CHAPTER XIV
HOW I SAW A MAN WHO BECAME FAMOUS!
The night was falling fast as I drew near Bedford town. The weather wasvery fine, however, and the country side was fair to behold. Flowerswere blooming on all sides, and the scent of the young and bursting lifewas indeed pleasant. Not that I was in a mood to enter into thejoyousness of that spring evening, for I had ridden hard since morning,and I noticed that Black Ben's head drooped, and he dragged one legwearily after another. Besides, my mind was filled with many doubts andfears. Why had I come to a town of which I knew nothing? And why shouldI seek to rescue a woman from prison who thought so little of my helpthat she had treated my offer with but little respect? Added to this,why should I, the son of a gentleman who had fought for Charles Stuart,seek to befriend the woman who had attempted murder in order to preventthe rightful king of the country from coming back to his throne?
These questions, which persisted in coming to me, were real and forcefulenough, and try as I would I could find no satisfactory answer to them.Yet did I ride straight on, determined to do that which reason andwelfare declared to be madness. For the woman's face haunted me. Thelook of despair I had seen in her eyes, the tone of her voice, appealedto me so strongly for help that I could not resist. More than that, thevery mystery which surrounded her strengthened my determination. Whatled her to Folkestone, and what connection had she with the old man withwhom I had had such strange experiences at Pycroft Hall?
All this determined me to get to Bedford that night, and then to use myutmost endeavour to deliver her from the hands of Monk's minions andfrom the king's power.
I heard the bells from the old church at Bedford pealing out a note ofjoy, when I saw a man in plain homely garments trudging along the roadin front of me.
"Give you good even," he said, as I rode up.
"Good even," I replied, trying to discern in the fast failing lightwhether he was a man of quality.
"You look as though you have ridden far."
"From London," I replied, reflecting that although he looked not like aman of wealth, there was an air of authority about him, which made itimpossible to pass him by without a second look.
"Ah," he said eagerly. "And what is the news from London?"
"There is much," I replied; "and yet it will not take long in thetelling."
"And how is that?"
"Because it all hath to do with the same thing. When you have said thatthe new king is on his way thither and that the people are preparing towelcome him, you have told all."
"Ah, but that means much, I fear."
"You fear?"
"Ay, I fear, young master, for I fear me the devil is unloosed in Londontown. If what I have heard be true, then all those things which thechildren of the Lord have fought against, and driven into the darkness,are to be flaunted in broad daylight, and no man will dare to cryshame."
"The new king loves pleasure," I made answer.
He looked at me steadily, and was silent.
I would have ridden on at this; but thinking he might be able to tell methings I desired to know, I determined to alight and walk by his side.
"We are not far from Bedford, I take it?" I said.
"But a mile."
"Know you of a good hostelry there?"
"I know all that may be found there."
"Then, by your leave, I will walk back with you, for I judge you aretravelling thither."
"Ay," he replied, "my home is at Bedford, and my wife and dear ones livethere."
There was a quiet dignity in the way he spoke, and although I detectednone of the evidences of the schoolman in his speech, I could not helpfeeling that he was a man of some authority.
"Do you love God, young master?" he said, the moment I had dismounted,and walked by his side.
"How may a man do that?" I asked, for the question took me aback.
"By loving His Son, whom He hath sent in the flesh to proclaim his love,by dying for a sinful world."
"And what may be the signs which show forth that one loves the Son ofGod?" I continued, concluding that I had happened across one of thePuritans of the district.
"The sign of love is obedience," he replied. "For what are His Words?'He that hath My commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that lovethMe.'"
"That also may need explanation," I replied, for I determined not toendanger myself in any way by hasty speech.
"The explanation is simple," he replied quietly. "The teaching of Christis that we do good, not only in lip but in life. That we love oneanother, and that we also love the truth of God. It is also that we obeyGod at all costs, even as the Apostles did of olden time. We have a safeguide to the will of God in the Holy Scriptures, and especially is itmade clear to us in the New Testament Scriptures. The proofs of love toGod are trust in and obedience to Him, as is set forth therein. For whatsaid Martin Luther, when he stood before his judges, who called upon himto recant. 'Confute me with scripture; if you cannot do that, neithercan I recant, for it is neither safe nor wise for a man to disobey hisconscience.' So then he loves God who is true to Him, and this he doesby instructing his conscience by Holy Writ and much prayer, and thenobeying his conscience whatever may befall him."
