The Golden Grasshopper Part 11

"I have known you all your life, Ernst," she said at length, "or otherwise I could not believe you innocent in this matter, so suspicious an air does it wear. You must, though having no bad intentions, have been most cruelly deceived by this man Overton; and yet what object could he have had in carrying off the girl?"

When Master Gresham returned, he also was very indignant against Overton, declaring his belief that he was a hypocrite; though what could have been his object in taking away his niece it was impossible to say.

My patron bethought him of going immediately to the Privy Council, and getting a warrant for the apprehension of the stranger; but he himself was so much out of favour at that time, that he believed no object would thus be gained. He had been so interested with Aveline's history, though he had seen little of her, that he was sincerely grieved at what had occurred, and at my suggestion ordered out several servants with torches, directing them to proceed to various parts of the City, in the hopes of meeting with Overton and his niece, or with those who had carried them off, should this have occurred without his connivance. I eagerly set out, calling on A'Dale to join in the search.

Such occurrences as I have described were too common to cause much observation. People at that time were nightly dragged out of their beds by the emissaries of Bishop Bonner, and hauled off to prison. At length, as we were proceeding towards the river, we met a serving-man with a torch, who was on his way to conduct his master back to his house in that neighbourhood. He told us, in reply to our inquiries, that a short time before he had met an armed band with a man, who seemed to be a prisoner, and a young girl; that they had taken boat, and proceeded up the Thames. I inquired whether he was sure that they had gone up, and had not rather proceeded down the stream. He was certain, he said, that they had gone upwards; that he had heard some one speak the word "Lambeth," if that would prove any guidance to us.

This convinced me that Overton had truly fallen into the power of the cruel Bonner, and that Aveline, found in his company, had been carried off with him.

Once more I returned with the information we had gained to Lady Anne and my patron. Never had I felt so great a sorrow. A'Dale and I devised all sorts of plans for liberating Aveline; but, alas! one after the other was thrown aside as hopeless. Master Gresham promised to exert all his influence rather than allow her to suffer.

"Surely her Majesty would not wish that an innocent young girl like Aveline should suffer hurt," cried Lady Anne.

"My dear wife, she who thinks she is doing G.o.d's service in burning pious bishops and youths and maidens, such as some who have been brought to the stake, would not hesitate to inflict the same doom on your Aveline."

Lady Anne burst into tears. She was not a lady given to weeping, and I had never seen her so moved before. Indeed, I could have joined her, so grieved was I for the loss of Aveline, if lost she was.

Master Gresham began to chide, and told her not to weep. "I will see what can be done for the damsel," he said. "I have seen so little of her, that I knew not she had thus won upon your affections."

As my patron said this, my hopes began to revive; for I thought him all-powerful, and that anything he undertook he would most a.s.suredly accomplish.

Some time pa.s.sed by, and no tidings could be gained of Overton or his niece. Meantime disastrous news came from the army in France, which did not soften the disposition of Queen Mary nor of Bishop Bonner. Every misfortune which occurred made her believe still more firmly than ever that it was sent because she did not sufficiently support the Catholic religion, and because so many of her subjects remained opposed to that faith. To show her zeal and love for it, therefore, she resolved to take further steps for the extirpation of what she called heresy.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

ACCESSION OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.

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 pa.s.s 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 a.s.sistance. 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 s.p.a.ce 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 f.a.ggots.

We heard it again a.s.serted 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 sc.r.a.ped on the crown of their heads and the tips of their fingers: this being to signify that the oil of anointing was sc.r.a.ped 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 mult.i.tude. 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 f.a.ggots. 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 a.s.sistants hurried forward with f.a.ggots. 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 pa.s.s.

"Stay the execution! Stay the execution!" he shouted, seeing that the men with torches were about to cast them on the piles of f.a.ggots. "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, rus.h.i.+ng forward, dragged away the f.a.ggots 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 a.s.sist 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 pa.s.s 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."