Mary bowed assent, and the train set forward. A large assemblage was collected within the area in front of the Lions’ Tower, but a passage was kept clear for the royal party by two lines of halberdiers drawn up on either side. Og and Magog were stationed at the entrance, and reverentially doffed their caps as she passed. Mary graciously acknowledged the salute, and inquired from the elder giant what had become of his diminutive companion.
“He is within, an’ please your Majesty,” replied Og, “waiting to signalize himself by a combat with a bear.”
“Indeed!” rejoined Mary, smiling. “It is a hardy enterprise for so small a champion. However, large souls oft inhabit little bodies.”
“Your Highness says rightly,” observed Og. “But your illustrious father, to whom I have the honor to be indirectly related,” and he inclined his person, “was wont to observe that he had rather have a large frame and small wit, than much wit, and a puny person.”
“My father loved to look upon a man,” replied Mary, “and better specimens of the race than thee and thy brethren he could not well meet with.”
“We are much beholden to your Highness,” replied Og; “and equally, if not more so, to your royal father. Whatever we can boast of strength and size is derived from him. Our mother—”
“Some other time,” interrupted Mary, hastily passing on.
“Have I said aught to offend her Highness?” asked Og of his brother, as soon as they were alone.
“I know not,” returned Magog. “But you fetched the color to her cheeks.”
On reaching the steps, Mary tendered her hand to Sir Henry Bedingfeld, and he assisted her to ascend. A temporary covering had been placed over the gallery, and the stone parapet was covered with the richest brocade, and velvet edged with gold fringe. The Queen’s chair was placed in the centre of the semicircle, and as soon as she was seated, Sir Henry Bedingfeld stationed himself at her left hand, and waved his staff. The signal was immediately answered by a flourish of trumpets; and a stout, square-built man, with large features, an enormous bushy beard, a short bull throat, having a flat cap on his head and a stout staff in his hand, issued from a side-door and made a profound obeisance. It was Hairun. His homage rendered, the bearward proceeded to unfasten the door of the central cage, in which a lion of the largest size was confined; and uttering a tremendous roar that shook the whole building, the kingly brute leaped forth. As soon as he had reached the ground he glared furiously at his keeper, and seemed to meditate a spring. But the latter, who had never removed his eye from him, struck him a severe blow on the nose with his pole, and he instantly turned tail like a beaten hound, and fled howling to the farther extremity of the area. Quickly pursuing him, Hairun seized him by the mane, and, in spite of his resistance, compelled him to arise, and bestriding him, rode him backwards and forwards for some time, until the lion, wearying of the performance, suddenly dislodged his rider, and sprang back to his den. This courageous action elicited great applause from the beholders, and the Queen loudly expressed her approbation. It was followed by other feats equally daring, in which the bearward proved that he had attained as complete a mastery over the savage tribe as any lion-tamer of modern times. Possessed of prodigious personal strength, he was able to cope with any animal, while his knowledge of the habits of the beast rendered him perfectly fearless as to the result. He unloosed a couple of leopards, goaded them to the utmost pitch of fury, and then defended himself from their combined attack. A tiger proved a more serious opponent. Springing against him, he threw the bearward to the ground, and for a moment it appeared as if his destruction was inevitable. But the brute’s advantage was only momentary. In this unfavorable position, Hairun seized him by the throat, and nearly strangling him with his gripe, pulled him down, and they rolled over each other. During the struggle Hairun dealt his antagonist a few blows with his fist, which deprived him of his wind, and glad to retreat, he left the bearward master of the field.
Hairun immediately arose and bowed to the Queen, and, excepting a few scratches in the arms, and a gash in the cheek, from which the blood trickled down his beard, appeared none the worse for the contest. So little, indeed, did he care for it, that without tarrying to recover breath, he opened another cage and brought out a large hyæna, over whom he obtained an easy conquest. At last, having finished his performance to the Queen’s entire satisfaction, he stepped to a side-door, and introduced Gog and Xit. The latter was arrayed in his gayest habiliments, and strutting into the centre of the area with a mincing step, made a bow to the gallery that drew a smile to the royal lips, and addressing Hairun, called in a loud voice, “Bring forth Maximilian, the imperial bear, that I may combat with him before the Queen.”
