 CHAPTER 12 THE MARTERS OF 1588 If I had a hundred lives, I would willingly lay down all in defense of my faith. Last words of Father Christopher Buxton at Canterbury, 1588. The beginning of the August of the year 1588 had seen the downfall of the Armata, sent by Philip II to invade England and restore by force the Catholic faith. It was a foolhardy attempt, deplored by all, by Catholics, no less than Protestants. That a faith cannot be imposed universally by force had been clearly proved during the persecutions of the past forty years. None indeed knew so well, as Catholics, the futility of such an attempt. Nor had they been backward in showing their loyalty. Lord Howard Effingham, the High Admiral, was of the faith. Catholic gentlemen had furnished arms and men as readily as their Protestant neighbors, and in the Spanish state papers are several passages which show that the cooperation of English Catholics with the army of Philip against their Queen was not to be relied on. We might be content to account for the extraordinary renewal of persecution that took place in that year 1588, via the national outburst of popular excitement and prejudice against all those who shared the faith of England's would-be conqueror. But history makes it clear that this wholesale butchery was due rather to a cold-blooded decision on the part of Cecil, Lord Burgley, to prove to the Catholic powers how little they had to hope for from those of the Catholic faith in England. It was a massacre deliberately planned to extend all over the country. Derby, Mile End Green, Shore Ditch, Lincoln's Infields, Clarkinwell, Brentford, Tibern, Canterbury, Chichester, Ipswich, and Gloucester were all scenes of martyrdom in that year. The names of those in prison on August 14, says Father Pollan, were distributed over as wide an area, as he Cecil could, in order that as many places as possible might witness the execution of popish priests. London, with Middlesex, obtained a lion-chair, partly because many had been arrested there, partly because London was the home of Protestant bigotry and would greatly enjoy this spectacle. Within the three last days of August, six priests and eight of the laity suffered. At the beginning of October, nine priests and three laymen, and three more priests and three more laymen laid down their lives before that terrible year came to an end, bringing the total up to thirty-one martyrdoms within four months. It is an interesting and remarkable fact that when these people were brought to trial, it was not so much as whispered that they had been guilty of any act of disloyalty. Nothing was objected to them but the practice of their religion. The some were hung merely for being priests, others for having been reconciled to the church as laymen, others such as venerable Margaret Ward for having helped or harbored priests. Nor did the end of this year see a cessation of persecution. During the last fourteen years of the reign, over a hundred persons actually suffered death on the scaffold, while hundreds more perished in prison. Those who escaped these penalties, that is the ordinary recusants, who refused to go to church, were yet liable to a perpetual fine of twenty pounds a month, and to a year's imprisonment, and a fine of one hundred marks every time they heard mass. At any hint of invasion they were thrown into jail, and they were liable to the forfeiture of their goods, lands, and annuities during life for the offence of straying more than five miles from their own doors. No one accused these men of being traitors. They were mostly men who had engaged to fight in defense of their sovereign against any foreign prince, pope, or potentate, whomsoever. But they were ruined men as far as the world's goods were concerned, and ruined by the set plan of burglary, in order that Catholic countries might judge how little aid could be expected of them in case of invasion. The poorer Catholics soon crowded out the jails, and some had perforced to be set at liberty after being whipped in public, or suffering their ears to be bored with a hot iron. As for priest hunting, that now became a recognized and profitable occupation. For though the priest might escape the search, there was always plenty of plunder to be carried off, and no chance of justice being given to the suspected priest harbourer. Should he try to claim it? If the priest was discovered, the house was forfeited by the owner, who had in any case to pay those who descended upon his property, like leopards, as Father Gerard says in one of his vivid descriptions of these household visits. The story of this intrepid young priest, a man of high birth, and of no less exalted qualities of soul, begins in the same dark year, 1588. He was one of the very few who lived through captures and adventures innumerable, to die quietly in his bed at last, so that his life, strictly speaking, does not belong to this book. But we will quote his description of a priest hunt, since it illustrates a common feature of the lives of the martyrs at this time. There were five Jesuits and two secular priests, hidden in the house of a Mrs. Brooksby and her sister, Mr. Sanvoe, in Warwickshire. Among them were Father Gerard and Father Southwell, the future martyr. Says the former, About five o'clock when Father Southwell was beginning mass, and the others on myself were at meditation, I heard a bustle at the house door. Directly after I heard cries and oaths