CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
"READY! AY, READY!"
It was the evening of the first of August. The prisoners in the Castle,now reduced to four--the Mounts, Rose, and Johnson--had held theirBible-reading and their little evening prayer-meeting, and sat waitingfor supper. John and Margaret Thurston, who had been with them untilthat day, were taken away in the morning to undergo examination, and hadnot returned. The prisoners had not yet heard when they were to die.They only knew that it would be soon, and might be any day. Yet we aretold they remained in their dungeons "with much joy and great comfort,in continual reading and invocating the name of God, ever looking andexpecting the happy day of their dissolution."
We should probably feel more inclined to call it a horrible day. Butthey called it a happy day. They expected to change their prison for apalace, and their prison bonds for golden harps, and the prison fare forthe fruit or the Tree of Life, and the company of scoffers andtormentors for that of Seraphim and Cherubim, and the blessed dead: andabove all, to see His Face who had laid down His life for them.
Supper was late that evening. They could hear voices outside, withoccasional exclamations of surprise, and now and then a peal oflaughter. At length the door was unlocked, and the gaoler's man came inwith four trenchers, piled on each other, on each of which was laid aslice of rye-bread and a piece of cheese. He served out one to eachprisoner.
"Want your appetites sharpened?" said he with a sarcastic laugh."Because, if you do, there's news for you."
"Prithee let us hear it, Bartle," answered Mount, quietly.
"Well, first, writs is come down. Moot Hall prisoners suffer at sixto-morrow, on the waste by Lexden Road, and you'll get your deserving i'th' afternoon, in the Castle yard."
"God be praised!" solemnly responded William Mount, and the others addedan Amen.
"Well, you're a queer set!" said Bartle, looking at them. "I shouldn'twant to thank nobody for it, if so be I was going to be hanged: andthat's easier of the two."
"We are only going Home," answered William Mount. "The climb may besteep, but there is rest and ease at the end thereof."
"Well, you seem mighty sure on't. I know nought. Priests say you'llfind yourselves in a worser place nor you think."
"Nay! God is faithful," said Johnson.
"Have it your own way. I wish you might, for you seem to me a dealtidier folks than most that come our way. Howbeit, my news isn't alltold. Alegar, your brats be gone to Hedingham."
"God go with them!" replied Johnson; but he seemed much sadder to hearthis than he had done for his own doom.
"And Margaret Thurston's recanted. She's reconciled and had to betterlodging."
It was evident, though to Bartle's astonishment, that the prisonersconsidered this the worst news of all.
"And John Thurston?"
"Ah, they aren't so sure of him. They think he'll bear a faggot, butit's not certain yet."
"God help and strengthen him!"
"And Mistress Wade, of the King's Head, is had up to London to theBishop."
"God grant her His grace!"
"I've told you all now. Good-night."
The greeting was returned, and Bartle went out. He was commissioned tocarry the writ down to the Moot Hall.
Not many minutes later, Wastborowe entered the dungeon with the writ inhis hand. The prisoners were conversing over their supper, but thesight of that document brought silence without any need to call for it.
"Hearken!" said Wastborowe. "At six o'clock in the morning, on thewaste piece by Lexden Road, shall suffer the penalty of the law thesemen and women underwritten:--William Bongeor, Thomas Benold, Robert_alias_ William Purcas, Agnes Silverside _alias_ Downes _alias_ Smith_alias_ May, Helen Ewring, Elizabeth Foulkes, Agnes Bowyer."
With one accord, led by Mr Benold, the condemned prisoners stood up andthanked God.
"`Agnes Bowyer'," repeated Wastborowe in some perplexity. "Your name'snot Bowyer; it's Bongeor."
"Bongeor," said its bearer. "Is my name wrong set down? Pray you, MrWastborowe, have it put right without delay, that I be not left out."
"I should think you'd be uncommon glad if you were!" said he.
"Nay, but in very deed it should grieve me right sore," she repliedearnestly. "Let there not be no mistake, I do entreat you."
"I'll see to it," said Wastborowe, as he left the prison.
The prisoners had few preparations to make. Each had a garment ready--along robe of white linen, falling straight from the neck to the ankles,with sleeves which buttoned at the wrist. There were many such robesmade during the reign of Mary--types of those fairer white robes whichwould be "given to every one of them," when they should have crossed thedark valley, and come out into the light of the glory of God. OnlyAgnes Bongeor and Helen Ewring had something else to part with. WithAgnes in her prison was a little baby only a few weeks old, and she mustbid it good-bye, and commit it to the care of some friend. Helen Ewringhad to say farewell to her husband, who came to see her about four inthe morning; and to the surprise of Elizabeth Foulkes, she found herselfsummoned also to an interview with her widowed mother and her uncleHolt.
"Why, Mother!" exclaimed Elizabeth in astonishment, "I never knew youwere any where nigh."
"Didst thou think, my lass, that aught 'd keep thy mother away from theewhen she knew? I've been here these six weeks, a-waiting to hear. Eh,my pretty mawther, [see note 1] but to see this day! I've looked forthee to be some good man's wife, and a happy woman,--such a good maid asthou always wast!--and now! Well, well! the will of the Lord be done!"
"A happy woman, Mother!" said Elizabeth with her brightest smile. "Inall my life I never was so happy as this day! This is my wedding day--nay, this is my crowning day! For ere the sun be high this day, I shallhave seen the Face of Christ, and have been by Him presented faultlessbefore the light of the glory of God. Mother, rejoice with me, andrejoice for me, for I can do nothing save rejoice. Glory be to God onhigh, and on earth peace, good-will towards men!"
There was glory to God, but little good-will towards men, when the sixprisoners were marched out into High Street, on their way to martyrdom.Yet only one sorrowful heart was in the dungeon of the Moot Hall, andthat was Agnes Bongeor's, who lamented bitterly that owing to themis-spelling of her name in the writ, she was not allowed to make theseventh. She actually put on her robe of martyrdom, in the _hope_ thatshe might be reckoned among the sufferers. Now, when she learned thatshe was not to be burned that day, her distress was poignant.
"Let me go with them!" she cried. "Let me go and give my life forChrist! Alack the day! The Lord counts me not worthy."
The other six prisoners were led, tied together, two and two, throughHigh Street and up to the Head Gate. First came William Bongeor andThomas Benold; then Mrs Silverside and Mrs Ewring; last, Robert Purcasand Elizabeth Foulkes. They were led out of the Head Gate, to "a plotof ground hard by the town wall, on the outward side," beside the LexdenRoad. There stood three great wooden stakes, with a chain affixed toeach. The clock of Saint Mary-at-Walls struck six as they reached thespot.
Around the stakes a multitude were gathered to see the sight. MrEwring, with set face, trying to force a smile for his wife'sencouragement; Mrs Foulkes, gazing with clasped hands and tearful eyeson her daughter; Thomas Holt and all his family; Mr Ashby and all his;Ursula Felstede, looking very unhappy; Dorothy Denny, looking very sad;old Walter Purcas, leaning on his staff, from time to time shaking hiswhite head as if in bitter lamentation; a little behind the others, MrsClere and Amy; and in front, busiest of the busy, Sir Thomas Tye andNicholas Clere. There they all were, ready and waiting, to see the MootHall prisoners die.
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Note 1. Girl. This is a Suffolk provincialism.
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