The bearward proceeded to the cage, and unfastening it, cried, “Come forth, old Max.” And the bear obeyed.
Xit, meanwhile, flung his cap on the ground, and drawing his sword, put himself in a posture of defence.
“Shall I stand by thee?” asked Gog.
“On no account,” replied Xit in an offended tone. “I want no assistance. I can vanquish him alone.”
“Spare thy adversary’s life,” observed Hairun laughingly.
“Fear nothing,” replied Xit; the brave are ever merciful.”
“True,” laughed Hairun, “I must give a like caution to Max.” And feigning to whisper in the bear’s ear, who was sitting on its hind-legs, lolling out its tongue, and looking round in expectation of some eatables, he laughingly withdrew.
Seeing that Max paid no attention to him, Xit drew nearer, and stamping his foot furiously on the ground several times, made a lunge at him, screaming—” Sa-ha! sa-ha! sirrah! — to the combat! to the combat.”
Still Max did not notice him, but kept his small red eyes fixed on the gallery, expecting that something would be thrown to him. Enraged at this contemptuous treatment of his defiance, Xit snatched up his cap, flung it in the bear’s face, and finding even this insult prove ineffectual, began to prick him with the point of his sword, crying, “Rouse thee, craven beast! Defend thy life, or I will slay thee forthwith.”
Thus provoked, Max at length condescended to regard his opponent. He uttered a fierce growl, but would not perhaps have retaliated, if Xit had not persevered in his annoyances. Gesticulating and vociferating fiercely, the dwarf made a number of rapid passes, some of which took effect in his antagonist’s hide. All at once, Max made a spring so suddenly, that Xit could not avoid it, struck down the sword, and catching the dwarf in his arms, hugged him to his bosom. All Xit’s courage vanished in a breath. He screamed loudly for help, and kicked and struggled to free himself from the terrible grasp in which he was caught. But Max was not disposed to let him off so cheaply, and the poor dwarf’s terror was excessive when he beheld those formidable jaws, and that terrible array of teeth ready to tear him in pieces. It had been all over with him, if Gog, who stood at a little distance, and narrowly watched the fray, thinking he had suffered enough, had not run to his assistance. Grasping the bear’s throat with his right hand, the giant forced back his head so as to prevent him from using his teeth, while planting his knee against the animal’s side, he tore asunder its gripe with the other hand. Hairun, who was likewise flying to the rescue, seeing how matters stood, halted, and burst into a loud laugh. The next moment Gog gave Max a buffet on the ears that laid him sprawling on his back, and Xit escaped from his clutches. As soon as the bear regained his legs, he uttered a low angry growl, and scrambled off to his cage. For a few seconds Xit looked completely crestfallen. By degrees, however, he recovered his confidence, and bowing to the gallery, said, “I can scarcely with propriety lay claim to the victory, as, if it had not been for my friend Gog—”
“Nay, thou art welcome to my share of it,” interrupted the giant.
“If so,” rejoined Xit, “I must be pronounced the conqueror, for Max has acknowledged himself vanquished by beating a retreat.” As he spoke the bear growled fiercely, and putting his head out of his cage, seemed disposed to renew the fi
ght — a challenge so alarming to Xit, that he flew to Gog for protection, amid the laughter of the assemblage. Mary then arose, and giving a purse of gold to Sir Henry Bedingfeld, to be bestowed upon the bearward, took her departure for the palace.
As Xit was conversing with his friends, maintaining that he should have vanquished the bear if Hairun had not most unfairly instructed the beast what to do, and offering to renew the combat on an early occasion, Lawrence Nightgall, accompanied by two halberdiers, entered the court, and approaching him, directed his companions to attach his person. Xit drew his sword, and called upon Gog to defend him.
“What is the meaning of this, master jailer?” demanded the giant sternly.
“He is arrested by order of the Council. There is the warrant,” replied Nightgall.
“Arrested!” exclaimed Xit. “For what?”
“For conspiring against the Queen,” replied Nightgall.
“I am innocent of the charge,” replied Xit.
“That remains to be proved,” replied Nightgall.
“I have no fears,” rejoined Xit, recovering his composure,—” but if I must lose my head, like his Grace of Northumberland, I will make a better figure on the scaffold. I shall be the first dwarf that ever perished by the axe Farewell, Gog. Comfort thyself, I am innocent. Lead me away, thou caitiff jailer.”
