Humphrey Clayton had more difficulty in overcoming his sister's wish to return with him to London, than his uncle's objections to his going. Directly his strength was restored, in the peasant's disguise in which he had arrived, he set forth towards London, on the pony on which his sister had journeyed to this place. He was seldom questioned, for few troubled themselves about the peasant youth, who was, those thought who took note of him, going to seek his fortune in the capital. He was able also to pay for his food and lodging, for he had brought with him the store he had saved for the purchase of a Bible, which the good merchant had refused to receive from him. He could not, as before, sleep in the open air, for the year was advanced. November had commenced, and the nights were cold and damp. He pushed onwards as fast as his pony could go, following the road he had come, so at length he found himself in the neighborhood of honest Thomas Holden's cottage, towards which his pony set off at full speed. The door was closed. He knocked and knocked, but in vain. He looked in through the casement. The interior had a deserted appearance, or he would have thought that both Holden and his wife had left home for a short time together. He was still wandering round the cottage, when an old man, coming out of the wood, passed him.
“What art thou looking for, lad?" asked the old man. Humphrey inquired if he knew what had become of the Holden’s. "Ah, troth do I! They were carried away to London city, some time since, I wot not how long, to be burned, for the reason that they had sheltered two young heretics who had escaped out of the hand of the Lord Bishop Bonner!”
“Oh! don't say that! don't say that, old man, for the love of heaven!" exclaimed Humphrey. "Don't tell me that those kind, good people have been cruelly put to death on my account.”
“Ah! marry do I, though," said the old man in a well-satisfied tone; "if they were heretics it is but right that they should be burned, and then they can do no more harm.”
Sick at heart at what he had heard, Humphrey asked no further questions about his friends of the old man, but begged that the shortest way to London might be pointed out to him, and as soon as it was so, he set off towards the great city as fast as his pony could carry him. He felt that it was too probable, if the poor people like the Holdens were to be burned, his father would not escape. Night overtook him before he reached the capital.
Dark, however, as it was, he still, in his eagerness, pushed onwards until he became sensible that he had lost his way, for, looking up at the stars overhead, he found that he was almost turning back in the direction from which he had come. The country was wild and hilly, and at length, as he led on his pony, he stumbled into a pit, from whence gravel had been taken to form the road. It was shallow and free from water, and as it was thus completely sheltered from the wind, and somewhat also from the dew, by the high overhanging bank which had been hollowed out, he made up his mind to remain where he was, lest he should get into greater trouble. There he lay, holding by his pony's bridle, for he thought if the animal strayed he might not be able again to find it. The long November night passed wearily away. His intention was to go to Newgate, and to seek an interview with his father in the character of a poor boy on his estate; then, if he was not detained, to endeavor to find out where the Holdens were confined. Should they have escaped death, he purposed offering to deliver up himself in their stead, so that they were allowed to go free. "I shall not be recognized," he thought to himself, "and I will say that I bear a message from young Humphrey Clayton, who would rather meet death than allow others to suffer for helping him." Having arrived at this resolution, he at length fell asleep. The dawn had already broken when he awoke refreshed, and with a lightness of heart for which he could not account. It was the 17th of November, 1558-a day to be remembered in the annals of England's history. In a short time he saw before him, in the far distance, the tower of St. Paul's Church, though a very different edifice to that afterward raised on the same spot. With the tower as his guide, which rose above the generally low and mean houses which intervened, he, without difficulty, directed his course towards London. As he got near the houses, he saw a number of people emerging from them, and hurrying in the direction of a spot he remembered too well. It was Smithfield. At first his tongue refused to ask the reason why they were thus hurrying on. At length he mustered courage, though trembling to hear the answer—
“Why, master, to see the chiefest sight we have had there for some weeks past. A whole batch of heretics are to be burned this morning, most contumacious knaves, they say; and some women, too. O lad, it will be a pleasant and joyous sight; all for the honor of our holy religion, and the Queen, and Pope, and Cardinal Legate," answered a savage and rough-looking fellow, who seemed scarcely willing to stop and speak, lest he might miss any part of the expected spectacle.
Such men existed then, and ever since have been found, increased unhappily in numbers, in England's metropolis.
Humphrey, sick at heart and trembling with anxiety, followed as fast as he could make his way through the crowd. The mass of people grew denser and denser as he approached the spot. There were many others on horseback; but, with his little pony he was able to work his way towards the front, so as to look over the heads of all intervening spectators.
In the center of the open space, where the ground was black with the ashes of previous fires, were eight or more stakes, with a pile of faggots surrounding each of them; beyond was a group of persons, ecclesiastics by their dresses; and justices, as the magistrates were called; and guards; others who were evidently prisoners.