"But may a man not need instruction in Holy Writ?" I asked.
"A man's prayer obtains the best instruction," he made answer. "If weread the Scriptures in prayer and reverence, God will guide us. Thus itis that a wayfaring man, though a fool, need not err in the ways oftruth."
"But suppose that one be led in reading the Scriptures to hold viewsdifferent from those of those set in authority over us?" I asked.
He lifted his large eyes to mine, and scanned my face intently.
"Yet should he hold fast by his integrity," he replied.
"Even if the teachers of the Church command otherwise?" I asked.
"Who are the teachers of the Church?" he asked. "Are they such asCardinal Pole, and Stephen Gardiner, falsely called the Bishop ofWinchester, or Dr. Ridley and Master Hugh Latimer, whom they put todeath by fire? Ay, and to whose voice shall we listen; that of Laud, thePapist in disguise, and his lying master Charles Stuart, or to such asCromwell, and Pym, and Hampden, who saved England from Popery andslavery?"
"That is treason," I said.
"To whom--God or man?" he asked quietly.
"To man," I made answer, even before I knew the words had escaped frommy lips.
"Ay, to man," he replied; "but he who loves God will never be a traitorto Him. Nevertheless, may God grant that the will of man and the will ofGod may never be set against each other."
"Do you fear they will?" I asked.
"What say men in London town?" he asked.
"That the king will bring in a new order of things," I made answer, "andthat those who favoured his father's death shall be punished."
"Ay, ay," he said slowly. "But what of the Church, young master, what ofthe Church?"
"It is said that the bishops are already looking forward to the timewhen schism shall be overcome, and that they are already makingpreparation for the change. That they are overjoyed that the king iscoming back is but to make suggestion of the whole truth."
"Ay, ay," he replied; "but we fight not with carnal weapons; ourstrength is in the Lord of Hosts. The three Hebrew youths would not falldown and worship, and they were thrown into the furnace seven timesheated, yet did the Lord deliver them. The Apostles were commanded notto preach the Gospel, yet did they preach it, and were thrown intoprison; but the Lord opened the prison doors. At present the cloud is nobigger than a man's hand, yet it will darken this land. I can see itplainly, yet must the children of God bear witness to the truth."
The man spoke like one would think the prophets of old times spoke, socalm and quiet, and yet so full of authority were his tones.
"Methinks, those who call themselves the children of God fight withother than carnal weapons," I made answer. "If ever there was a man ofthe sword it was Oliver Cromwell."
"Ay, but he trusted no
t in the arm of flesh, but in the Lord God," hemade answer, "else would his armies have been but burning stubble in astrong wind. It was the men of God whom Cromwell selected, who wonMarston Moor and Naseby. On the other hand, it was the lies and the baseliving of Charles and his followers which caused their defeat."
"Ay, but Cromwell is dead, and men have it that a whining, hypocriticalcrew have taken his place. There have been some Judas Iscariots andtraitors at the head of England for many months."
"Ay, and some Monks too," he added, a little bitterly, I thought.
"Ay, and a Puritan woman sought to kill him, and if report speaks truly,she is even now in Bedford Gaol."
I thought I saw him start as I spoke, so being young and foolish, andwishing to get the better of an argument of which, as I thought, he hadthe best all the way, I went on--
"Men have it that Master John Leslie, the father of this woman, is agreat man among the hot-gospellers and Independents, while Sir CharlesDenman, her husband, is almost as much renowned for his preaching asHugh Peters himself."
For a moment he stopped still in the road, and he lifted his right handabove his head. Even in the dim light I noted his sturdy thick-setfigure, his broad mouth, and his searching, yet kindly eyes.
"Is that what men are saying?" he asked presently, dropping his hand.
"It is common gossip," I replied.
"Men have it that Constance, daughter of John Leslie, together with herhusband and father, plotted the murder of Monk, have they? Is that thetalk in London town?"
"It is given out by General Monk himself," I replied. "It is told to thenew king and his counsellors, and more it hath been proved by manywitnesses. The wound in the arm of Monk's secretary is sufficientproof."
He stood still for a minute without speaking, then he said quietly--
"And have you heard aught concerning the probable fate of this maiden?"
