A MEMORABLE NIGHT.
Never, under such circumstances, did a noble undergo a severer trial
than did Lord De Freston on that memorable night. The parties had
separated upon the wave, the monks had returned to their cells, one
holy brother alone keeping watch in the belfry tower to denote the
hour of matin worship. The Lord of Freston Tower knelt by that lone
altar, beneath which the hermit St. Ivan now rested, and he was
performing the last form of devotion, which, according to his vow, he
could then pay to departed worth. The tomb could not be closed up
until that vow had been strictly observed. Superstitious and
uncalled for, as according to our far wiser notions of acceptable
duty this would be considered, it was deemed a high mark of personal
devotion in that day.
He had vowed that nothing on earth should entice him from the chapel.
The proof of sanctity attending upon this vow was to be the
strictness with which it should be kept. He was to answer no voice
whatever--to admit no one into the chapel when once he had locked
himself in--to be terrified at nothing internal or external--that
come whatever might, no word should escape his lips: but in silent
meditation he should kneel at the altar and watch until the morning.
In a word, he should remain there and keep his vow in spite of every
temptation to make him break it.
If men would only keep watch within themselves to guard against the
entrance of evil thoughts into their souls, and prevent the devil
from urging them thereby to wicked words and actions, they would not
want to shut themselves up in gloomy chapels, to appear before men in
sanctimonious garb. There would be no need of costly sacrifices to
the fancied glory of the true God, which alas! do but tend to blow
out the swollen pride of man because of false notions of doing him
honor. Keep the heart sound, encourage there every virtue, and let
the grace of God cleanse it from apostacy and superstition, for
otherwise man will soon be unfit to dwell with holiness, and make his
heart unfit for spiritual consolation or comfort.
De Freston's self-devotion was the theme of praise among the deluded
though learned monks of Alneshborne Priory, as well as amongst the
priests of St. Peter, or the mayor and burgesses of the town of
Ipswich--and perchance the cold-blooded Alice De Clinton, in the
private chapel of Bishop Goldwell, might have deemed this act worthy
of her praise. But she knew it not, or else she would not have
supposed him to be a heretic. It is impossible for a good heart to
be always silent in its devotions. It will, it must speak to the
glory of God. It has so done in every age, and will so do to the
last day; but its internal struggles to conquer its external and
internal foes will be observed alone by God, and be known only to him.
Whilst De Freston kept his silent watch, the grumbling clouds gave
intimation of a coming storm. It had been a murkey night, and
sweeping folds of darkness had spread themselves over the sky: but
now the thunder began to roll, and the lightning to illuminate the
waters of the Orwell, and for successive moments to darken even the
torches of the boats. Ellen De Freston and her maid were in the
tower, watching for the expected return of Lord De Freston's boat.
On such a night, though her father had not charged her to remain
there, but to let a light be burning in her usual lofty apartment,
she had chosen to keep watch for her friend's return.
The light was seen in the Tower, and the boatmen were guided by it
and by the light in the belfry of the Monastery as certain beacons
for their safety. But every now and then the murky darkness of the
clouds, and the vivid flashes of the lightning, would alike obscure
these beacons from their sight. They could see the windows of the
little chapel they had left faintly illuminated by the wax tapers
within. Latimer felt a degree of sorrow for his lord, that on such a
night he should be exposing himself to a long and dreary watch,
instead of being calmly at rest upon his pillow in his own castle.
It is true, that his anxieties were somewhat roused by the roar of
the elements, but he had six stout rowers, who knew the channel well,
and though they declared that their boat had never been so tossed
about before upon the river, yet they had no doubt of soon reaching
the landing place beneath the shades of Freston.
The wind was dead ahead against them, and the short successive gusts
which blew directly down upon them, seemed to chop the waves into
spray as they dashed along. The torches of twisted rope and pitch
held by two men astern required the greatest dexterity in holding
them lest they should be jerked into the waters. Nothing but
complete immersion could extinguish them: for even if the wind blew
them out, it soon blew them in again, and the first billow found the
flame again aspiring. But every now and then the boat struck against
a piece of timber, either the arm of some tree, or the mast of some
vessel, or a piece of wreckage, which rather alarmed the most
experienced boatmen of the party. One flambeau was sent forward, and
the man held it as high as he could, to give notice of any coming
danger.
'If our friends going home have not better luck than we have,' said
one of the men, 'we shall hear of their being capsized or driven
ashore. Thy have, however, wind and tide in their favor and will
scud homewards pretty quickly. Pull away, my hearties!'
This was the language of young Harry Benns, whose ancestors had for
years been servants of the Lord De Freston, and the same youth was
attached and engaged to the serving maid of Ellen De Freston.
'The light burns brightly in the Tower, Master Latimer, and I fancy
every now and then I see something flitting past it. I suspect we
have friends watching us there.'
'I wish both your lord's watch and theirs were over,' replied
Latimer. 'I like not this dark, stormy struggle.'
'Oh, never fear, Master! We have a good pilot to take charge of us!