Humphrey would have rather deserted his little pony than not have gone forward, yet he could not venture to approach the group on horseback. Among the crowd he observed a boy whose countenance pleased him.
Here, lad, I will give thee a silver crown if thou wilt take charge of this animal and restore him to me when I return," he said.
He threw the reins to the boy, and pushed his way through the crowd. Regardless of the consequences, he rapidly shouldered his way onwards, for among the prisoners, he had recognized his father! There were others also—Thomas Holden and his wife. He was too late, he feared, to carry his resolution of offering himself instead of them into effect. If he could not rescue his father, he would have the satisfaction of embracing him again, of being with him to the last. Priests surrounded each prisoner, exhorting him to recant. They pointed to the stakes and faggots, and promised liberty, and restoration to home and family. The prisoners, one and all, refused the proffered pardon, and smiled at the stakes and faggots.
Humphrey, unable to resist the impulse of his heart, in spite of priests and guards, rushed forward, and threw himself on his father's neck.
“Who is that lad, who dares to impede the ministration of the priests to the condemned HERETIC? Remove him, guards," said one of the principal of the ecclesiastics.
Humphrey, for an instant, looked up. In the speaker he recognized Master Dixon, their treacherous visitor at the farm. Disregarding him, and the soldiers who pressed around: "Father, dear father, I will rescue you from these people, or die with you. There are many in the crowd who would aid us in a bold attempt at escape.”
“Think not of it, my boy," answered Reginald Clayton in a firm tone. "Your own life would be sacrificed and I should not preserve mine. Fly, rather, at once, and be a support and protection to your sister. I grieve that you have come here; yet you did it through your love for me, and I bless you—Go, son, go. These are my last commands, and wherever you go, hold fast to the truth.”
With a sad heart Humphrey was about to obey, when the priest who had called himself Master Dixon shouted out— "Hold fast that youth, an errant young heretic. By St. Nicholas, he shall burn with his father. Haste, pile up the faggots; let the broiling begin.”
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth than there was a swaying to and fro of the crowd in the distance, and a horseman appeared, spurring at full speed towards where the priests and executioners were collected near the prisoners. It was evident that he brought news of importance.
“News, news!" he shouted. Queen Mary is dead. Elizabeth now reigns as Queen of England.”
"Long live Queen Elizabeth, the Protestant Sovereign of England," cried a loud voice from the crowd.
“True is it, friends," exclaimed the horseman. "And, moreover, Sir William Cecil, a, staunch Protestant, has been called to be Her Majesty's first minister. What that means you may all judge.”
On hearing these words, the priests, who had just before appeared so proud and overbearing, turned pale, and began to whisper among themselves. The chief magistrate, who had been presiding at the fearful ceremony, sidled out from among them; two or three other officials moved off more rapidly, and quickly disappeared; the executioners, and the debased ruffians whose business it was to heap up the faggots, stood gaping at each other, and at their expected victims, and from them to their superiors, doubtful when they were to begin their work. The guard who had seized Humphrey let him go, when he instantly flew back to his father, and throwing himself in his arms, exclaimed "There is hope, there is hope! Oh, father, there is hope!”
Yes, there was hope; for already the caitiff priests and magistrates, who had been so eager to shed the blood of their fellow-creatures, began to tremble for their own lives. The chief magistrate at length stood up, and in a faltering voice cried out “Lieges, it seemeth to me that matters are in an uncertain, doubtful condition, and, albeit these people deserve to die, it seemeth wise that they should be remanded forthwith to prison.”
Not any official nor priest opposed the proposition. Some few of the mob grumbled at being disappointed of their expected entertainment, but the great mass threw up their caps, and shouted lustily, "Long live Queen Elizabeth!”
Reginald Clayton, released from his bonds, passed his hand over his brow, like one awakening out of a sleep, and leaning on the arms of his faithful son, walked amid the guards back towards the prison from which he had that morning been led forth, as he believed, to die.
He and his companions, however, scarcely looked like the people going to prison, for they had assuredly a strong hope of speedy deliverance. Humphrey would gladly have shared his father's imprisonment, but at the door he was refused admittance. He was, however, able to supply him with some of his gold pieces, which, even in prison in those days, enabled him to obtain the share of a room with a few other gentlemen, and better food than the ordinary prison fare. Among the last in the train of prisoners came honest Thomas Holden and his wife. Humphrey, after parting with his father, had time to run back and meet them. He pressed a piece of gold into Thomas's hard palm as he grasped it“—
No, lad, no; take back thy money," said the sturdy yeoman; "I thank thee kindly, but those who put us into this place shall e'en feed us while they keep us; and, when we get out, our own legs are strong enough to carry us home again, I ween.”