"She is to be brought to London without delay after the king hatharrived thither, and then she is to be tried, condemned, and put todeath. Men also have it that there is a warrant out against Sir CharlesDenman and Master John Leslie."
"Perhaps it is the will of God," he said, presently. "The blood of themartyr hath ever been the seed of the Church of the living God."
"Martyr," I said, for something made me feel that this man knew much ofthese people. "Can the death of a woman who hath attempted murder becalled martyrdom?"
I could have almost bitten my tongue for having uttered these words, foralthough my reason told me they were true, my heart went against them,and accused me of being unjust to the woman to whom I had avowed thatshe could never do an unworthy deed.
"There be many things known only to God," he replied solemnly, "andGod's ways are not our ways, neither His thoughts our thoughts, yet willwe trust Him though He slay us."
"Know you aught of this woman?" I asked.
"I know what all men know," he answered. "I know that she was on her wayto Bedford to visit her father, who is a man of substance in Bedford, aswell as in London, and that while coming hither she was taken by theminions of Monk, and dragged to gaol."
"From whence did she come?"
"From the south, somewhere."
"But had she no protector?"
"She had none. She was taken during the night."
"But surely she could not travel from the south on foot."
"Nay, she rode a good horse."
I wanted to ask other questions, but I was afraid, for I knew not whothe man was, and I dared not trust him so far as to lead him to think Iknew anything concerning her.
"Know you aught of her, young master?"
"I have come from the south," I answered, "and it was said that she hadbeen seen not twenty miles from where the king landed but yesterday."
"Ay, poor child, I fear me that this led her to think she would be safehere. For you are mistaken in believing that a warrant is out againsther father. It is not true. It hath been proved that Master Leslie hadneither part nor lot in the attempt to murder Monk, and in proof of mywords he may be seen in Bedford town, although in sore grief that hisdaughter is now awaiting such a fearful end."
"But he would have sheltered her, ay, and have sought to hide her, hadshe reached his house?" I said.
"Did not the early Christians hide each other in Rome?" he asked. "Anddid not men hide their faithful friends in the time of Mary?"
"But they were innocent?"
"And is not she innocent?"
At this I did not speak, although there seemed but little doubt, as Igathered from the words spoken to the king, that proofs of her guiltwere unanswerable.
"Nevertheless," he went on, "although Master John Leslie is a man ofstation and wealth, he has been much insulted these last three days. Menwag their heads as he passes by, especially those who are godless, andrejoice because they believe the coming of the king will meangodlessness and licentiousness. Ay, and whatever be the state of thingsin London, it seems as though the devil is unchained. Drunkenness andvice walk naked and not ashamed, while many who I thought were foundedin the faith have joined the hosts of those who love not the Lord."
By this time we had entered the town, and I began to look around me forsome inn where I could find fodder for my horse and a supper for myself.
"Stay you long in Bedford, young master?"
"I hope my stay may be brief," I replied. "Will you show me to the bestinn the town affords?"
"The place most free from reproach, and where men of standing gather, is_The Bull_," he replied, "but methinks even that will scarce be afitting place to-night for a well-behaved youth, as you seem to be."
"And why?" I asked.
"Because, as I told you, the whole town, since the news of the coming ofthe king, hath been a scene of drunkenness and revelry. Wherever thereis much ale there is much devilry, whether it be drunk at _The Bull_ orelsewhere. Even the ostlers cannot be got to attend to their duties,therefore I fear you will have to groom and feed your horse yourself. Asfor sleep, I much fear me that you will not be able to obtain it. I wille'en call with you so that you may see for yourself, and if the place isgiven over to carousal, then if you can think of nought better, I willgladly offer you a bed in my own poor home."
"Thank you, good friend," I made answer, "I trust I may not need to takeadvantage of your good nature; all the same I am grateful to you, andwould like to know the name of one who hath proffered such kindness."
"My name is John Bunyan," he replied, "and I minister to God's people inthis town."
"You are then an Independent preacher?" I asked.
"I am called to preach the Gospel of Christ," he replied, "and God hathso blessed me, that I, who was a vile sinner, have been able to point agreat multitude to the Lamb of God which taketh away the sins of theworld."
I do not know why it was, but although my father had not influenced meto lean either towards the Episcopal Church or towards the Dissenters, Ifelt prejudiced against him. I determined therefore that nothing shouldinduce me to sleep at his house, and when we presently reached _TheBull_, and I found the place given over to drinking and revelry even ashe had said, I persisted in having the room offered to me.
