Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: The Rescue.--Page 149.]
_*GEOFFREY*_*
THE LOLLARD.*
BY
FRANCES EASTWOOD,
AUTHOR OF "MARCELLA OF ROME."
"Blessed are those who die for God,
And earn the Martyr's crown of light,
Yet he who lives for God may lie
A greater conqueror in His sight."
--A. PROCTOR.
New Edition
LONDON:
JOHN F. SHAW AND CO.
48 PATERNOSTER ROW.
*PREFACE.*
My chief authority for the facts which are interwoven with the fiction
of this story is Fox, among whose horrors many curious and interesting
accounts of the peculiar doctrines of the so-called Lollards may be
found. Their views on the Sacraments and some other points did not
entirely agree with those of the great Reformers, but their purity of
life, their love for the Bible and devotion to the cause of religious
liberty, will entitle this spiritual awakening to be called the dawn of
the Reformation. Its political aspect--though a very important one--I
have avoided entering upon in this volume, and therefore the trial of
Cobham and his companions has been very imperfectly described, but the
full account of it which Fox gives will be found to be very interesting
in an historical as well as religious point of view.
FRANCES EASTWOOD.
*CONTENTS*
I.
The Church Underground
II.
Putting on the Yoke
III.
Forest Tower and its Inmates
IV.
Farewell to Home
V.
In London
VI.
The Trial
VII.
As the Stars forever and ever
VIII.
Quiet Days
IX.
Hide and Seek in Forest Tower
X.
The Birds Flown to the Mountains
XI.
The Lesson of Forgiveness
XII.
Caught and Caged
XIII.
Kate the Quick-Witted
XIV.
Remorse and its Effects
XV.
Plots and Counterplots
XVI.
The Convent Ghost
XVII.
A Midnight Supper
XVIII.
Free Again
XIX.
From Darkness to Light
XX.
One more Lamb safe in the Fold
XXI.
Father Paul
XXII.
Meeting and Parting
XXIII.
Waiting for the Dawn
*GEOFFREY THE LOLLARD.*
*CHAPTER I.*
_*The Church Under Ground.*_
The sun had set some time ago. Only a long, narrow line of crimson
could be seen in the distant western sky, and even that was fast
disappearing. Darkness had shrouded almost entirely the thick woods and
rocky dells of this wild region; and thick clouds rapidly climbing the
sky, and chilly winds sighing among the branches of the trees, foretold
a stormy night.
So thought the elder of two lads who were leaning against the trunk of
an ancient oak that marked the spot where three paths crossed each
other, and then vanished in different directions in the forest. He
wrapped his cloak more closely around him, and advanced a few paces down
one of the paths, paused as if to listen, and then returned, with a
disappointed look, to his companion. "Not come yet, Geoffrey?" said the
younger. "No, he could not have received the message. It is more than
an hour past sunset, and he was to leave Thomas Flynman's at noon.
Could he have been discovered? Arundel's men were seen in Bristol, they
say, three days ago, and it is not like they came for naught."
The last words were spoken more to himself than to his companion, and
again, with hasty steps, he strode away into the darkness. He was coming
back again without any intelligence, when suddenly the bushes were
parted, and a tall man stepped out and fronted the two boys. For a
moment they hardly knew whether to consider him as friend or foe, but
the stranger lifted the Scottish bonnet which had shrouded his features,
and said in a low voice:
"The sword of the Lord, and of Gideon. That is the watchword, I believe.
Have they come? Is all ready? It is through great peril that I have
come here, and I must be on my way before the dawn."
To these hurried questions the youths only answered at first by doffing
their caps with profound reverence and respect; then a few low sentences
were interchanged, and the three struck off down the path together. The
elder lad led the way, only breaking the silence by occasional warnings
about the road. "Have a care there, that root is high;" or, "Here is a
low branch, beware!"
Then suddenly he left the path, descended a steep bank, and, bidding his
companions stop a moment, drew from under a large stone a pine torch and
a little lamp. Having lighted the former, and replaced the latter in
its concealment, he stepped down upon some stones which formed the bed
of a running brook, while he held the torch low, so as to show the best
stepping-places; and all passed on in the deepest silence.
A long and weary march it was; and all were glad when the guide stopped
before what seemed a mere mass of vines and bushes, at the foot of a
rock. These he drew aside with a careful hand, and disclosed a low
door, through which they passed; the younger lad closed it softly again,
and they advanced as before.
But it was now a very different way. The fresh, pure, evening air had
been exchanged for the damp, musty smell of this underground passage.
The sides were so close together that two persons could hardly have
passed each other; the stranger had to stoop his head many a time to
escape a blow from the jutting points of the roof; while the masses of
rock which had fallen so encumbered the way that it required, at times,
no small skill in climbing, to pass at all. Descending some flights of
rough steps, and passing through another door, they found themselves in
a much wider space, though it was still all dark and stony, but the roof
was higher and the floor was smooth. A low hum of distant voices was
now heard, which grew louder as they turned a corner and stopped before
a door. A light tap was answered by one from within, and, as the door
opened, such a flood of light poured upon them, that they shrunk back,
with pained eyes, from the glare.