poured forth against the servant for refusing admittance. The fact was that four priest hunters, or pursuants, as they are called, withdrawn swords were trying to break down the door and force an entrance. The faithful servant withstood them, otherwise we should all have been made prisoners. But by this time Father Southwell had heard the uproar and guessing what it meant, had at once taken off his vestments and stripped the altar, while we strove to seek out everything belonging to us, that there might be nothing found to betray the lurking of a priest. We did not even wish to leave boots or swords lying about, which would serve to show there had been many guests, though none of them appeared. Hence many of us were anxious about our beds, which were still warm, and only covered according to custom before being made. Some therefore went and turned the beds over so that the colder part might deceive anybody who put his hand into feel. Thus why the enemy were shouting and balling outside, and our servants were keeping the door, saying that the mistress of the house had not yet got up, but that she was coming directly and would give them an answer. We profited by the delay to stow away ourselves and all our luggage in a cleverly contrived hiding place. In the chimney of the ancient chapel of Padley Hall, in the high peak district used now as a barn, is a cleverly constructed hiding place often used as a priest's hole. By Mr. John Fitzherbert of Padley, a zealous Catholic gentleman of Derbyshire. On Candlemas Day, 1587, Padley Hall was searched for priests at the very time that Father Garlick, a young schoolmaster who had just risked his life by returning from exile for the faith, was staying there. The search failed for the hole was well and cunningly contrived, and Father Garlick and Father Ludlam continued to live at the hall for a while in peace. But Topcliffe was meantime tampering with the conscience of the wretched son and heir of the house, Thomas Fitzherbert, by telling him he could secure the hole of the estate of Padley if he would betray his father and uncle. About the middle of July, a cavalcade approaching the house was noticed by one of the priests as he was saying his office in the garden. The alarm was given, and the two priests fled to the hiding place. But young Fitzherbert led the pursuers straight to the place after he had delivered up his father into their hands. What must have been the feelings of this wretched man, as he saw that piteous procession pass forth along the Derby Road can be better imagined than described? The two earnest young priests, the gray-haired man, a loyal servant of queen and country, rode pinioned through the countryside, passing little groups of dismayed friends or tenants, many of whom had either learnt the faith or received many a kindness at their hands. At Derby they were thrown into a filthy prison, where they found Father Simpson, another zealous priest, who had been betrayed by a pretended Catholic, and who for a time seems to have wavered in his own constancy in order to avoid death. By a fortunate chance, Garlich and Ludlum shared his cell, and soon convinced him by their earnest representations, so successfully indeed, that he openly did penance for his brief period of weakness, and faced the end with the utmost faith and courage. All four were condemned to die, but the life of Mr. Fitzherbert was bought by his son-in-law, though only to be prolonged in poverty in the fleet prison for another two years. A contemporary valid shows that the sympathy of the vast crowd assembled to see them die was entirely with the martyred priests. Father Simpson was to have died first, but Father Garlich, fearing somewhat for his constancy, pressed forward and kissed the latter before he mounted it, talking cheerfully to the people as he did so. Father Ludlum met his death with a smile of joy upon his lips and his eyes, as though he gazed at a vision of angels. While Father Simpson, wearing a hair-shirt and penance for his fall, said plainly that his only regret was not for death, but for his brief inconstancy. These are the points commemorated in the ballad. When Garlich did his latter kiss and Simpson after high, he thought that when St. Andrew was, desirous for to die. When Ludlum looked unsmilingly and joyful did remain, it seemed St. Stephen was standing by or to be stoned again. And what if Simpson seemed to yield for doubt or dread to die? He rose again and won the field and died most constantly. Out of the long list of martyrs of this year, we can tell the stories of very few. We have seen so many suffering at Tyburn that we will choose for this chapter a little group of three young priests and one layman, who were executed on the 1st of October 1588 in the ancient city of Catobury. At Tideswell in the Peak District, where his family name may still often be met with, a boy named Christopher Buxton, the son of conforming parents, was educated. It is probable that his family had conformed with the least possible amount of good will, and that certainly one relative of his had been a member of the English College at Rome, and a fellow pupil of Blessed Ralph Sherwin, who sent a special message of affection to one John Buxton, a Derbyshire man in the year 1580. Certainly Christopher's people made no objection to his being taught by so staunch a Catholic as Nicholas Garlich, and when the boy at the age of nineteen announced his intention