Give way, my lads! that's it! a strong arm, and good courage, my
boys!'
Two very good things in their way, but both may be put to the test
when other things come in their way.
Just at that moment a flash of lightning opened upon them, and showed
them such a sight as made the stoutest heart among them tremble. A
vessel without light aboard, or sail, or man to steer her, seemed as
if she had broken from her moorings, and was driving before the wind
in the very direction of the boat. She looked like a floating
mountain as she came along, seen for the instant, and then involved
in impenetrable darkness.
'There she comes,' exclaimed the man ahead; 'bout ship, my lads, or
we are all overboard!'
Down she came--the work of an instant--she swept directly over them,
turning De Freston's boat keel upwards. Happily she did not strike
them midships, but caught them astern, twisted them round first--and
was gone.
The shrieks of those unhappy men were borne upon the wind, and
plainly heard by the Lord De Freston in the chapel of Alneshborne.
The neighboring monks were roused from their slumbers by the alarm
given by the brother in the watch-tower: they listened, and could
plainly hear the cries of distress.
The boatmen, who had all been capsized, extricated themselves as well
as they could, and clung to the boat, which, having been so suddenly
upset, contained a great quantity of air, which added to its buoyancy.
'Are you there, Benns?'
'Is that you, Atkins? Hold on, my boys!'
'I say, where is my young master?'
Latimer alone was not there. Having been seated directly in the
stern of the boat, the violence of the blow had thrown him into the
eddy of the driving vessel, and in a moment he was drawn, as it were,
in a vortex far away from his companions. The vessel, however, drove
faster than he did upon the waters, and, being an expert swimmer, he
had struck out boldly against the sweeping and curling waves. When a
man has to struggle for life, and knows, too, that it must be a hard
struggle, he had better not waste his strength in his first efforts.
Presence of mind is certainly the greatest requisite in sudden
emergencies; and Latimer's first exclamation was not a shriek of
terror, but a prayer, short, earnest, and expressive.
'Lord help me! I am in danger. Support me through this trial, with
the help of thy right hand and holy arm.'
He had scarcely uttered the words, and lifted himself up to strike
out as a brave swimmer, when a huge plank, from the beams of a wreck,
came floating by him. He caught hold of it, lifted himself upon it,
and, in another moment, sat across it, in humble thankfulness to God
for so much mercy. He could hear his companions calling aloud for
help, apparently a long way from him, drifting before the howling
winds.
It should be understood by the reader, that to reach Lord De
Freston's stair whilst the tide was flowing, the men had to row at
least three quarters of a mile out of the direct line, that they
might the more easily fetch the point at which they were to land.
They were at the very utmost distance when the accident occurred.
The boat then was driven back almost to the Downham shore, and
consequently, as the men mounted the keel, the wind had a greater
power upon the drifting mass, and took them swiftly onward; but
Latimer, struggling against the chops of the waves, and at last
finding a friendly plank to ride upon, was swept more along the
channel.
The beacon still burnt in Freston Tower, and the anxious watchers
therein were suddenly alarmed by the extinction of the light upon the
waves.
'I cannot see the lights of the boat upon the waters,' said Ellen De
Freston, to her maid. 'I can see a light beaming from the chapel; I
can still see lights floating towards the town, and dancing
reflections upon the distant waters; I can even see the Tower light
from the Priory, but I see not those from my father's boat.'
'O! fear not, my lady--fear not. I dare say the wind and rain have
extinguished the torches; but depend upon it they will reach the
shore in safety. Do not be afraid.'
'I saw the boats part upon the waters, and my father's boat bending
its course to come across the river. They seemed to be coming nearer
and nearer every minute, and the torches to burn brighter; but all of
a sudden I miss them. I see no lights, all is darkness except the
lightning's flash, and that shows me nothing.'
'O! do not fear, my lady. They can see our light, though their
torches are extinguished; and I have heard my Henry say he could
always find his way across, even if there were no lights burning in
the Tower. It is a bad night, but do not let the thunder and
lightning terrify you; they will soon be ashore.'
'I fear not so soon as you seem to expect. You appear to be very
bold, Maria, but I fear Him only who holds the thunder and the
lightning in his hands. He is very terrible!'
'It is in His help I trust, my lady. He is merciful and kind, and my
Harry is a good man, and I hope God will take care of him.'
'I hope the same for others,' sighed Ellen: and again she looked
anxiously upon the troubled waters. She could see nothing but the
dashing waves, illumined by the sudden flashes of lightning. She
could hear nothing but the roar of the artillery of Heaven, which was
indeed enough to shake the stout nerves even of the brave Lord De
Freston, but not enough to prevent his or his daughter's watch.
The brethren of Alneshborne, whose monastery lay directly in the
course of the wind, had heard the mournful cries repeated upon the
waters, and, with all speed, had quickly followed their watchman to
the shore. There, shoving off their own boat, and guided by the
occasional call of distress, they plied their accustomed oars upon
the wave. At times they lifted up their generous voices, and fancied
they were heard. The thunders roared above, the pelting rain fell in
torrents, and they had nothing but hope to guide them. They could
hear voices calling for help, but so dark was the night, and so heavy
the shower, that they could scarcely tell from which point of the
channel the cries came.