The light of many torches revealed a low, broad, windowless room, with a
raised platform, and rude reading-desk at one end, and between thirty
and forty persons--men, women and children. Some were engaged in
earnest conversation, some sat in silent thought, while others were
attending to the children.
At the entrance of the new comer, all arose and stood respectfully,
while he threw aside his long cloak and cap, and stepped up to the
platform. The two boys stood at his side, and all turned to him with
expectant looks.
He held his hand over his eyes for a moment in secret prayer, and then,
opening the huge leather-bound book on the desk, began to read. His
rich, clear voice gave emphasis to every word in that glorious fourth
chapter of Second Corinthians: "Therefore, seeing we have this ministry,
as we have received mercy, we faint not; but have renounced the hidden
things of dishonesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling the word
of God deceitfully; but by manifestation of the truth, commending
ourselves to every man's conscience in the sight of God," etc. "We are
troubled on every side, yet not distressed." Here the reader's tones
became more firmly joyful, his form grew more erect, his whole
countenance beamed. He read on through that chapter, and nine verses of
the following one; then turning back to the eighth of Romans, he read on
rapidly to the thirty-first verse, when his voice rose until it rang
again, and the stone walls echoed back his exultant words: "If God be
for us, who can be against us? He that spared not his own Son, but
delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give
us all things? ... Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall
tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or
peril, or sword?"
Here his voice faltered, and his clasped hands were raised, while the
tears, rolling from his up-turned eyes, fell upon his white beard: "For
thy sake, we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for
the slaughter." All the sorrow had left his tones now, his tall frame
was raised to its utmost height, his clenched right hand was stretched
toward heaven, the other grasped his robe, and he almost shouted:
"Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that
loved us."
His audience, hardly knowing what they did, rose to their feet, and
repeated with him the closing verses.
When the last words were spoken, silence reigned in the room, only
broken by the low sobs of some of the assembly. Then a feeble, aged
voice, near the centre of the room, said: "Let us pray."
Every knee was bent while the old man prayed in simple, touching words
for their persecutors, Arundel the archbishop, the king, and others, and
then for many near and dear ones who were even then in the persecutors'
power. But he prayed more that they might be enabled to hold fast the
faith without wavering, than that they might be delivered from bodily
pain.
As he mentioned each by name, the deep though suppressed groan from some
weeping member of the assembly told where a loving heart was longing for
the safety of some dear one. But when they arose from their knees, all
were calm and composed, grave but not sad, for the words of comfort had
entered into many hearts.
Afterward the preacher discoursed for some time on the disputed
doctrines of the day, proving the Lollard views by passages from the
Bible, and from the writings of Wickliffe. He closed with an earnest
appeal to all to stand fast in the faith. "Lo, friends and brethren, I
know the power of Antichrist. Full many times have I suffered bonds and
imprisonments for the truth's sake, yet therefore do not I boast. I do
triumph, but not through myself, but that Christ may be glorified in my
poor body. Yea, the flames and the stake would be welcome to me, if
through my pains and steadfastness his name might be glorified and souls
turned to him. And now I go to London, and it seemeth to me it is the
Lord's will that there I should end this earthly journey. Even so,
come, Lord Jesus! Henceforth is laid up for me a crown of righteousness.
Come then, my soul, and be of good courage. Look at the home prepared
for thee in heaven. The smart of the flames is naught when it leadeth
to everlasting glory above. Be of good courage, O my soul, for behold,
Christ giveth thee the victory!"
Some of the women and children now prepared to depart, but not by means
of the secret passage, which was known only to a few. The preacher was
surrounded by the men, and eager questions were interchanged in regard
to the safety of various individuals. A fine-looking, elderly man,
evidently the father of the two boys, related the seizure of Lord Cobham
and his trial, his manly defense before the council, his condemnation
and imprisonment in the Tower, and the faint hopes which were
entertained of his escape.
All this was new to the preacher, who had only just arrived from the
southern counties; and he received the tidings with surprise and grief.
"Lord, how long," he said, "how long shall thy people be down-trodden by
the oppressor? Look upon thy church lest we be utterly consumed."
Refreshment was now brought to the stranger, for it wanted but two hours
of daybreak, and he must soon be on the way.
Geoffrey, meanwhile, had gone through the secret entrance to the wood,
to see if any danger were near, if any spy lurked on the road through
which the traveller must pass. He had not been long gone before he
returned, bringing with him another stranger, also closely wrapped in
the coarse, loose cloak usually worn by the peasantry. His garments
were dripping with the rain, which had fallen plentifully during the
night, and stained with mud; and his wooden shoes were filled with
water. Such was the person that Geoffrey, with a wondering, anxious
look, presented to his father and the preacher. All he knew was that
the stranger had given the pass-word, which entitled him to the secret
passage through the rocks. He looked attentively upon the men before
him, and then threw away his cloak, and raised the cap from his brow.
For a moment they looked at the features thus suddenly disclosed, when,
with a cry of joy, the preacher flung himself on the ground before him,
clasping his knees, and exclaiming: "My lord, O my lord, alive and safe!
My God in heaven, this is too much mercy! What, John De Forest, know
you not the Lord of Cobham, the father of the church?"
