by Tom Bevan
Chapter XLV.
FOR FAITH AND COUNTRY!
The trial of the two brothers was a very elaborate and ceremonialbusiness. The Inquisition Court, with the bishop presiding, sat forabout three hours. There was reading of papers, citing ofecclesiastical and royal decrees, and a good deal of argument betweenthe bishop, the Chief Inquisitor, and Brother Basil. Through all thiswordy process the two sailors stood, or lounged, or chatted quietlytogether. At first they had listened, hoping to glean a littleinformation; but as Latin predominated over Spanish, and theyunderstood no word of the former and only the New World barbaricmixture of the latter, they soon ceased to pay attention, and lawyersand ecclesiastics droned on as long as it pleased them to do so.
In the last few minutes the interest swung round to the prisoners.Basil ordered them to attend and answer truthfully certain questionsthe court desired to put to them. The two lean, brown bodies werestraightened, and two pairs of keen, clear eyes stared into Basil'sshifty orbs.
"Are you sons of the same parents?"
"Yes."
"Names?"
"Nicodemus and Edward."
"Nationality?"
"English, God be thanked!" answered Nick.
"Amen! brother," said Ned.
"Religion?"
The two rough fellows looked at one another. The question was really apuzzler. Living their lives out on the sea, unlettered and unlearned,they had no knowledge of religious formularies.
"We believe in God and Jesus Christ His Son," said Nick. "Is that so,brother?"
"That is so," said Ned; "those are the names that come in thechaplain's prayers."
"Do you acknowledge the authority of his Holiness the Pope of Rome?"
Another look of consultation, and Ned shook his head. Nick answered."We do not believe in the Pope. We did as boys during Mary's reign."
"Why did you change?"
"Queen and Parliament no longer believe in him, but hate him for anenemy. We believe in our Queen and Parliament. Will that do, brother?"
"Beautifully. Tell the truth and shame the devil. We have drunkconfusion to the Pope in many a cup of sack, and in good companytoo--with Franky Drake and Jack Hawkins, Jacob Whiddon, and a host ofbonny sailor-men. No, brother, we do not believe in the Pope, althoughthere are some honest fellows and many rogues who do. We must stand bythe words passed to old comrades."
There was a brief consultation on the judges' bench, and the bishopgave it as his opinion that the two men were utterly ignorant onreligious questions, and simply believed what they were told tobelieve. He himself, in pursuance of the duties of his sacred office,would expound the true faith to them, and show them the heresies oftheir own lightly-held belief. Whereupon his lordship addressed theprisoners for the better part of an hour in very dignified Spanish andscholarly Latin. The two paid earnest attention, for theecclesiastic's tone was kindly, almost fatherly. They understoodlittle of what he said, and Basil was not allowed to interpret, as thebishop believed that his own voice and words would have greater weight,and it was acknowledged that the Englishmen had a fair knowledge ofSpanish.
As the good man sipped a cup of wine and fanned himself after hisepiscopal exhortation, Basil briefly questioned the prisoners again.The bishop had shown them their errors in matters of faith; were theyprepared to recant, and re-enter the fold from which they hadignorantly strayed?
These questions were plain enough, and the brothers looked at oneanother once more. Both heads shook. Nick spoke out. "We are notable," he said, "to judge between Pope and Parliament, or between onebishop and another. Our faith and our country are one; our home andour Church are one. We are loyal Englishmen, and will stick to Queen,Parliament, and friends because we love them and believe in them andknow that they will never betray or desert us. We hold the faith ofour friends, and cannot, without dishonour, turn and accept the faithof our foes."
The bishop was angry at this sturdy answer. His vanity was piqued thattwo rude sailors should be so uninfluenced by his learned discourse.He ordered Basil to tell them what the inevitable consequences of theirobstinacy would be.
The two brothers listened calmly enough. "Will you recant now?"
"Is it 'No,' brother Ned?"
"It is 'No!'"
"No!" said Nick; "and God help us both!"
Then sentence was pronounced. It was that the next evening, an hourbefore sundown, the two should be led to a stake fixed in themarket-place of the town and there publicly burnt, in the hope that thedestruction of their bodies by fire might save their souls from theeverlasting flames of hell. The bishop spoke the sentence, and Basiltranslated it piece by piece. The toil-worn figures in the prisoners'dock became more fixed and rigid as the dread words fell, one by one.All was said. The brothers faced one another, and there was deathlypallor whitening the tan of their cheeks. They shook hands silently,then kissed; then hand in hand, like two children, they walked awaybetween the guards, and the most curious onlooker never saw even thetremor of an eyelid.
That night earnest priests, zealous enough according to the narrowideas of the time, place, creed, and race, visited the doomed men andexhorted them to forsake their errors. Always they got the samesimple, faithful, patriotic reply. They served their Queen, theircountry, their captain. What these believed, they believed, and heldto be right. Faith with them was a matter of national obligation andfaithfulness to their leaders and comrades. To deny the faith was todeny the principles that had ruled their lives. Such treason tocountry and conscience was impossible. They thanked the priests fortheir ministrations, and begged after a while to be left alone. Arequest that they might speak with Morgan or Jeffreys was refused, buta young monk promised to take a message of affectionate farewell. Hefulfilled the promise, and the simple, childlike, yet valiant wordscheered many a terrible hour in the months that followed.
Nicodemus Johnson, and Edward his brother, died at the stake in Panamaat the time and on the spot appointed. A curious and silent crowdwatched the agonizing passing away of the two brave, simple-heartedfellows; and, Spaniard and Indian alike, they went away profoundlyimpressed. A brighter lustre was added to the name "Englishman." Itis difficult to say whether the noble fellows were martyrs most toreligion or country. So little versed were they in religious practicesthat they hardly knew a prayer for use in their last hours, and theirlast thoughts and visions were not of heaven, but of the green fieldsand blue waters of England.
The stakes were placed side by side, and, as the hands and arms wereleft free, the brothers could touch one another.
When the fagots were lighted, and the stifling smoke rolled up intotheir faces. Nick stretched out his hand and sought that of hisyounger brother. "God bless us, brother, and forgive us whatever wehave done amiss!" he cried.
"God bless England and give her victory over her enemies," replied Ned.
And hand in hand--the loving, tortured grip heartening them to endurethe awful agony--the brothers died.
"_Dulce et decorum est pro patria--et fide--mori!_"