Nothing Humphrey could urge would turn honest Thomas from his resolution.
When, finally, the prison doors were closed, Humphrey remembered his pony, which he had left with a boy in Smithfield, and he turned back, little expecting however, to find it. Just as he reached the precincts of that spot, still so full of dreadful recollections, he heard a voice, in melancholy accents, calling his name, and the next instant he found himself in the embrace of John Goodenough, who could scarcely speak for the sighs and groans which burst from his bosom, and the tears streaming from his eyes.
“It's too late—too late—it's all over; every one of them are burned, and the fires are nearly out, and the people gone," he exclaimed, giving way to a fresh burst of grief.
Not without difficulty, Humphrey made him comprehend what had occurred, and that his father was still alive and well. John had only just before arrived on the spot from Essex, where he had but that morning received the information that his master was to be put to death that day. His deep grief was soon turned into intense joy when he heard that Queen Elizabeth, known to be a Protestant, had ascended the throne.
It was soon discovered how he had been mistaken. When the greater number of the crowd had dispersed, a few of the rougher characters, not altogether to be disappointed of their intended spectacle, had seized on the faggots left by the frightened executioners, and had made bonfires of them, in honor of the new Queen of England.
On advancing a short distance further, Humphrey espied his pony still held by the honest lad to whose charge he had committed him. Humphrey thanked him warmly, and rewarded him with a far larger piece of money than he had promised. The lad looked wistfully at him as he was going away. Humphrey, turning back, asked if he could do anything for him.
“'Indeed, indeed you can, for I perceive that you are a gentleman, in spite of your disguise. My parents are both dead, and I have no relations on whom to depend. Take me into your service, and I will prove truly faithful.”
Humphrey consulted with John Goodenough, and then, turning to the lad, asked if he could ride.
“Ay, that I can"; he answered, "I have lived all my days in the country, and traveled, too, over many a long mile of it!”
“Then will you undertake to bear a message for me into Wiltshire with all speed?" asked Humphrey.
The lad, who said that his name was Stephen Mason, finally undertook to make the best of his way to the house of William Fuller, with the news of the accession of Queen Elizabeth, and the happy escape from death of Humphrey's father; and Humphrey resolved to appeal to the Queen should his father not soon be released, while John hurried back into Essex to prepare, as he hoped, for his dear master's return home. He was not disappointed.
On the 24th of November, Queen Elizabeth made her public entrance into London, winning all the hearts of the people by her gracious and kind manners and courteous speeches, and by the order she forthwith issued that, in further honor of that day, all prisoners confined on account of their religious opinions should be forthwith set at liberty. Throughout London the prison doors were thrown open; and those who had been till lately expecting death went forth to rejoice. To those who valued the Bible, an act of her Majesty on a similar occasion, a few weeks afterward, gave still further satisfaction. When she espied a pageant at the little Conduit in Cheape, she demanded what should be represented therein. Answer was made that Time did then attend for her.
“Time?" said she; "how is that possible seeing that it is Time that hath brought me hither?" A valuable lesson to all men to wait patiently for whatever God in His wisdom has in store for us. Here a Bible in English, richly covered, was let down unto her by a silk lace from a child that represented Truth. She kissed both her hands—with both her hands she received it—then she kissed it; afterward applied it to her breast; and lastly, held it up, thanking the city especially for that gift, and promising to be a diligent reader thereof.
Humphrey was at the door of the prison to receive his father, with faithful John Goodenough holding their horses, and concourse of friends eager to welcome those who had escaped, as it were, from the very jaws of death. A joyous company rode back into Essex, for many had been brought out of that county, ready to suffer at the stake rather than abandon their faith in the Gospel.
In a few days Mary arrived at her home, escorted by her uncle, who came to congratulate his brother-in-law on his happy escape from a cruel death. Together they visited the spot in Brentwood where Humphrey and Mary had witnessed the martyrdom of William Hunter—the cause of their own conversion to the truth, and of many others. "Truly," they said, "he did not die in vain!" "No!" And whine the names of the sheriffs, the justices, the priests, the guards, and the whole of that multitude we found collected at the commencement of our tale watching his death, have long since been utterly forgotten, that of the young martyr is still cherished in his native town, and known throughout the world.
A monument of polished granite stands near the spot where his frail body perished, and the glorious cause for which he suffered—the free circulation of the Bible, which tells us of the love of God for man; the truth, as it is in Christ Jesus—is triumphant!