Great joy was there over their distinguished guest; and ejaculations of
wonder and thanksgiving burst forth as he detailed his trial,
imprisonment, and escape from the Tower. He concluded by craving
protection and concealment from De Forest until he should rest, and find
an opportunity for escaping to Wales. Gladly were refreshment and rest
given to the weary noble, than whom a better was not to be found in all
England: the supporter of the poor, persecuted Lollards; the firm
advocate of the Bible and a reformed church; the humble servant of God
in the darkest age of superstition, priestcraft, and bigotry.
But now it was time the preacher should depart, for he must put many
miles between him and Forest tower before the day broke. He rose, and
giving his hand to Cobham, said:
"Be of good courage, my lord, Christ giveth the victory."
"Truly, John Beverly," said Cobham, "the Lord is good, and I shall trust
in him. When shall we meet again?"
"In the Lord's kingdom," said Beverly, a smile beaming upon his noble
features; and, pointing to the remains of the meal, he added: "At the
supper of the Lamb, my lord, who so loved the world that he gave himself
to the death for it, and, for whose sake, we are willing to lay down our
lives for the brethren."
Thus they parted; the one to linger a few years in banishment and then
meet at once his sufferings and reward; the other, with a heart full of
faith, went at once to lay down his life that he might receive it new at
the hands of the Saviour he had so faithfully served, both in life and
in death.
*CHAPTER II.*
_*Putting on the Yoke.*_
Forest Tower had been built in the time of the Normans, on the site of
one destroyed by them, which dated several centuries further back. It
was a low, massive building, of gray stone, with a square tower in the
centre, from which it took its name. The windows were mere slits in the
wall. The moat was well kept, free from weeds, and filled with water.
It was crossed by a drawbridge, which had not been raised for some time,
judging from the earth and grass which nearly covered it. Within there
was little for show, everything for defense. The great hall was dimly
lighted by narrow windows, set in immense depth of wall, entirely
destitute of glass, and closed at night by wooden shutters. A large
fire-place stood at each end, but without any chimney, and the smoke was
permitted to escape by the windows, or wreathe itself in thick folds
among the soot-hung rafters. Across the upper end was the dais, or
platform, raised two steps from the rest of the floor, and containing a
stone table and a few roughly-made arm-chairs. Below, down the middle
of the room, ran another long table, supplied with benches and stools of
the rudest workmanship. The sleeping apartments were still less
furnished--a chest for a wardrobe, and a heap of straw covered with a
coarse blanket being all they contained, for this old fortalice was a
little behind the age, even then, in the luxuries of life.
Forest Tower had been owned by the De Forests ever since its erection.
Once its domain had embraced many miles of the adjacent country on every
side. Its halls had been thronged with retainers, and Sir Thomas De
Forest had led out a hundred yeomen to fight in the Scottish battles
under king Edward the First. But times were now changed. The loyal De
Forests had refused to acknowledge Henry Mortimer when he had seized the
crown, and had taken part in every rebellion that had had for its object
the restoration of the miserable Richard the Third. Consequently its
fortunes had greatly declined. Manor after manor was confiscated by the
crown or sold by its needy proprietors to pay their fines. Its bands of
yeomen and retainers had all gone to serve other masters or been slain
in the numerous combats, and only a few white-haired old domestics
remained to keep up the shadow of its ancient splendor.
Nor were matters improved when the present John, Baron De Forest,
embraced the Lollard faith. Many who had until then been his best
friends, became his fiercest enemies. His very servants, with but few
exceptions, became spies upon him, and reported his heretical doings to
the authorities of the church. But, nothing daunted, he continued to
labor for the cause of the Reformation, fully anticipating a martyr's
death, but unshrinking in the performance of every duty however
perilous.
He had lost his wife shortly after the birth of his youngest son, and
his two boys had grown up in close companionship with him, sharing his
thoughts, his plans, his spiritual hopes and joys. Geoffrey, the elder,
was now fourteen, tall and robust, with a body capable of bearing
fatigue and exposure with impunity, and a soul fired with the very
spirit of Lollardism.
Hubert, his brother, younger by nearly four years, was cast in a
different mould. He had the delicate features and expression of his
mother, the gentle Lady Margaret; and while Geoffrey's hair hung in
thick, black curls over a low, square forehead, Hubert's high, fair
brow, and gentle blue eyes, gave a pensive and retiring expression to
his face. It was his dearest delight to pore over an old manuscript
Bible which his father, with much difficulty, had procured, and to store
his mind with chapter after chapter of its contents. He would sometimes
obtain one of Wickliffe's tracts, which he loved to copy out for himself
on parchment. Different as the boys were in dispositions, they loved
each other with all their hearts; for, with no other playmates, and no
mother's love to look to, they were naturally drawn nearer together than
most children. Geoffrey, with all an elder brother's sense of
responsibility and guardianship, reverenced in Hubert that love of
learning which he did not possess; and Hubert looked up to Geoffrey,
exulting in his superior strength and fearlessness. They were never
long separated, each was unhappy without the other; so sometimes
Geoffrey would leave his out-of-door sports to sit by his brother's
side, and try to make out the crabbed letters in the big book; and
sometimes Hubert would brave the storms and forests to keep Geoffrey
company.
