With Doctor Sands was imprisoned Mr. Bradford; they were kept
close in prison twenty-nine weeks. John Fowler, their keeper, was
a perverse papist, yet, by often persuading him, at length he
began to favor the Gospel, and was so persuaded in the true
religion, that on a Sunday, when they had Mass in the chapel, Dr.
Sands administered the Communion to Bradford and to Fowler. Thus
Fowler was their son begotten in bonds. To make room for Wyat and
his accomplices, Dr. Sands and nine other preachers were sent to
The keeper of the Marshalsea appointed to every preacher a man
to lead him in the street; he caused them to go on before, and he
and Dr. Sands followed conversing together. By this time popery
began to be unsavory. After they had passed the bridge, the
keeper said to Dr. Sands: "I perceive the vain people would set
you forward to the fire. You are as vain as they, if you, being a
young man, will stand in your own conceit, and prefer your own
judgment before that of so many worthy prelates, ancient,
learned, and grave men as be in this realm. If you do so, you
shall find me a severe keeper, and one that utterly dislikes your
religion." Dr. Sands answered, "I know my years to be young, and
my learning but small; it is enough to know Christ crucified, and
he hath learned nothing who seeth not the great blasphemy that is
in popery. I will yield unto God, and not unto man; I have read
in the Scriptures of many godly and couretous keepers: may God
make you one! if not, I trust He will give me strength and
patience to bear your hard usage." Then said the keeper, "Are you
resolved to stand to your religion?" "Yes," quoth the doctor, "by
God's grace!" "Truly," said the keeper, "I love you the better
for it; I did but tempt you: what favor I can show you, you shall
be assured of; and I shall think myself happy if I might die at
the stake with you."
He was as good as his word, for he trusted the doctor to walk
in the fields alone, where he met with Mr. Bradford, who was also
a prisoner in the King's Bench, and had found the same favor from
his keeper. At his request, he put Mr. Saunders in along with
him, to be his bedfellow, and the Communion was administered to a
great number of communicants.
When Wyat with his army came to Southwark, he offered to
liberate all the imprisoned Protestants, but Dr. Sands and the
rest of the preachers refused to accept freedom on such terms.
After Dr. Sands had been nine weeks prisoner in the
Marshalsea, by the mediation of Sir Thomas Holcroft, knight
marshal, he was set at liberty. Though Mr. Holcroft had the
queen's warrant, the bishop commanded him not to set Dr. Sands at
liberty, until he had taken sureties of two gentlemen with him,
each one bound in œ500, that Dr. Sands should not depart out of
the realm without license. Mr. Holcroft immediately after met
with two gentlemen of the north, friends and cousins to Dr.
Sands, who offered to be bound for him.
After dinner, the same day, Sir Thomas Holcroft sent for Dr.
Sands to his lodgings at Westminster, to communicate to him all
he had done. Dr. Sands answered: "I give God thanks, who hath
moved your heart to mind me so well, that I think myself most
bound unto you. God shall requite you, nor shall I ever be found
unthankful. But as you have dealt friendly with me, I will also
deal plainly with you. I came a freeman into prison; I will not
go forth a bondman. As I cannot benefit my friends, so will I not
hurt them. And if I be set at liberty, I will not tarry six days
in this realm, if I may get out. If therefore I may not get free
forth, send me to the Marshalsea again, and there you shall be
sure of me."
This answer Mr. Holcroft much disapproved of; but like a true
friend he replied: "Seeing you cannot be altered, I will change
my purpose, and yield unto you. Come of it what will, I will set
you at liberty; and seeing you have a mind to go over sea, get
you gone as quick as you can. One thing I require of you, that,
while you are there, you write nothing to me hither, for this may
Dr. Sands having taken an affectionate farewell of him and his
other friends in bonds, departed. He went by Winchester house,
and there took boat, and came to a friend's house in London,
called William Banks, and tarried there one night. The next night
he went to another friend's house, and there he heard that strict
search was making for him, by Gardiner's express order.