"Perhaps we shall meet again, young master," he said, as he walked away."God hath a purpose in bringing people together, and although when Iwent out this evening to speak words of comfort to a sick member of myflock, I had no premonition that I should meet you, yet I believe Godhad a purpose in it, for truly I can see that thou art not far from theKingdom."
It was some time before I was able to obtain an ostler to feed and groommy horse; at length, however, I succeeded in so doing by the promise ofextra payment, and then having satisfied myself on this score, I foundmy way to the inn again, in the hope of supper. But in this I foundgreat difficulty. Drink was plentiful enough, but something to eat was adifferent matter. Every one in the house seemed too busy in supplyingdrink to those who came hither to drink the king's health to be able tocare aught for the needs of a traveller such as my
self. At length,however, I obtained some boiled beef and bread, and with this I had tobe content, and after partaking thereof I found my way into a room whereI was told the people of quality had congregated.
Little notice was taken of my coming, until it became known that I hadcome from London town, after which I became a person of greatimportance, and was plied with many questions. These I answered freelyenough. First because my answers could arouse no suspicion, and secondbecause I thought I should thereby lead my questioners to talk about thewoman who was imprisoned at Bedford Gaol. In this I found I hadconjectured rightly, and when, presently, I found that one of those whotalked with me was no less a person than the governor of the gaol, Irejoiced greatly that I had not accepted the hospitality of Master JohnBunyan.
"Ah, but it is a feather in my cap," said this man, whose name I foundto be John Sturgeon, "and I doubt not that when all the happenings reachthe king's ears he will be mightily pleased with me."
I saw that he had been drinking freely, and that he weighed not hiswords. Moreover, he seemed to be a man of choleric temper, and did notbrook opposition from any one.
"And how may that be, Master Sturgeon?" I said. "Think you the king willhave so little to do when he arrives at Whitehall that he will pay heedto the imprisonment of what you have called a Puritan woman?"
"Surely you have not lived in London, or you would not speak sofoolishly," he cried. "Suppose, I say, suppose she had killed GeneralMonk, would the king have been welcomed back? I tell you no. Thereforewill the king bear in mind all who have had aught to do with the captureof such a one."
"Ay, but," I urged, "the governor of the gaol is not the constable whocaught her coming hither?"
"Again you speak like a fool, young master, or you would know that I ama man of authority in Bedford. Moreover, was it not I who had MasterJohn Leslie watched? Did I not note his looks of uneasiness, and did notthe inquiries I made concerning him lead me to place men along the roadsto London? Ah, but it was by the merest shave that they took her. Forwhat was she dressed like, think you? As a witch? Nay, but as a saucyyoung springald. Moreover, she carried things with a high hand, andthreatened Jonathan Wild, the biggest constable in Bedford, to horsewhiphim. But her face betrayed her, for one of the men, although she hathlived much in London, and is but little known in Bedford, recognized herin the moonlight, and then having suspicions, pulled off her headgear,whereupon her hair fell down her back."
At this there was much laughter, and many coarse jests.
"Ah, well," went on Master Sturgeon, "I never did like Master Leslie,for he sent many a good fellow to Bedford Gaol, simply because they werenot straightlaced Puritans like himself. Things are changed now, andmayhap that I shall have even him under lock and key."
"How did she get her horse and her attire?" I asked.
"That I cannot tell," he replied, "but I doubt not it will all come outwhen she is tried."
"When and where is the trial to be?"
"In London, I do hear. This, I think, is a shame, for why should all thefun be in London. Still the deed was done there, and mayhap the king,who loves a pretty face, may wish to be at the trial."
Although much more was said, there was little of importance; moreover Ifound that men were too eager to talk of the events which were to takeplace in London because of the king's coming, to pay much heed to thewoman who had attempted the life of General Monk, wife to Sir CharlesDenman though she might be.
Still I kept in the room until wellnigh midnight, when Master Sturgeonrose to go. I was told that he boasted of being able to carry more drinkthan any man in Bedford, nevertheless I saw that he staggered somewhaton leaving the inn. As he put on his hat a plan was suddenly born in mymind, and without weighing its value I followed him into the street,determining to make my first attempt that very night to obtain theliberty of the woman into whose company I had been so strangely thrown.
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