It was popularly said that Forest Tower might be divided into three
parts, one above ground, one below ground, and one consisting of
concealed chambers and passages. The rock upon which the castle was
built contained many natural caverns, and these had been enlarged, and
connected by artificial vaults, all extending many feet below the hall
pavement, where the cheerful sunbeams had never penetrated, and where,
at the time of the Norman conquest, many a Saxon had pined away his
life. Besides this, there were fearful stories told by old women in the
cottage chimney-corners, of rich Jews seized by the old barons of the
forest in the reigns of John and Richard. It was said that those who
passed near those vaults at night have heard shrieks for mercy, and
cries of agony, and they might also see the ghosts of these unfortunate
men wandering among the rocks, and seeking their stolen gold.
The barons took no pains to undeceive the people, for it was greatly to
their interest to keep off curious and untimely visitors. During the
perilous times of the Border warfare and civil wars, they had had
occasion to build many secret retreats--some in the thickness of the
massy walls, others in the adjacent rocks and concealed passages leading
from the interior of the building far out into the open country in
different directions. It was no wonder then that the ignorant peasantry
thought they must be aided by supernatural powers, and attributed their
miraculous appearances and disappearances to satanic agency.
During the preaching of Wickliffe, John De Forest had become convinced
of the errors of the church, but had never taken any very active part in
the Reformation, until Lord Cobham had sent a preacher, John Beverly,
into the neighborhood, whose stirring appeals had aroused him to a sense
of its importance. From that time he had become the most zealous
supporter of Lollardism in the West. Refugees from every part of the
country bent their steps toward Forest Tower, sure of a retreat in its
many hiding places; communication by means of signals, known only to the
initiated, was kept up with the principal reformers and preachers, and
meetings for worship were frequently held in some of its largest vaults.
The reason why it had been exempted from the visitation of the law was
partly on account of the ghostly legends connected with it, and partly
on account of its well-known resources for defense or concealment. At
the time of which we are writing, the archbishop had sent a band of men
to scour the country for heretics, and spies abounded everywhere.
Nevertheless, from far and near, the people had gathered, by twos and
threes, for this great meeting held in the tower vaults.
*CHAPTER III.*
_*Forest Tower and its Inmates.*_
After the departure of the preacher, Lord Cobham was led up the stairs
by his host to where a door in the wall revealed a small room, with a
stone floor, and bed of straw.
"It is better to sleep securely than softly, my lord," said Sir John;
"our forest beds have no French hangings."
"My Master had not where to lay his head, and why should I, the least of
his servants, have more?" replied Lord Cobham; "but now I shall hasten
to my rest, for this body is sadly wearied with the labors of the last
two days. A few hours will, however, be sufficient, and then, my trusty
friend, I would see you again; the Lord be with you."
Sir John bowed and departed, while Lord Cobham knelt on the stones and
offered up a simple prayer to Him who thus far led him in safety, and
delivered him from those who sought to take his life. They were no
Latin Ave Marias or Litanies that he poured forth, nor were his
petitions recorded on a string of amber beads. In his own mother
tongue, in the sweet and touching words and phrases of the Bible he
loved so well, he talked with his God, and angels alone recorded the
conversation. And then he laid him down upon his bed and slept like a
child--slept as the apostle Peter slept, ere the angel awakened him to
go forth from his dungeon.
Meanwhile Geoffrey and Hubert, cross-bow in hand, were rapidly treading
the intricate forest paths. It was not the chase upon which they were
bent, though a brace or two of birds, and a squirrel, hung over their
shoulders; it was not the deer they were seeking when they gazed
earnestly down the paths, or peered curiously into the hollow cavity of
the oak which was mentioned in the first chapter. Deep holes, formed
partly by time, and partly by man's hand, were found among the roots,
each opening toward one of the different roads which led off into the
forest. This was what might be called the Lollards' general news office
or telegraph station. From one of these Geoffrey drew forth a small
twig with two branches. After looking at it carefully, he threw it
away, saying, cheerfully, to his brother: "No danger there, Hubert;
Peter Lainton has seen that all is safe as far as the mountains; that is
well for my Lord of Cobham, who will have to pass that way to-night.
Now for the southern road." The forked stick was there also, denoting
safety; but the next cavity contained a number of pebbles arranged two
in a row, while in the centre was stuck a bit of red leaf. The boys
immediately comprehended the signal. "Four, eight, ten horsemen," said
Hubert, with a troubled look, "brother, is there not danger there?"