Dr. Sands now conveyed himself by night to one Mr. Berty's
house, a stranger who was in the Marshalsea prison with him a
while; he was a good Protestant and dwelt in Mark-lane. There he
was six days, and then removed to one of his acquaintances in
Cornhill; he caused his man Quinton to provide two geldings for
him, resolved on the morrow to ride into Essex, to Mr. Sands, his
father-in-law, where his wife was, which, after a narrow escape,
he effected. He had not been theretwo hours, before Mr. Sands was
told that two of the guards would that night apprehend Dr. Sands.
That night Dr. Sands was guided to an honest farmer's near the
sea, where he tarried two days and two nights in a chamber
without company. After that he removed to one James Mower's, a
shipmaster, who dwelt at Milton-Shore, where he waited for a wind
to Flanders. While he was there, James Mower brought to him forty
or fifty mariners, to whom he gave an exhortation; they liked him
so well that they promised to die rather than he should be
The sixth of May, Sunday, the wind served. In taking leave of
his hostess, who had been married eight years without having a
child, he gave her a fine handkerchief and an old royal of gold,
and said, "Be of good comfort; before that one whole year be
past, God shall give you a child, a boy." This came to pass, for,
that day twelve-month, wanting one day, God gave her a son.
Scarcely had he arrived at Antwerp, when he learned that King
Philip had sent to apprehend him. He next flew to Augsburg, in
Cleveland, where Dr. Sands tarried fourteen days, and then
travelled towards Strassburg, where, after he had lived one year,
his wife came to him. He was sick of a flux nine months, and had
a child which died of the plague. His amiable wife at length fell
into a consumption, and died in his arms. When his wife was dead,
he went to Zurich, and there was in Peter Martyr's house for the
space of five weeks.
As they sat at dinner one day, word was suddenly brought that
Queen Mary was dead, and Dr. Sands was sent for by his friends at
Strassburg, where he preached. Mr. Grindal and he came over to
England, and arrived in London the same day that Queen Elizabeth
was crowned. This faithful servant of Christ, under Queen
Elizabeth, rose to the highest distinction in the Church, being
successively bishop of Worcester, bishop of London, and
archbishop of York.
Queen Mary's Treatment of Her Sister, the Princess Elizabeth
The preservation of Princess Elizabeth may be reckoned a
remarkable instance of the watchful eye which Christ had over His
Church. The bigotry of Mary regarded not the ties of
consanguinity, of natural affection, of national succession. Her
mind, physically morose, was under the dominion of men who
possessed not the milk of human kindness, and whose principles
werre sanctioned and enjoined by the idolatrous tenets of the
Romish pontiff. Could they have foreseen the short date of Mary's
reign, they would have imbrued their hands in the Protestant
blood of Elizabeth, and, as a sine qua non of the queen's
salvation, have compelled her to bequeath the kingdom to some
Catholic prince. The contest might have been attended with the
horrors incidental to a religious civil war, and calamities might
have been felt in England similar to those under Henry the Great
in France, whom Queen Elizabeth assisted in opposing his
priest-ridden Catholic subjects. As if Providence had the
perpetual establishment of the Protestant faith in view, the
difference of the duration of the two reigns is worthy of notice.
Mary might have reigned many years in the course of nature, but
the course of grace willed it otherwise. Five years and four
months was the time of persecution alloted to this weak,
disgraceful reign, while that of Elizabeth reckoned a number of
years among the highest of those who have sat on the English
throne, almost nine times that of her merciless sister!
