to be great agitation among the magistrates and priests. The crowd
swayed to and fro to let the horseman pass.
"Stay the execution! Stay the execution!" he shouted, seeing that the
men with torches were about to cast them on the piles of faggots. "I
command you in the Queen's name. She will have no more burning in
Smithfield!"
"This is an impostor!" exclaimed the Bishop. "Our good Queen would not
hinder so holy a work."
"What Queen sends you?" asked the magistrate.
"Queen Elizabeth!" cried the herald. "Queen Mary is dead! And by the
command of our new Queen, Sir William Cecil despatched me instantly to
put a stop to these murderous proceedings. Long live Queen Elizabeth!"
The cry was taken up by the crowd, who, rushing forward, dragged away
the faggots from round the prisoners. The magistrates and the priests
fled, the guards dispersed. Those who had charge of the garments of the
prisoners brought them. A'Dale and I rushed forward to assist Aveline,
who threw herself, weeping, upon my shoulder. When the friars' garments
were brought to Overton and Roger Upton--such was his name--they put
them aside.
"No, no; we will never again use those habits of the worst of
slaveries," they answered; and, on hearing this, some kind people in the
crowd brought them cloaks and hats, which they thankfully put on. Of
the other persons who were about to suffer death, I need not make
mention. They all had friends, who joyfully came forward to receive
them. The cruel cords which had bound Aveline's ankles and wrists to
the stake had so hurt her that she could with difficulty walk. A'Dale
and I were about to lead her off, though she was in a sad plight to pass
through the streets, when a female in the crowd stepped forward, and, in
a gentle voice, begged that her servants might be allowed to carry her.
"I have a hand-litter close by; she is not fit to be taken to her home
in any other way."
We were thankful to accept this offer. The lady was, from her
appearance, evidently of rank. Two men who attended her lifted Aveline
up, and carried her off amidst the crowd. Just as they were going, the
body of the guards returned, and seeing Overton and Upton still there,
took them again into custody.
"We have no order for your release," they said; "and it will not do to
let all our prisoners escape us."
"As you will, my masters," said Overton; "we would rather have had our
liberty, but we will not resist your authority."
I heard that they were to be carried to the Fleet, and had just time to
bid them farewell, and hurry after Aveline.
"You are right to be watchful over the young girl," said the lady, when
I overtook them, "as you cannot tell what treachery might be played her.
I came, however, to this terrible place in the hopes of being able to
assist some poor person who might perchance escape the flames. Many of
those I loved on earth have been cut off during the late unhappy reign,
and I have devoted myself to soothe and comfort those who are about to
suffer, or those who might escape death."
The lady now asked me in what direction Aveline desired to go. I told
her to Master Gresham's house in Lombard Street. She seemed well
pleased at hearing this, and hastened onwards. I was in fear, however,
all the way lest those who had taken Overton and his companion into
custody might come in search also of Aveline. On what account they did
not seek her, I could not tell; but thankfully we reached Master
Gresham's house in safety. Lady Anne's joy on seeing Aveline was very
great, for news had been brought her of the fearful fate to which she
had been destined. On seeing the lady, she greeted her with much
respect, appearing to know her, although she did not address her by
name. The lady, after exchanging a few words with Lady Anne, took her
departure.
"She desires not to be known," observed Lady Anne, when I inquired who
she was.
Richard's delight on the recovery of Aveline was very great; he scarcely
liked to let her out of his sight. The young girl had suffered greatly,
and it was necessary to have a physician to attend on her. He ordered
that she should be kept perfectly quiet, and sent some cooling draughts,
by which her nerves might be quieted. Lady Anne wisely forbore
questioning her as to how she had been carried off, or what had
afterwards happened to her.
Next morning, I went to the Fleet, where I was able without difficulty
to gain access to Overton. He told me that he had been seen by some of
Bonner's spies when he entered London, that he had been followed from
place to place, and that the most convenient opportunity of seizing him
had occurred when he was speaking to Aveline. His friend, Roger Upton,
had been seized at the same time, and very speedily condemned to death,
a fate to which Bishop Bonner had also doomed his young niece.