"Certainly, Arundel's men can not be far off," said Geoffrey,
thoughtfully, "probably though beyond Norris's Ford, else Peter Lainton
had heard something. I will put the signal for him to be on the watch,
perhaps they are only bound for Bristol, where they say there has been
some trouble between the troops and the people." While he was speaking,
he had been looking around for the twig of a tree. Having found it, he
peeled the bark off it in rings, and partly breaking off the top, stuck
it in the ground in the hollow opening to the southern road, and
scratched two marks in the ground behind it. "Two hours after sunset,"
said Hubert, "is not that rather soon? There will be full moon
to-night." "Still, father says it were better for him to start early
than late, there is no telling when the soldiers may be here. How is it
with the London road?" This hole contained two peeled sticks tied with
cords in several places, and bent over toward the south-east. Around
them were grouped several black beans. Too well the boys knew the
meaning of the signal. The road to which it referred led to London. On
that road had been seen, that morning, two Lollards, one a preacher, for
one of the sticks was pointed a little at the top, and the black beans
represented the dreaded emissaries of the church. The boys looked at
each other; one name was trembling on the lips of both, but it was too
fearful a thought to utter. There had been no preacher to their
knowledge in the forest save him whose holy words had filled them with
such awe and rapture the previous night. For John Beverly to be taken
before Arundel's court was certain death, and death in its most fearful
shape, the lingering agony of the chain and the flame.
Geoffrey's face grew pale, and he bent closer over the little signal as
though he hoped to discover some additional circumstance that might
contradict his suppositions. It was not absolutely certain that the
prisoner and the preacher were the same. Beverly had intended to take
the northern road; but it was very likely that he had heard of the band
of soldiers there, and had turned aside. With this poor comfort they
were forced to be content, and silently turned their steps toward the
Tower.
Sir John heard their tidings, and construed them even more favorably
than his son. The preacher, he said, when he believed his duty called
him in a certain direction, was not one to turn back through fear. He
had firmly signified his intention of meeting an assembly of Lollards in
Flintshire the following Sabbath. At any rate, it were better not to
alarm Lord Cobham with these uncertainties. Hubert's spirits rose at
this new view of the case; but Geoffrey read in his father's face a
contradiction of his words. Still he said nothing, but followed him to
the room in the hall.
Lord Cobham laid aside the Bible from which he had been reading, and
replied to their respectful salutations that he had slept well, and was
quite refreshed. He then turned to Geoffrey, and looked earnestly at
his tall, well-proportioned form and sinewy limbs. "Wouldst thou be a
soldier, my son?" he said.
"Yea, my lord," replied the boy, "so I be able to fight for freedom and
God's word."
The old soldier's face glowed at hearing the brave words; but he said
nothing, only turned to the younger.
"And what wouldst thou do, my son?"
"O my lord!" said Hubert, his voice quivering with the strong emotion
working in his breast, "could I but preach the word, as doth the good
man who has just left us, then were I highly favored."
"The Lord grant thee thy desire, my child!" said Cobham. "Yea, and I
think he will; for there is none that striveth to do his work unto whom
some part shall not be given. It may not be according to his desire, in
the way which he has marked out for himself; but to work in the Lord's
vineyard will not be denied him. But come, let us see how thou wilt
teach the people. Wouldst thou tell him who has done evil to go and
confess him to the priest that he may, by him, be absolved, and then go
and sin over again?"
"Nay, surely," answered the boy, his eye kindling, "for the priest hath
no power by his word to forgive sins, but God only; neither will _he_ do
it unless the sinner earnestly repent him of his sins, steadfastly
purposing to lead a new life in the future, by God's help. Unto the
Lord only must the people shrive themselves."
"Yet the priests will tell thee that in the Scriptures standeth this
verse: 'Confess your sins one to another.' What sayest thou then?"
"Let the priest bend the knee before me and the people, and confess his
wickedness; then at the end--if there be any end--I will in my turn
shrive myself to him, and to all people, for so saith the Scriptures."
Cobham smiled at the boy's logic.
"True, my son, thou sayest rightly; but suppose then that they put thee
to the test, how instructest thou the people then?"
"I shall tell the people," said the boy stoutly, "that there is no more
of the real flesh and blood of our Saviour in the wafer and wine of the
holy mysteries after the words of consecration than before."
"Yet, my son, beware lest thou then fall into error. Christ doth say
when he presenteth the paten and the chalice to his disciples, 'This is
my body, this is my blood;' therefore he _is_ present under the form of
bread and wine in the sacrament, though the substance of the bread and
wine be still therein contained. Take heed not to fall into the great
error either of declaring the elements to be absolutely changed into the
flesh and blood of Christ, or, on the other hand, of denying his perfect
spiritual presence in the mysteries he has ordained. Thou hast been
well taught; hold fast the form of sound words contained in this Holy
Book, then shall our Lord hold thee fast in his heavenly kingdom. But
now, my son, thou knowest well that the priest is not convinced by this,
but is rather incensed thereby, because he loveth darkness rather than
light; and to stop thy mouth he will excommunicate thee as a heretic
forever from the church of God. What will thou do then?"
To understand the full force of excommunication, we must remember that
the excommunicated person was put under a sentence of absolute outlawry.
His relations and friends were forbidden to give him any comfort or
assistance under penalty of the same curse. None might give or sell him
shelter, food, or clothing; and at his death his unburied body was cast
into unhallowed ground, or left for the beasts and birds of prey to feed
upon.
The boy did not shrink from the dreadful picture thus brought before his
mind, but said quietly:
"He who hath made the heavens saith: 'I shut and no man openeth, and I
open and no man shutteth.' Their power then is only in words which
cannot hurt the soul. Having favor with God, who alone is powerful,
wherefore care we for the wrath of men?"