Before Mary attained the crown, she treated Elizabeth with a
sisterly kindness, but from that period her conduct was altered,
and the most imperious distance substituted. Though Elizabeth had
no concern in the rebellion of Sir Thomas Wyat, yet she was
apprehended, and treated as a culprit in that commotion. The
manner too of her arrest was similar to the mind that dictated
it: the three cabinet members, whom she deputed to see the arrest
executed, rudely entered the chamber at ten o'clock at night,
and, though she was extremely ill, they could scarcely be induced
to let her remain until the following morning. Her enfeebled
state permitted her to be moved only by short stages in a journey
of such length to London; but the princess, though afflicted in
person, had a consolation in mind which her sister never could
purchase: the people, through whom she passed on her way pitied
her, and put up their prayers for her preservation.
Arrived at court, she was made a close prisoner for a
fortnight, without knowing who was her accuser, or seeing anyone
who could console or advise her. The charge, however, was at
length unmasked by Gardiner, who, with nineteen of the Council,
accused her of abetting Wyat's conspiracy, which she religiously
affirmed to be false. Failing in this, they placed against her
the transactions of Sir Peter Carew in the west, in which they
were as unsuccessful as in the former. The queen now signified
that it was her pleasure she should be committed to the Tower, a
step which overwhelmed the princess with the greatest alarm and
uneasiness. In vain she hoped the queen's majesty would not
commit her to such a place; but there was no lenity to be
expected; her attendants were limited, and a hundred northern
soldiers appointed to guard her day and night.
On Palm Sunday she was conducted to the Tower. When she came
to the palace garden, she cast her eyes towards the windows,
eagerly anxious to meet those of the queen, but she was
disappointed. A strict order was given in London that every one
should go to church, and carry palms, that she might be conveyed
without clamor or commiseration to her prison.
At the time of passing under London Bridge the fall of the
tide made it very dangerous, and the barge some time stuck fast
against the starlings. To mortify her the more, she was landed at
Traitors' Stairs. As it rained fast, and she was obliged to step
in the water to land, she hesitated; but this excited no
complaisance in the lord in waiting. When she set her foot on the
steps, she exclaimed, "Here lands as true a subject, being
prisoner, as ever landed at these stairs; and before Thee, O God,
I speak it, having no friend but Thee alone!"
A large number of the wardens and servants of the Tower were
arranged in order between whom the princess had to pass. Upon
inquiring the use of this parade, she was informed it was
customary to do so. "If," said she, "it is on account of me, I
beseech you that they may be dismissed." On this the poor men
knelt down, and prayed that God would preserve her grace, for
which they were the next day turned out of their employments. The
tragic scene must have been deeply interesting, to see an amiable
and irreproachable princess sent like a lamb to languish in
expectation of cruelty and death; against whom there was no other
charge than her superiority in Christian virtues and acquired
endowments. Her attendants openly wept as she proceeded with a
dignified step to the frowning battlements of her destination.
"Alas!" said Elizabeth, "what do you mean? I took you to comfort,
not to dismay me; for my truth is such that no one shall have
cause to weep for me."
The next step of her enemies was to procure evidence by means
which, in the present day, are accounted detestable. Many poor
prisoners were racked, to extract, if possible, any matters of
accusation which might affect her life, and thereby gratify
Gardiner's sanguinary disposition. He himself came to examine
her, respecting her removal from her house at Ashbridge to
Dunnington castle a long while before. The princess had quite
forgotten this trivial circumstance, and Lord Arundel, after the
investigation, kneeling down, apologized for having troubled her
in such a frivolous matter. "You sift me narrowly," replied the
princess, "but of this I am assured, that God has appointed a
limit to your proceedings; and so God forgive you all."
Her own gentlemen, who ought to have been her purveyors, and
served her provision, were compelled to give place to the common
soldiers, at the command of the constable of the Tower, who was
in every respect a servile tool of Gardiner; her grace's friends,
however, procured an order of Council which regulated this petty
tyranny more to her satisfaction.