So saying, he folded his arms upon his breast, and preceded by Nightgall, marched at a slow and dignified pace between his guards.
CHAPTER XX.
HOW EDWARD UNDERHILL WAS BURNT ON TOWER GREEN.
It was the policy of the Romish priesthood, at the commencement of Mary’s reign, to win, by whatever means, as many converts as possible to their Church. With this view, Gardiner, by the Queen’s desire, offered a free pardon to the Hot-Gospeller, provided he would publicly abjure his errors, and embrace the Catholic faith; well knowing, that as general attention had been drawn to his crimes, and strong sympathy was excited on account of his doctrines, notwithstanding the heinous nature of his offence, among the Protestant party, his recantation would be far more available to their cause than his execution. But the enthusiast rejected the offer with disdain. Worn down by suffering, crippled with torture, his spirit still burned fiercely as ever. And the only answer that could be wrung from him by his tormentors was, that he lamented his design had failed, and rejoiced he should seal his faith with his blood.
On one occasion he was visited in his cell by Bonner, who desired that the heavy irons with which he was loaded should be removed, and a cup of wine given him. Underhill refused to taste the beverage, but Nightgall and Wolfytt, who were present forced him to swallow it. A brief conference then took place between the Bishop and the prisoner, wherein the former strove earnestly to persuade him to recant. But Underhill was so firm in his purpose, and so violent in his denunciations against his interrogator, that Bonner lost all patience, and cried, “If my words do not affright thee, thou vile traitor and pestilent heretic, yet shall the fire to which I will deliver thee.”
“There thou art mistaken, thou false teacher of a false doctrine,” rejoined Underhill sternly. “The fire may consume my body, but it hath no power over my mind, which shall remain as unscathed as the three children of Israel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, when they stood in the midst of the fiery furnace. For as the Apostle saith, ‘ The fire shall try every man’s work what it is. If any man’s work, that he hath builded upon, abide, he shall receive a reward. If any man’s work burn, he shall suffer loss. But he shall be saved himself, nevertheless, yet as it were through fire.’ Even so shall I, despite my manifold transgressions, be saved, while ye, idolatrous priests and prophets of Baal, shall be consumed in everlasting flames.”
“Go to, — go to, thou foolish boaster,” retorted Bonner angrily; “a season will come when thou wilt bitterly lament thou hast turned aside the merciful intentions of thy judges.”
“I have already said that the fire has no terrors for me,” replied Underhill. “When the spirit has once asserted its superiority over the flesh, the body can feel no pain. Upon the rack — in that dreadful engine, which fixes the frame in such a posture that no limb or joint can move — I was at ease. And to prove that I have no sense of suffering, I will myself administer the torture.”
So saying, and raising with some difficulty his stiffened arm, he held his hand over the flame of a lamp that stood upon the table before him, until the veins shrunk and burst, and the sinews cracked. During this dreadful trial, his countenance underwent no change. And if Bonner had not withdrawn the lamp, he would have allowed the limb to be entirely consumed.
“Peradventure thou wilt believe me now,” he cried triumphantly; “and wilt understand that the Lord will so strengthen me with His Holy Spirit, that I may be ‘one of the number of those blessed, which, enduring to the end, shall reap a heavenly inheritance.’”
“Take him away,” replied Bonner. “His blood be upon his own head. He is so blinded and besotted, that he does not perceive that his death will lead to damnation.”
“No, verily,” rejoined Underhill exultingly; “for as St. Paul saith, ‘There is no damnation to them that are in Christ Jesus, which walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit. Death, where is thy sting? Hell, where is thy victory?’”
“Hence with the blasphemer,” roared Bonner; “and spare him no torments, for he deserves the severest ye can inflict.
Upon this Underhill was removed, and the Bishop’s injunctions in respect to the torture literally fulfilled.
Brought to trial for the attempt upon the Queen’s life, he was found guilty, and received the royal pardon. Nothing could be elicited as to his having any associates or instigators to his crime. And the only matter that implicated another was the prayer for the restoration of Jane, written in a leaf of the Bible found upon his person at the time of his seizure. But though he was pardoned by Mary, he did not escape. He was claimed as a heretic by Bonner, examined before the ecclesiastical commissioners, and adjudged to the stake. The warrant for his execution was signed, as above related, by the Queen.