"Truly saith the lad, Sir John," cried Cobham, cheerily, "if we have the
lion on our side, care we for the barking of the foxes? But listen now:
they will not stop here, but will then deliver thee to the secular
power, and thou mayest languish long years in a dungeon. What sayest
thou to that?"
"Paul and Silas sang for joy in their prison-house, and angels have
visited oftentimes the prisons of the saints and loosened their bonds."
"Yet again," said the Lollard, rising and fixing his dark, piercing eye
full on the boy's face. "Yet once more: the dungeon, be it never so
dark, is too fair a dwelling for the heretic. They will gird thee in an
iron chain and hang thee on the accursed gallows, and kindle under thee
the smarting flame which will slowly creep up thy quivering limbs as
though loath to end thy sufferings. Think, boy, of the smart, of the
anguish--think and answer before God and man--wilt thou die for the
Lord's sake?"
For a moment Hubert grew very pale--his whole frame seemed to shrink
with horror from the thought. Every quivering nerve cried out to him to
draw back; but the faith in that young heart was strong, and triumphed.
The blood rushed back into his face, and tears, not of sorrow, dimmed
the fire of his eyes:
"_I will, so help me Christ!_"
*CHAPTER IV.*
_*Farewell To Home.*_
"Look you, John De Forest," said the Lord of Cobham solemnly, "wilt thou
give this thy son unto the Lord, that he may serve the Lord from his
youth? God hath surely put his mark upon him in that he hath taken away
from him both the love and the fear of the world. The Lord receiveth
not the grudged gift, the Lord loveth the cheerful giver; answer then
from the heart before God and man--wilt thou give this thy son unto the
Lord or no?"
John De Forest bowed his head upon his hands for a moment, then raised
it, and said firmly:
"Yea, truly, as the Lord hath given them to me, so give I them back into
his hands."
Silence reigned in the room for some moments; Sir John had sunk his head
upon his hands again; then the old Lollard arose, and laying his hands
on the boys' heads, blessed them in scripture phrase:
"The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord look upon you with his mercy.
I pray not that he may give unto you the peace of this world; in these
latter days Christ is making true his word that he came to send a sword
into the world, and peace is the portion of the coward. The Lord give
unto you a Christian warfare, a martyr's death, a victor's crown!"
John De Cobham next proceeded to inform the boys concerning the
arrangements which he and their father had made for them. The latter
was anxious for them to be away from the Tower for various reasons. He
was fully aware that an attack upon it was meditated by Arundel, and he
wished his sons, who could be no assistance to him, to be as far removed
from the danger as possible. Then, besides, he wished that they should
enjoy the instructions of some learned man, an advantage it was
impossible for them to obtain in their retired home. Lord Cobham agreed
with him, and mentioned a certain Roger Markham, formerly curate of
Romney in Kent. The nobleman was also desirous of sending messages
concerning his escape and other matters to his friends in London, for
which place he wished the boys immediately to depart.
Geoffrey's free, high spirit longed for more of the world than was to be
seen from the narrow boundaries of the Tower domain. He had been once
to London, and it seemed to him a land of delights; so that the very
thought of going there to view all its wonders, and mingle with those of
his own age, caused his face to flush with pleasure and his heart to
beat fast with hope. Hubert's heart also leaped for joy; but his
thoughts were not his brother's thoughts. His prayer was answered; he
might now go forth and labor for the Lord, and learn how to preach the
glad gospel tidings--gospel in the fullest sense of the word, good news
of freedom from Satan's chain, and the galling yoke of popish
traditions. He might read the whole of those tracts from the pen of
Wickliffe, of which he had only as yet seen fragments. But more than
all, he might see a _whole Bible_! The one which his father had
procured with difficulty, and kept with danger, was not entire--some
chapters from the New Testament were wanting, and nearly all the
historical books of the Old. These this Lollard child longed to feast
upon with an earnestness which would shame many a Christian of the
present day, whose legible, perfect Bible is ever _at_ his hand, but
seldom _in_ it.
These joyful thoughts were followed by painful ones. Their father, who
had been the only companion and protector of their solitary boyhood,
father and mother in one, was united to them by no common tie. They had
shared, as children seldom do, not only in his cares, and doubts, and
sorrows, but also in his joys, and hopes, and consolation. Him they
must leave, and also the dear old Tower, every corner of which was
associated with pleasant home remembrances, and it must be a long time
before they saw either their home or their father again, if, in these
uncertain times, they ever should. But the Lord had need of them; they
had put their hands to the plough--should they draw back?
Lord Cobham next handed them some folded pieces of parchment. "This
one," he said, "ye shall show at such places as ye stop; they will then
receive you in my name, or rather"--and the Lollard bowed low--"in the
name and for the sake of Him whom I serve. Ye shall tell them of my
safety, no more; also that they be of good cheer and hold fast the Lord
Jesus Christ, looking to the reward. And when ye arrive at the city, ye
shall go straight to the house of Philip Naseby, a trader, who dwells
near Whitefriars, just by the bridge. Ye shall give him this
watchword--not openly, but in the midst of other words--'The Lord is my
help all the day long;' and he will answer: 'How long is the day?' When
ye are entirely alone with him, bid him tell Sir Roger Ashton that the
bird has flown to the mountain. Will ye remember all this?"