After having been a whole month in close confinement, she sent
for the lord chamberlain and Lord Chandois, to whom she
represented the ill state of her health from a want of proper air
and exercise. Application being made to the Council, Elizabeth
was with some difficulty admitted to walk in the queen's
lodgings, and afterwards in the garden, at which time the
prisoners on that side were attended by their keepers, and not
suffered to look down upon her. Their jealousy was excited by a
child of four years, who daily brought flowers to the princess.
The child was threatened with a whipping, and the father ordered
to keep him from the princess's chambers.
On the fifth of May the constable was discharged from his
office, and Sir Henry Benifield appointed in his room,
accompanied by a hundred ruffian-looking soldiers in blue. This
measure created considerable alarm in the mind of the princess,
who imagined it was preparatory to her undergoing the same fate
as Lady Jane Grey, upon the same block. Assured that this project
was not in agitation, she entertained an idea that the new keeper
of the Tower was commissioned to make away with her privately, as
his equivocal character was in conformity with the ferocious
inclination of those by whom he was appointed.
A report now obtained that her Grace was to be taken away by
the new constable and his soldiers, which in the sequel proved to
be true. An order of Council was made for her removal to the
manor Woodstock, which took place on Trinity Sunday, May 13,
under the authority of Sir Henry Benifield and Lord Tame. The
ostensible cause of her removal was to make room for other
prisoners. Richmond was the first place they stopped at, and here
the princess slept, not however without much alarm at first, as
her own servants were superseded by the soldiers, who were placed
as guards at her chamber door. Upon representation, Lord Tame
overruled this indecent stretch of power, and granted her perfect
safety while under his custody.
In passing through Windsor, she saw several of her poor
dejected servants waiting to see her. "Go to them," said she, to
one of her attendants, "and say these words from me, tanquim
ovis, that is, like a sheep to the slaughter."
The next night her Grace lodged at the house of a Mr. Dormer,
in her way to which the people manifested such tokens of loyal
affection that Sir Henry was indignant, and bestowed on them very
liberally the names of rebels and traitors. In some villages they
rang the bells for joy, imagining the princess's arrival among
them was from a very different cause; but this harmless
demonstration of gladness was sufficient with the persecuting
Benifield to order his soldiers to seize and set these humble
persons in the stocks.
The day following, her Grace arrived at Lord Tame's house,
where she stayed all night, and was most nobly entertained. This
excited Sir Henry's indignation, and made him caution Lord Tame
to look well to his proceedings; but the humanity of Lord Tame
was not to be frightened, and he returned a suitable reply. At
another time, this official prodigal, to show his consequence and
disregard of good manners, went up into a chamber, where was
appointed for her Grace a chair, two cushions, and a foot carpet,
wherein he presumptuously sat and called his man to pull off his
boots. As soon as it was known to the ladies and gentlemen they
laughed him to scorn. When supper was done, he called to his
lordship, and directed that all gentlemen and ladies should
withdraw home, marvelling much that he would permit such a large
company, considering the great charge he had committed to him.
"Sir Henry," said his lordship, "content yourself; all shall be
avoided, your men and all." "Nay, but my soldiers," replied Sir
Henry, "shall watch all night." Lord Tame answered, "There is no
need." "Well," said he, "need or need not, they shall so do."
The next day her Grace took her journey from thence to
Woodstock, where she was enclosed, as before in the Tower of
London, the soldiers keeping guard within and without the walls,
every day, to the number of sixty; and in the night, without the
walls were forty during all the time of her imprisonment.
At length she was permitted to walk in the gardens, but under
the most severe restrictions, Sir Henry keeping the keys himself,
and placing her always under many bolts and locks, whence she was
induced to call him her jailer, at which he felt offended, and
begged her to substitute the word officer. After much earnest
entreaty to the Council, she obtained permission to write to the
queen; but the jailer who brought her pen, ink, and paper stood
by her while she wrote, and, when she left off, he carried the
things away until they were wanted again. He also insisted upon
carrying it himself to the queen, but Elizabeth would not suffer
him to be the bearer, and it was presented by one of her
After the letter, Doctors Owen and Wendy went to the princess,
as the state of her health rendered medical assistance necessary.