In the midst of a peal of thunder came a flash of lightning so vivid
and clear that the parties actually saw each other as distinctly as
if it were day; and such a shout of joy arose, as deliverers and the
delivered could alone utter. A few more strokes of the oar from the
monks, and they are alongside the capsized boat, picking off the men,
binding the rudder to their own boat's stern, and receiving the
blessings and embraces of the sailors of De Freston. Nothing could
exceed the gratitude of the poor fellows thus mercifully delivered
from a watery grave.
But Lord De Freston's friend. He was not there; and the sailors
looked sad and sorrowful in each others' faces.
'Alas! he is gone to the bottom,' said Benns, 'I saw the great trader
strike him a heavy blow, and send him along the wave dragging him
with her. He is gone! holy men! and we must acquaint our master with
his loss.'
'Leave that to me,' said the Superior, 'I will go alone to the
chapel; meanwhile, you must come to the monastery and partake of such
accommodation as our means can render.'
'We shall be well pleased to land, your reverence, for some of us
have shipped more water than we can carry, and should be glad to have
it pumped out of us.'
The monks took the boat in tow, and landed at their own chore, to the
great satisfaction of the poor sailors.
A fire was soon lighted in that ancient hall; and old cloaks, and
hoods, and dry garments exchanged for their heavy soaken woollen
clothes. Nor were the friendly monks less careful for their internal
comfort, having placed before them such spirituous liquors, as might
best qualify or remedy the chill of the salt water in their stomachs.
The Prior himself went to the chancel-door of the little chapel,
leaving the poor fellows talking about their lord and his lost
friend, and wondering in their own minds whether the vow would or
would not be broken. Old John of Alneshborne went himself to the
chapel. The Lord De Freston heard the noise upon the waters. The
sounding of the alarm-bell from the monastery, the thunders roaring,
and saw the lightnings flashing; but he firmly kept his vow, for he
had resolved that nothing should tempt him to break it.
A gentle but hasty knock was heard at the door, and a voice
exclaiming:
'I am John of Alneshborne, I come to absolve thee from thy vow. Thy
boat is upset, thy friend is lost; oh! leave off thy watch and come
and help us.'
But no answer from within gave any indications of slackened duty or
of wavering vow.
'Open the door! watch no longer, thy men are exhausted, They are in
the Priory! they want thy help! O, noble lord, let me entreat thee
to come and advise us what we are to do. The light still burns in
Freston Tower; shall we pass over to the castle? What shall we do?'
Not a single word came in reply, though the noble heard the news with
a deep pang, only to be imagined by those who felt for him. Yet he
put up a silent prayer for support, and even that the morning's light
might bring him better tidings. He felt as if he should hear better
news, if he kept his vow; and, if he did not, that some fresh horror
would approach with the matin-bell. Never was father, friend, or
noble, more deeply tried; yet he kept his watch, and the Prior
returned from his ineffectual attempt to move him. That night was,
indeed, a night of horrors.
Some of the monks attributed all these accidents to the admission of
the hermit's body into their chapel; and took upon themselves to
lecture their elders for ready acquiescence in the will of Lord De
Freston. Others thought it a judgment upon Latimer, as he was the
only one lost. They all made vows to be more strict in the
performance of their duties, and some of the sailors confessed to
them their sins.
'It was a bad night when we started,' said Harry Benns. 'I could
tell by the clouds we should have a storm, and perhaps the judgment
you speak of may have fallen heavily upon the priests of St. Peter's.
A storm is but a storm, good monks, and there is a God above to rule
that, as well as ourselves. He has delivered us out of peril, and we
have reason to rejoice and be thankful.'
'Young man,' replied the Superior, 'dost thou know the means by which
thou wast saved? St. Peter was our help.'
'I know that you and your brethren of this Priory were the
instruments in the hands of God to save our lives; and I give God
thanks first, and thee next; but I do not see how St. Peter helped
us, any more than the dead St. Ivan.'
The monks looked at each other, as much as to express astonishment at
the youth's impiety, and one said to the other, 'I wonder this fellow
was not lost!'
'Let us hope the best,' replied the Superior, 'his ignorance is the
best excuse which can be made for him. He will soon know better. I
will take care and inform his lord; so that he shall do penance for
this slur upon St. Peter.'
The conversation then turned upon the lost Latimer; the monks all
agreeing that he was not an ignorant man; but one who had certainly
entertained notions contrary to the ordained decrees of the Pope; one
who had ventured not only to think for himself, but to argue with
others, and even with the learned fraternity of Alneshborne. He was,
doubtless, punished as a heretic, and his fate would be a warning to
many how they dared to open their lips against St. Peter, They
thought that good would come of this, even to the Lord De Freston,
whose pious watch they did not fail to laud; and to praise him highly
for having kept his vow through such unexampled difficulties.