of following his master to DOWE, there to study for the priesthood, no hindrance seems to have been put in his way. One could scarcely, however, expect his parents to furnish him with money for such an undertaking. And when three years later we find him at the English College Rome, he comes as a pilgrim and a poor man, and remaining as a student for the next two years is reckoned in the annals of that college as one of her many glorious martyrs for the faith. Late in the year 1584, he had taken the oath to be ready at the order of the Sovereign Pontiff, or other lawful superior of this college, to embrace the ecclesiastical profession, to take holy orders, and to proceed to England for the aid of souls. And from that moment his heart must have burned to commence his work, for we find him admitted to the priesthood at the unusually early age of twenty-four, and five months later setting off for Reims, where the DOWE College is now situated, on his way to England. By that time the high roads even of Lorraine and France were infested by heretic spies on the lookout for priests traveling from Rome, and Father Buxton and the little band who accompanied him were often hard put to it to escape with their lives. Reims too gave him a discouraging welcome, for news was arriving every day of the capture and imprisonment of priests, often at the moment of their arrival. And Christopher was told that it was impossible to make an entrance into the country, but he only made answer that he came from Rome to go to England, and that to England he meant to go. And if I can get any hope to escape by any means, I will venture in the name of Jesus Christ and our Blessed Lady, and all the holy and blessed company of heaven. Fourth with he hastened on to Rowan, where a perplexing difficulty had to be dealt with. As he passed through Paris, he had been told by a certain Dr. Derbyshire that Father Parsons of England had received orders from the rector of the English College at Rome, that no missionaries were to cross the channel, until they had received his permission. Obedience ranks high among the virtues of a priest, and Father Christopher would do nothing till he heard from the rector. But he adds wistfully in his letter to Rome. We are very loathe to stay. However, there he had to wait, and even to see his fellow Catholics set off before him into Scotland, because of the Great Liberty given lately unto Catholics there. Yet always hoping and longing for the day that was to give entrance to what every priest of those times must have felt were the gates of imprisonment and death. He must indeed have been not only very zealous, but of a singularly sweet and happy disposition. An almost boyish note of eagerness is seen in the letter written to the rector in reply to one that told him that there was no authority for Father Derbyshire's action and that he might now proceed. Had I not been so injuriously handled by Father Derbyshire, who forged such things to make me stay, he writes indignantly, I had been the first of all my companions in England. Then with evident intention to make the best of things, he adds, but considering the thing is past, I will not take it much to heart, but will let it lightly pass. And now, at length, with full zeal and courageous minds, most like unto Anais, we will cut the surging seas and make a salt towards our foes, and presently signs himself after begging for prayers your loving child. Never until death to fail in obedience, Christopher Buxton. The ministry of this devoted young priest was short enough. He managed to evade the spies and searchers of the port at landing. But within two months he was captured, probably in the middle of the November of the year 1587. He never, therefore, fulfilled his longing wish to return to his own Derbyshire home, there to save the souls of his family and friends, for he was taken in Kent and thrown into the Marshall Sea prison. There he must have been greeted with joy and welcome by Father Robert Wilcox, who had been a fellow pupil of his at DOWE four years earlier, and who had already lain a year in that filthy prison. And he would quickly make him known to another ardent young DOWE priest named Edwards, who had taken the name of Edward Campion because of his love and admiration for the martyr. During the long years that followed, these three must often have cheered each other by their conversation, and no doubt gladly admitted to their companionship a young layman named Robert Widmerpool, charged with having introduced a priest into the house of the Countess of Northumberland, where he was acting as tutor to her children. In their dismal quarters, they would hear rumors of the advance and defeat of the Armada, and possibly conjectured that this would hasten the date of the martyrdom for which of their bodies shrank from the suffering entailed, their ardent souls were always longing. In the middle of August of that year, 1588, their so-called trial began. Edward Campion was the first to be questioned, who on being termed a traitor, replied warmly that he wished he was no worse traitor than Campion, that was executed for treason. Ask the famous bloody question as to which side he would take if an army came, by apostolic authority, to deprive her majesty and to restore Romish religion, he refused to say. But we'll pray that the Catholic Church may prevail so long as he liveth. On the next day, Father Christopher Buxton came before