They stayed with her five or six days, in which time she grew
much better; they then returned to the queen, and spoke
flatteringly of the princess' submission and humility, at which
the queen seemed moved; but the bishops wanted a concession that
she had offended her majesty. Elizabeth spurned this indirect
mode of acknowledging herself guilty. "If I have offended," said
she, "and am guilty, I crave no mercy but the law, which I am
certain I should have had ere this, if anything could have been
proved against me. I wish I were as clear from the peril of my
enemies; then should I not be thus bolted and locked up within
walls and doors."
Much question arose at this time respecting the propriety of
uniting the princess to some foreigner, that she might quit the
realm with a suitable portion. One of the Council had the
brutality to urge the necessity of beheading her, if the king
(Philip) meant to keep the realm in peace; but the Spaniards,
detesting such a base thought, replied, "God forbid that oiur
king and master should consent to such an infamous proceeding!"
Stimulated by a noble principle, the Spaniards from this time
repeatedly urged to the king that it would do him the highest
honor to liberate the Lady Elizabeth, nor was the king impervious
to their solicitation. He took her out of prison, and shortly
after she was sent for to Hampton court. It may be remarked in
this place, that the fallacy of human reasoning is shown in every
moment. The barbarian who suggested the policy of beheading
Elizabeth little contemplated the change of condition which his
speech would bring about. In her journey from Woodstock,
Benifield treated her with the same severity as before; removing
her on a stormy day, and not suffering her old servant, who had
come to Colnbrook, where she slept, to speak to her.
She remained a fortnight strictly guarded and watched, before
anyone dared to speak with her; at length the vile Gardiner with
three more of the Council, came with great submission. Elizabeth
saluted them, remarked that she had been for a long time kept in
solitary confinement, and begged they would intercede with the
king and queen to deliver her from prison. Gardiner's visit was
to draw from the princess a confession of her guilt; but she was
guarded against his subtlety, adding, that, rather than admit she
had done wrong, she would lie in prison all the rest of her life.
The next day Gardiner came again, and kneeling down, declared
that the queen was astonished she would persist in affirming that
she was blameless--whence it would be inferred that the queen had
unjustly imprisoned her grace. Gardiner further informed her that
the queen had declared that she must tell another tale, before
she could be set at liberty. "Then," replied the high-minded
Elizabeth, "I had rather be in prison with honesty and truth,
than have my liberty, and be suspected by her majesty. What I
have said, I will stand to; nor will I ever speak falsehood!" The
bishop and his friends then departed, leaving her locked up as
Seven days after the queen sent for Elizabeth at ten o'clock
at night; two years had elapsed since they had seen each other.
It created terror in the mind of the princess, who, at setting
out, desired her gentlemen and ladies to pray for her, as her
return to them again was uncertain.
Being conducted to the queen's bedchamber, upon entering it
the princess knelt down, and having begged of God to preserve her
majesty, she humbly assured her that her majesty had not a more
loyal subject in the realm, whatever reports might be circulated
to the contrary. With a haughty ungraciousness, the imperious
queen replied: "You will not confess your offence, but stand
stoutly to your truth. I pray God it may so fall out."
"If it do not," said Elizabeth, "I request neither favor nor
pardon at your majesty's hands." "Well," said the queen, "you
stiffly still persevere in your truth. Besides, you will not
confess that you have not been wrongfully punished."
"I must not say so, if it please your majesty, to you."
"Why, then," said the queen, "belike you will to others."
"No, if it please your majesty: I have borne the burden, and
must bear it. I humbly beseech your majesty to have a good
opinion of me and to think me to be your subject, not only from
the beginning hitherto, but for ever, as long as life lasteth."
They departed without any heartfelt satisfaction on either side;
nor can we think the conduct of Elizabeth displayed that
independence and fortitude which accompanies perfect innocence.