The next day Master Gresham summoned me to attend him to Hatfield, where
he was about to pay his respects to her Majesty. We arrived there early
in the day, when my patron was at once admitted to an audience. He was
very cordially received by Queen Elizabeth, who promised to attend to
his interests. He did not fail also to give her Majesty wise counsel.
Among other things, she promised him that, when he was abroad on her
business, she would not only keep one ear shut to hear him on his
return, but also that should he do her even as much service as he had
done to King Edward and to Queen Mary, she would give him as much land
as they both had done. These two promises greatly inspirited my patron.
Before he took his departure, the Queen desired him to proceed
forthwith to Antwerp, where there was business of importance for him to
perform. As the journey was a hurried one, and he would not be long
absent, he did not on this occasion take me with him.
In the meantime Aveline had recovered from the effects of her cruel
imprisonment, and the great terror of her life into which she had been
put. Through the intervention of Master Gresham, Overton and his
friends were liberated, he liberally offering them an asylum in his
house until they could obtain employment.
Great was the happy change which the nation experienced. It was soon
known that Queen Elizabeth was no friend to the Romish customs.
Directly she came to the throne, she refused to attend mass. This was
on Christmas Day. The Queen had gone to the chapel as usual, and there
she sat while the Gospel was read; but as soon as it was concluded,
having seen a Bishop preparing himself by putting on his robes in the
old form, she and her nobles left the chapel and retired to her privy
chamber. Two days after this, a proclamation was issued, forbidding the
elevation of the host. It was also ordered that the Gospels and
Epistles, the Creed, and Lord's Prayer, the Ten Commandments, and the
Litany should be used in English. Her respect for the Bible, and her
desire to have it spread throughout her realms, was still more clearly
shown on the occasion of her progress from the Tower to Westminster, the
day before her coronation, on the 15th of January, 1559.
I cannot describe the magnificent way in which the City was decorated,
nor the numerous pageants which were prepared to do her honour. From
one, a child--who was intended to represent Truth--let down, by a silk
lace, an English Bible, richly bound, before the Queen. She kissed both
her hands, with both her hands she received it, afterwards applying it
to her breast, and lastly, standing up and thanking the City for its
gifts, promised to be a diligent reader thereof. When any good wishes
were cast forth for her virtuous and religious government, she would
lift up her hands towards heaven, and desired the people to answer
"Amen."
My patron was not long absent. I had been labouring in the shop that
day, and at supper had joined the family, my master, who had been absent
at court, having just returned, when Sir John Leigh came in. The
conversation turned on various matters abroad. News had just been
received that King Philip had actually quitted Flanders and gone to
reside for the future in Spain. The Queen's ministers had therefore
resolved to send an ambassador resident to his court. For this office
Sir Thomas Chaloner, who had hitherto been in Flanders, was appointed.
"And I understand my friend Sir Thomas Gresham is to fill his place at
Brussels in the capacity of an ambassador," observed Sir John Leigh,
bowing to my patron.
"What!" exclaimed Lady Anne. "You are not joking with my husband?"
"No, assuredly," answered Sir John; "this very day he has received the
honour of knighthood, and as I came here I heard of the appointment I
have mentioned."
"Sir John speaks the truth, my dear wife," said my patron, turning to
Lady Anne. "I have received that honour from the Queen's Majesty, but I
wished that another might tell you of it rather than myself. I am ready
to devote my powers to the service of our good Queen, and therefore
gladly accept the office she has put upon me, albeit it may be rather to
my loss than profit."
I will not repeat the congratulations of Lady Anne, or of the guests who
were present. No time was to be lost, as the matter was pressing; and I
was well pleased to find that I was to accompany my patron in the
character rather of a secretary than a page. Truly he had been kind and
generous to me.