The texts were familiar to both the boys, and besides, they were too
much accustomed to the various methods of communicating by signals not
to perceive their signification and importance; and having indicated
their assent, Cobham continued:
"These letters the trader will give as they are directed; but this last
ye shall give yourselves to good Roger Markham, and he will instruct you
in all useful and clerkly things, for he is well learned in the schools
of Oxford. In due time, my son, thou shalt preach; but see that thou
preach only 'Christ and him crucified,' so shall his Spirit rest upon
thee and thy labors, and shall instruct thee, as no man can, in the holy
mysteries. The Lord bless you both and give you of his work to do,
whether it be to sit and wait his good pleasure, or to teach his
doctrines unto men, or to die for the truth's sake. He keepeth the
reward, and verily it can never fail."
It did not take either of the boys long to prepare for their journey.
The letters and a few pages of Scripture were sewed into the inner
lining of their tunics, a wallet containing some provision was hung at
their sides, and, staff in hand, like the patriarchs of old, they stood.
Their father was too poor to give them horses, and the long, weary
journey must be made on foot.
It would not have been wise to depart openly, so when the sun had set
more than an hour, they, with Lord Cobham, passed along one of the
subterranean passages which opened far out into the open country. There
they parted with the noble Lollard. He, with their father, who was to
accompany him a few miles on his way, turned toward the Welsh mountains;
they, with stout hearts, but tear-filled eyes, set their faces toward
the east.
Half an hour later they stood on the summit of a hill overlooking the
tower. The full moon was casting its sheets of silver over the brown
autumn landscape. The storm of the preceding night had entirely passed
away, and only left a breezy freshness in the evening air. Far to the
west loomed up the mountains of Wales, their peaks already glistening
with snow. Far beneath them in the valley lay their home. The gray
towers cast their shadows across the moat, and looked even more massive
than they were in reality. Only a single light appeared in the buttery
window, like a twinkling star. Never had the scene appeared so lovely
to the young Lollards as it did when they were about leaving it, perhaps
forever. But again the boys' thoughts were different. The elder looked
back to the long, unbroken line of ancestry which for so many hundred
years had looked upon those walls and said, "They are mine." Far to the
right hand and left lay the broad acres of woodland and pasturage which
had owned his grandsire lord. Now all was changed. Close and narrow
were the lines which bounded the patrimony one day to be his. But why?
Were his arms less sinewy, his frame less well-knit than all the
Geoffreys, and Johns, and Richards that had gone before? Why should
Henry the usurper, who had no more just claim to the throne of England
than himself, have a right to take away his father's lands because he
would not forsake the cause of his rightful monarch? And now he, and the
brother he loved so well, must become dependents on the bounty of others
because they wished to read the word of God in their own tongue, and
worship him in their own way. Must this always last? Should the
oppressor always walk about the earth?
God thinks it right to speak no more to men in dreams and visions, or to
point out to them the dim shadows of coming events. Faith in his wisdom
is to be our only guide. But do I err when I say that sometimes the
Comforter, who is expressly said to take of the things of God and show
them unto us, whispers to the fainting soul words of cheering, and
lifts, though it be but a very little way, the veil that hides the
future? Thus it was with the Lollard boys. A voice in their hearts
said to their inward eyes, "Ephatha!" be ye opened! and straightway they
saw dimly, but surely, a glorious sight. The looked-for time of
refreshing they saw arrived; England, their beautiful England, was free;
and the pure Word of God in all its sweetness and power, reigned in
every heart and home. The night of popish ignorance had fled away
forever, the martyr's blood had ceased dropping its precious seed into
the earth, and instead thereof had sprung up an abundant harvest through
the length and breadth of the world. Thus it was that the elder
brother's heart responded joyfully to the younger's lips in the sublime
words of the prophet:
"Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen
upon thee. For behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and thick
darkness the people; but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and his glory
shall be seen upon thee. Violence shall no more be heard in thy land,
wasting nor destruction within thy borders; but thou shalt call thy
walls Salvation, and thy gates Praise. Therefore the redeemed of the
Lord shall return and come with singing to Zion, and everlasting joy
shall be upon their head: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow
and sighing shall flee away."
And then he added the words of a greater than Isaiah: "Verily I say unto
you, there is no one that hath left houses, or brethren, or sisters, or
father, or mother, or wife, or children, for my sake and the Gospel's,
but he shall receive an hundred-fold now in this present time, houses,
and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with
persecutions; and in the world to come, _life everlasting_."
One quick glance they cast toward their earthly possessions, and a long
eager one toward their heavenly home--then they passed on their way.
*CHAPTER V.*
_*In London.*_
The snow was falling fast and thick in London, covering with its pure
mantle the quaint houses which formed that part of the metropolis called
White Friars, and making the Thames, which flowed close under their
walls, look all the blacker by contrast. Upon one of the bridges
spanning this river, stood the two young Lollards. They looked very
weary and travel-worn, and the younger had sunk down exhausted on one of
the stone seats. They had been more than a month on their journey,
having been detained more than once by storms and sickness, so that the
month of December was fairly commenced. Hubert had suffered most from
the fatigue, cold, and exposure, but even Geoffrey looked pale and
weary, though he strove to cheer his brother with the thought of how
near they were to their journey's end, and of the wonders that lay
before them.