Elizabeth's admitting that she would not say, neither to the
queen nor to others, that she had been unjustly punished, was in
direct contradiction to what she had told Gardiner, and must have
arisen from some motive at this time inexplicable. King Philip is
supposed to have been secretly concealed during the interview,
and to have been friendly to the princess.
In seven days from the time of her return to imprisonment, her
severe jailer and his men were discharged, and she was set at
liberty, under the constraint of being always attended and
watched by some of the queen's Council. Four of her gentlemen
were sent to the Tower without any other charge against them than
being zealous servants of their mistress. This event was soon
after followed by the happy news of Gardiner's death, for which
all good and merciful men glorified God, inasmuch as it had taken
the chief tiger from the den, and rendered the life of the
Protestant successor of Mary more secure.
This miscreant, while the princess was in the Tower, sent a
secret writ, signed by a few of the Council, for her private
execution, and, had Mr. Bridges, lieutenant of the Tower, been as
little scrupulous of dark assassination as this pious prelate
was, she must have perished. The warrant not having the queen's
signature, Mr. Bridges hastened to her majesty to give her
information of it, and to know her mind. This was a plot of
Winchester's, who, to convict her of treasonable practices,
caused several prisoners to be racked; particularly Mr. Edmund
Tremaine and Smithwicke were offered considerable bribes to
accuse the guiltless princess.
Her life was several times in danger. While at Woodstock, fire
was apparently put between the boards and ceiling under which she
lay. It was also reported strongly that one Paul Penny, the
keeper of Woodstock, a notorious ruffian, was appointed to
assassinate her, but, however this might be, God counteracted in
this point the nefarious designs of the enemies of the
Reformation. James Basset was another appointed to perform the
same deed: he was a peculiar favorite of Gardiner, and had come
within a mile of Woodstock, intending to speak with Benifield on
the subject. The goodness of God however so ordered it that while
Basset was travelling to Woodstock, Benifield, by an order of
Council, was going to London: in consequence of which, he left a
positive order with his brother, that no man should be admitted
to the princess during his absence, not even with a note from the
queen; his brother met the murderer, but the latter's intention
was frustrated, as no admission could be obtained.
When Elizabeth quitted Woodstock, she left the following lines
written with her diamond on the window:
Much suspected by me,
Nothing proved can be. Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner.
With the life of Winchester ceased the extreme danger of the
princess, as many of her other secret enemies soon after followed
him, and, last of all, her cruel sister, who outlived Gardiner
but three years.
The death of Mary was ascribed to several causes. The Council
endeavored to console her in her last moments, imagining it was
the absence of her husband that lay heavy at her heart, but
though his treatment had some weight, the loss of Calais, the
last fortress possessed by the English in France, was the true
source of her sorrow. "Open my heart," said Mary, "when I am
dead, and you shall find Calais written there." Religion caused
her no alarm; the priests had lulled to rest every misgiving of
conscience, which might have obtruded, on account of the accusing
spirits of the murdered martyrs. Not the blood she had spilled,
but the loss of a town excited her emotions in dying, and this
last stroke seemed to be awarded, that her fanatical persecution
might be paralleled by her political imbecility.
We earnestly pray that the annals of no country, Catholic or
pagan, may ever be stained with such a repetition of human
sacrifices to papal power, and that the detestation in which the
character of Mary is holden, may be a beacon to succeeding
monarchs to avoid the rocks of fanaticism!
God's Punishment upon Some of the Persecutors of His People in
After that arch-persecutor, Gardiner, was dead, others
followed, of whom Dr. Morgan, bishop of St. David's, who
succeeded Bishop Farrar, is to be noticed. Not long after he was
installed in his bishoipric, he was stricken by the visitation of
God; his food passed through the throat, but rose again with
great violence. In this manner, almost literally starved to
death, he terminated his existence.
