DELABER and Garratt soon met again, for although, as you may remember, Delaber had started on his journey, intending to find a hiding-place in Wales, he was overtaken by the cardinal's messengers when he had gone only a little way from Oxford, brought back, and imprisoned along with the friend who had so resolutely refused to betray him. And now in the quiet university a reign of terror began; the search for English Testaments continued, and all with whom they were found were counted guilty of heresy.
It was very grievous to the proud cardinal to think that his college, which he had intended to be the glory of England and to carry his name down to distant times as its founder, should thus become the home of those who read and sought to distribute books condemned alike by the voice of the Church and by the law of the land. He was determined to root out heresy from Oxford, even though in so doing he might have to sacrifice some of the choicest of those scholars, whom he had brought thither that they might adorn the noble university by their learning.
Beneath Cardinal's College was a deep cave, where stores of salt fish were kept. This den became the prison of many of Tyndale's Cambridge friends, among them John Clarke, who had warned Delaber of the persecution which was coming, and Fryth, afterward Tyndale's companion and helper abroad. There they remained in the damp, unhealthy air, and in darkness, through the bright days of spring, when all things were rejoicing in the sunshine, and fed only upon salt fish. The only change that came to the poor captives as the days went by was when, one by one, they were taken into the light of day that they might be tried for their offense. At last one morning they were all, some twenty young men, led out, each carrying a fagot to show that he counted himself worthy of the fire, to a place outside the town, where a great fire was kindled. Into this fire they were made to cast the books which had been found in their rooms, and then the little company were led back again to their miserable dungeon.
We may well imagine how gloomy their prison looked to them after having been permitted once more to see the sweet light and the fair face of nature. And how sadly the prisoners would remember that in publicly burning the books, which had been the means of such blessing to them, and in doing penance for having harbored and distributed them, though they had yet escaped death themselves, they had not "witnessed a good confession." Garratt and Delaber, as well as Fryth and Clarke, and many others who truly loved the Lord and honored His word, took part in this act of penance, and the cardinal trusted that he had broken the spirit of the Oxford scholars, and that all men would now set them at naught, and count the doctrines they had taught and the books they had burned alike unworthy of belief.
Of Delaber we hear no more. Garratt seems by some means to have obtained his liberty for a season. But the time came when he was again arrested, sent to the Tower, and taken thence to die at Smithfield, the place where so many martyrs were to yield up their lives. The Lord had strengthened the timid heart, and confirmed the wavering faith of His disciple, so that he no longer shrank from the terror of the suffering of such a death, but heartily embraced it, in all things more than conqueror through Him that loved him.
Perhaps, as the time dragged on, and no deliverance came, the poor prisoners in the cave under Cardinal's College thought it would be easier to die than to live. Spring had given way to summer, but no light came to them, and, oppressed by the bad air, consumed with thirst, seemingly forgotten, like dead men in their graves, their spirits sank, and their bodies were so worn and wasted that they almost shrank from meeting each other as they wandered up and down their narrow cellar. In the early days of their captivity they had been accustomed to talk together, for this boon was not denied them; but now, if one met another, in their sad pacing to and fro, they passed in silence. At last Clarke, the one to whom so many had looked up as their teacher and friend, fell down, and remained in a fainting condition, unable to move. The rest believed him dead, and gathered round him as he lay upon the damp floor; they felt his cold hands, and tried to warm them in their own, and, kneeling beside him, repeated in his ear cherished words of hope and cheer from the Bible for love of which they were all suffering this long anguish of imprisonment.
As they prayed and wept over him, the sufferer revived, to linger through a few more days of darkness and weariness. Then three others sank down; and it was whispered that four of the Cardinal's College prisoners were at the point of death, and their friends earnestly besought Wolsey to have compassion upon their miserable state and release them, ere it was too late, from their frightful dungeon.
He gave permission that the sick men should be carried to their own chambers, and they were taken home to the rooms which they had left six months before, in all the vigor of youth-only to die. Wolsey, doubtless, touched at receiving the news of their death, gave orders that all the other prisoners should be set at liberty, upon condition that they remained at Oxford, not going ten miles from the town. When they came forth, so altered were they, and such sad marks had their captivity set upon them, that the friends who came to meet them almost failed to recognize them.
It is well that we should take such a story as this to heart, dear children; it is well that we, who have never known any trouble for the sake of God's word—unless, perhaps, the trouble of that indifference of heart that leads us to value it so little and to read it so carelessly—should never forget how dearly the love of it, and the desire to make it known to their neighbors, once cost these young Englishmen.