"Look, Hubert! this is the bridge we were told of, and yonder high wall
must be White Friars; it cannot be many steps to good Philip Naseby's."
Then as the other did not seem to attend, he added, lower: "We must not
be seen loitering here as though we were strangers--Mark Catliffe may
have dispatched word of our coming, and it were best to be among friends
ere our enemies know we have come."
The boy raised himself with an effort, and they proceeded. Fortunately,
it was but a stone's throw; and having passed under the high wall of the
monastery, they turned into a narrow lane, and stopped at the open front
of a shop. The master stood upon the step; they both knew him from the
description they had heard of him; but it was best to be on the safe
side; so they approached as though wishing to purchase.
"Have you a warm cloak, master trader, that may serve to keep the snow
and rain from my shoulders this cold Christmas?"
The man looked rather suspiciously at the boys' tattered garments, but a
glance at their faces changed his tone to one of respect and pity. "The
Lord save you, young masters, it is truly but sorry weather to travel
in. Will ye not step in and rest a bit?"
"I thank you, Philip Naseby," said Geoffrey, stepping within the shop;
"the Lord is truly my help all the day long."
The trader's face lighted up as he gave the necessary answer to the
password, and grasping a hand of each, he led them to a little
back-apartment, and placed stools for them. He received them as eagerly
as though they were his nearest relations, though as yet he knew neither
their name nor their errand. Lord Cobham's message explained all, and
then they were overwhelmed with questions. Good news always makes the
bearers welcome, and the fact that they brought intelligence of Lord
Cobham's escape, as well as their father's name, was a full passport to
the honest trader's heart.
He called his wife, and having told her who were their guests, she
dispatched their daughter to bring some refreshment, while she and her
husband removed their torn and soaked outer garments.
"Poor boy!" said the good woman, as she noticed Hubert's bleeding and
blistered feet, "thou hast walked far to day?"
"A good twenty miles since midnight," sighed the weary child, the very
mention of the distance bringing back, with redoubled force, the memory
of suffering.
"But why did you not stop at the house of good Mark Catliffe, the miller
of Lianton? He has given a bed and a welcome to many a weary traveler,
and especially to those who love the Master."
Hubert's face grew very sad, but Geoffrey's eyes flashed with
indignation, and he answered before his brother could speak. "He is a
Judas; he hath sold his faith for silver; the Lord requite him!"
"How! sayest thou that Mark Catliffe is a renegade?" said the trader,
astonished.
"Ay, that he hath returned to the bosom of the holy church"--and the
boy's mouth curled with contempt--"and has received as a reward for
informing where the vile traitor, John Beverly, might be found, the
right to levy a large toll on the flour he grinds, and a good chest of
white money beside. He saith that it is his firm hope, that those
arch-traitors, Lord Cobham and John De Forest, will speedily be taken
and committed to the flames, their ashes being scattered to the winds,
and their souls sent to their father, the Devil; always praying the
saints that he may stand by and see."
The trader lifted up his hands and eyes in horror; but before he could
speak, his wife had asked eagerly:
"And how escaped ye, my young masters? Did he not try to deliver you up
also?"
"God delivered us from his hands, good dame," said the boy, reverently.
"As we drew near to his house, we heard him in conversation with the
priest, so while we waited behind the hedge for him to be through before
we presented ourselves, we heard his words. We fear he has sent a
messenger after us, for he observed us as we ran away; but we kept to
the by-paths and so escaped, but found no place to rest. But now, good
master Naseby, we will to our beds, if it please you, for we are sore
wearied."
The next day, Geoffrey told his host of the message he had from Lord
Cobham to Sir Roger Ashton.
"Then it was he who favored his escape," said the merchant. "I thought
as much. I am glad that holy man has escaped, but I would it were some
other than Sir Roger that must give his life for his friends."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Geoffrey, "not that Sir Roger is a
prisoner?"
"Ay, ay," said the tradesman, mournfully, "in the self-same dungeon
whence he aided his friend to escape; and they say he is to be tried
this week, for treason and heresy, with John Beverly the preacher, and
many others; for Arundel is thirsting for blood all the more now his
nobler prey has escaped him. There is nothing left for them all but the
stake and the flame, and that right speedily."
The boy bowed his head on his hands in deep grief He saw again that
noble old man speaking, as though they were his own, the words of the
apostle: "If God be for us, who can be against us?" Now he was to prove
their truth; but the boy felt no fear of his failing; he was rather
trying to answer a question of his own heart, thinking whether he was
also ready, for never had death appeared so near. But quickly there
came to his mind the words of his Master, "I have prayed for you that
your faith fail not," and rousing himself, he spoke cheerfully to his
friend:
"Do you think I could see them?"
"I doubt it," replied the trader; "and yet you might if you made friends
with the keepers, under pretence of taking them something."