Bishop Thornton, suffragan of Dover, was an indefatigable
persecutor of the true Church. One day after he had exercised his
cruel tyranny upon a number of pious persons at Canterbury, he
came from the chapter-house to Borne, where as he stood on a
Sunday looking at his men playing at bowls, he fell down in a fit
of the palsy, and did not long survive.
After the latter, succeeded another bishop or suffragen,
ordained by Gardiner, who not long after he had been raised to
the see of Dover, fell down a pair of stairs in the cardinal's
chamber at Greenwich, and broke his neck. He had just received
the cardinal's blessing--he could receive nothing worse.
John Cooper, of Watsam, Suffolk, suffered by perjury; he was
from private pique persecuted by one Fenning, who suborned two
others to swear that they heard Cooper say, 'If God did not take
away Queen Mary, the devil would.' Cooper denied all such words,
but Cooper was a Proestant and a heretic, and therefore he was
hung, drawn and quartered, his property confiscated, and his wife
and nine children reduced to beggary. The following harvest,
however, Grimwood of Hitcham, one of the witnesses before
mentioned, was visited for his villainy: while at work, stacking
up corn, his bowels suddenly burst out, and before relief could
be obtained, her died. Thus was deliberate perjury rewarded by
In the case of the martyr Mr. Bradford, the severity of Mr.
Sheriff Woodroffe has been noticed--he rejoiced at the death of
the saints, and at Mr. Rogers' execution, he broke the carman's
head, because he stopped the cart to let the martyr's children
take a last farewell of him. Scarcely had Mr. Woodroffe's
sheriffalty expired a week, when he was struck with a paralytic
affection, and languished a few days in the most pitable and
helpless condition, presenting a striking contrast to his former
activity in the cause of blood.
Ralph Lardyn, who betrayed the martyr George Eagles, is
believed to have been afterward arraigned and hanged in
consequence of accusing himself. At the bar, he denounced himself
in these words: "This has most justly fallen upon me, for
betraying the innocent blood of that just and good man George
Eagles, who was here condemned in the time of Queen Mary by my
procurement, when I sold his blood for a little money."
As James Abbes was going to execution, and exhorting the
pitying bystanders to adhere steadfastly to the truth, and like
him to seal the cause of Christ with their blood, a servant of
the sheriff's interrupted him, and blasphemously called his
religion heresy, and the good man a lunatic. Scarcely however had
the flames reached the martyr, before the fearful stroke of God
fell upn the hardened wretch, in the presence of him he had so
cruelly ridiculed. The man was suddenly seized with lunacy, cast
off his clothes and shoes before the people, (as Abbes had done
just before, to distribute among some poor persons,) at the same
time exclaiming, "Thus did James Abbes, the true servant of God,
who is saved by I am damned." Repeating this often, the sheriff
had him secured, and made him put his clothes on, but no sooner
was he alone, than he tore them off, and exclaimed as before.
Being tied in a cart, he was conveyed to his master's house, and
in about half a year he died; just before which a priest came to
attend him, with the crucifix, etc., but the wretched man bade
him take away such trumpery, and said that he and other priests
had been the cause of his damnation, but that Abbes was saved.
One Clark, an avowed enemy of the Protestants in King Edward's
reign, hung himself in the Tower of London.
Froling, a priest of much celebrity, fell down in the street
and died on the spot.
Dale, an indefatigable informer, was consumed by vermin, and
died a miserable spectacle.
Alexander, the severe keeper of Newgate, died miserably,
swelling to a prodigious size, and became so inwardly putrid,
that none could come near him. This cruel minister of the law
would go to Bonner, Story, and others, requesting them to rid his
prison, he was so much pestered with heretics! The son of this
keeper, in three years after his father's death, dissipated his
great property, and died suddenly in Newgate market. "The sins of
the father," says the decalogue, "shall be visited on the
children." John Peter, son-in-law of Alexander, a horrid
blasphemer and persecutor, died wretchedly. When he affirmed
anything, he would say, "If it be not true, I pray I may rot ere
I die." This awful state visited him in all its loathsomeness.