On the night before this terrible sentence was carried into effect, he was robed in a loose dress of flame-colored taffeta, and conveyed through the secret passages to St. John’s Chapel in the White Tower, which was brilliantly illuminated, and filled with a large assemblage. As he entered the sacred structure, a priest advanced with holy water, but he turned aside with a scornful look. Another, more officious, placed a consecrated wafer to his lips, but he spat it out; while a third forced a couple of tapers into his hands, which he was compelled to carry. In this way he was led along the aisle by his guard, through the crowd of spectators who divided as he moved towards the altar, before which, as on the occasion of the Duke of Northumberland’s reconciliation, Gardiner was seated upon the faldstool, with the mitre on his head. Priests and choristers were arranged on either side in their full habits. The aspect of the chancellor-bishop was stern and menacing, but the miserable enthusiast did not quail before it. On the contrary, he seemed inspired with new strength; and though he had with difficulty dragged his crippled limbs along the dark passages, he now stood firm and erect. His limbs were wasted, his cheeks hollow, his eyes deep sunken in their sockets, but flashing with vivid lustre. At a gesture from Gardiner, Nightgall and Wolfytt, who attended him, forced him upon his knees.
“Edward Underhill,” demanded the Bishop, in a stern voice, “for the last time, I ask thee dost thou persist in thy impious and damnable heresies?”
“I persist in my adherence to the Protestant faith, by which alone I can be saved,” replied Underhill firmly. “I deserve and desire death for having raised my hand against the Queen’s life. But as her Highness has been graciously pleased to extend her mercy towards me, if I suffer death it will be in the cause of the gospel. And I take all here present to witness that I am right willing to do so, certain that I shall obtain by such means the crown of everlasting life. I would suffer a thousand deaths — yea, all the rackings, torme
nts, crucifyings, and other persecutions endured by the martyrs of old, rather than deny Christ and His gospel, or defile my faith and conscience with the false worship of the Romish religion.”
“Then perish in thy sins, unbeliever,” replied Gardiner sternly.
And he arose, and taking off his mitre, the whole assemblage knelt down, while the terrible denunciation of the Catholic Church against a heretic was solemnly pronounced. This done, mass was performed, hymns were chanted, and the prisoner was conducted to his cell.
The brief remainder of his life was passed by Underhill in deep but silent devotion; for his jailers, who never left him, would not suffer him to pray aloud, or even to kneel; and strove, though vainly, to distract him, by singing ribald songs, plucking his beard and garments, and offering other interruptions.
The place appointed as the scene of his last earthly suffering was a square patch of ground, marked by a border of white flint stones, then, and even now, totally destitute of herbage, in front of St. Peter’s Chapel on the Green, where the scaffold for those executed within the Tower was ordinarily erected, and where Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard were beheaded. On this spot a strong stake was driven deeply into the ground, and at a little distance from it was piled a large stack of fagots. An iron ring was fixed to the centre of the stake, and to the ring was attached a broad iron girdle, destined to encircle the body of the victim.
As night set in, a large band of halberdiers marched into the Green, and stationed themselves round the stake. Long before this, sombre groups had gathered together at various points, and eyed the proceedings in moody silence. None of the curiosity — none of the excitement — ordinarily manifested upon such occasions was now exhibited. Underhill’s crime had checked the strong tide of sympathy which would otherwise have run in his favor. Still, as he had been pardoned by the Queen, and was condemned for his religious opinions only, deep commiseration was felt for him. It was not, however, for him that the assemblage looked grave, but for themselves. Most of them were of the Reformed faith, and they argued — and with reason — that this was only the commencement of a season of trouble; and that the next victim might be one of their own family. With such sentiments, it is not to be wondered at that they looked on sternly and suspiciously, and with the strongest disposition — though it was not manifested otherwise than by looks — to interrupt the proceedings. As it grew dark, and faces could no longer be discerned, loud murmurings arose, and it was deemed expedient to double the guard, and to place in custody some of the most clamorous. By this means all disposition to tumult was checked, and profound silence ensued. Meanwhile numbers continued to flock thither, until, long before the appointed hour arrived, the whole area from the lieutenant’s lodgings to St. Peter’s Chapel was densely thronged.
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