Sir Ralph Ellerker was eagerly desirous to see the heart taken
out of Adam Damlip, who was wrongfully put to death. Shortly
after Sir Ralph was slain by the French, who mangled him
dreadfully, cut off his limbs, and tore his heart out.
When Gardiner heard of the miserable end of Judge Hales, he
called the profession of the Gospel a doctrine of desperation;
but he forgot that the judge's despondency arose after he had
consented to the papistry. But with more reason may this be said
of the Catholic tenets, if we consider the miserable end of Dr.
Pendleton, Gardiner, and most of the leading persecutors.
Gardiner, upon his death bed, was reminded by a bishop of Peter
denying his master, "Ah," said Gardiner, "I have denied with
Peter, but never repented with Peter."
After the accession of Elizabeth, most of the Catholic
prelates were imprisoned in the Tower or the Fleet; Bonner was
put into the Marshalsea.
Of the revilers of God's Word, we detail, among many others,
the following occurrence. One William Maldon, living at Greenwich
in servitude, was instructing himself profitably in reading an
English primer one winter's evening. A serving man, named John
Powell, sat by, and ridiculed all that Maldon said, who cautioned
him not to make a jest of the Word of God. Powell nevertheless
continued, until Maldon came to certain English Prayers, and read
aloud, "Lord, have mercy upon us, Christ have mercy upon us,"
etc. Suddenly the reviler started, and exclaimed, "Lord, have
mercy upon us!" He was struck with the utmost terror of mind,
said the evil spirit could not abide that Christ should have any
mercy upon him, and sunk into madness. He was remitted to Bedlam,
and became an awful warning that God will not always be insulted
Henry Smith, a student in the law, had a pious Protesant
father, of Camben, in Gloucestershire, by whom he was virtuously
educated. While studying law in the middle temple, he was induced
to profess Catholicism, and, going to Louvain, in France, he
returned with pardons, crucifixes, and a great freight of popish
toys. Not content with these things, he openly reviled the Gospel
religion he had been brought up in; but conscience one night
reproached him so dreadfully, that in a fit of despair he hung
himself in his garters. He was buried in a lane, without the
Christian service being read over him.
Dr. Story, whose name has been so often mtnioned in the
preceding pages, was reserved to be cut off by public execution,
a practice in which he had taken great delight when in power. He
is supposed to have had a hand in most of the conflagrations in
Mary's time, and was even ingenious in his invention of new modes
of inflicting torture. When Elizabeth came to the throne, he was
committed to prison, but unaccountably effected his escape to the
continent, to carry fire and sword there among the Protestant
brethren. From the duke of Alva, at Antwerp, he received a
special commission to search all ships for contraband goods, and
particularly for English heretical books.
Dr. Story gloried in a commission that was ordered by
Providence to be his ruin, and to preserve the faithful from his
sanguinary cruelty. It was contrived that one Parker, a merchant,
should sail to Antwerp and information should be given to Dr.
Story that he had a quantity of heretical books on board. The
latter no sooner heard this, than he hastened to the vessel,
sought everywhere above, and then went under the hatches, which
were fastened down upon him. A prosperous gale brought the ship
to England, and this traitorous, persecuting rebel was committed
to prison, where he remained a considerable time, obstinately
objecting to recant his Anti-christian spirit, or admit of Queen
Elizabeth's supremacy. He alleged, though by birth and education
an Englishman, that he was a sworn subject of the king of Spain,
in whose service the famous duke of Alva was. The doctor being
condemned, was laid upon a hurdle, and drawn from the Tower to
Tyburn, where after being suspended about half an hour, he was
cut down, stripped, and the executioner displayed the heart of a
Thus ended the existence of this Nimrod of England.