the council. Of the result of his examination, we have the brief and striking entry. This man will not take her majesty's part against the army, nor do anything to hinder his religion. No doubt the council were glad to have the chance of striking terror into the hearts of the people of Kent. The county where a foreign army was most likely to try to land, and all three priests with Robert Widmerpool were forthwith sent to Canterbury for execution. When they were brought out to die on Oton Hill on that October morning, it seems as though the pity even of those grim officials was moved by the boyish look of Christopher Buxton, the youngest of the four, and only twenty-six years of age. With doubtful kindness, they ordained that he should suffer last, hoping that the sight of the terrible butchery of the rest would break down his courage and cause him to apostatize. But their example could only have strengthened him, since Father Wilcox, as he mounted the ladder, turned to his companions, and with a smiling countenance, bade them be of good heart, telling them that he was going to heaven before them, when he should carry the tidings of their coming. And Robert Widmerpool gave thanks aloud that he was brought to so great a glory as that of dying for his faith and truth, in the same place with a glorious martyr, St. Thomas of Canterbury, had shed his blood. At the last moment Father Buxton was offered life if he would conform. To which he replied cheerfully, I will not purchase corruptible life at so dear a rate, and indeed, if I had a hundred lives, I would willingly lay down all in defense of my faith. Chapter 13 Philip Earl of Arendale Gloria et onaré am coronasti domine, in memoria eterna, Eret Justus, 1584 to 1595. Inscription in the Beauchamp Tower Another victim of the Armada Fiori in England stands a little outside the ranks of those whose story we have just told. He held a position to begin with a first peer in England and cousin to the Queen. And though contempt to die for his faith on the usual charge of high treason, he actually gave up his life after eleven years of captivity in prison, though not without a strong suspicion of having been poisoned. Upon the staircase leading to his cell in the Beauchamp Tower may still be seen the inscription cut by him in an effort to relieve the monotony of those long and weary days. In the original Latin, it runs thus, secret peccata causa, venturi oprobrium est, eta e contrapro cristo custodie, vincula sostenere maxima gloria est, Ambro, Arendelle, 16 May 1587. To be bound on account of sin is a disgrace, but to sustain the bonds of prison for Christ's sake is the greatest glory. These words tell more completely than any others the story of this young nobleman, who at the age of twenty-seven disappeared from the gay world of London behind the gloomy walls of the tower, 1585. Till a year or two earlier Philip Howard Earl of Arendelle and Surrey had been one of the wildest and most extravagant of courtiers, and in high favor with Elizabeth, in spite of the fact that his unfortunate father had been executed by her for planning a marriage with married Queen of Scots. But at that time Philip had been but a lad of fifteen on his way to the University of Cambridge, and when some two years later he made his appearance at the court, his handsome face and debonair manners so attracted the notice of the Queen that she exercised all her influence to keep him by her side, and away from the child wife of his own age whom he had married some six years earlier. But the favor of Elizabeth was notoriously fickle, possibly to his position as possible heir to the throne made her uneasy. Men who had once been only too ready to win a glance from her now looked to scant, and no hydrants was put in Philip's way when he retired from a court that had turned him the cold shoulder to his wife and household at Arendelle. His renewed affection for his wife he had neglected gave Elizabeth the chance of showing her spite towards him in a characteristic manner. She could not touch him for his faith, for the easygoing young courtier, who cared little enough in those days for the things of God, had readily enough conformed to the Protestant religion, but his wife who had lately become a staunch Catholic was presented for recusancy, as it was termed, and condemned to be confined for twelve months in the house of the Protestant Sir Thomas Shirley. This was not enough, however, for the Queen was determined, as she expressed it, to lay her hand on Arendelle's collar, and the opportunity soon came. In the year 1581 Philip had been present in the tower when two holy young priests bore witness to their faith before a representative body of Protestant ministers armed with books of controversy. As he looked at the spiritual face of Blessed Edmund Campion, warned with the agony of the wrack, and at his dislocated hand and arm, which he could not even lift, as he heard his beautiful voice, thrill with conviction and joy of the faith, in face of a terrible death, God touched his heart and gave him the grace of conversion. For two years he struggled in vain against a step that assuredly meant worldly ruin, if no worse. But in 1583, as he paced the Long Gallery of Arendelle Castle, the conflict ended in victory, and the young Earl determined to be reconciled to the church at the first opportunity. For this, however, he had to wait many a year. His first intention was to leave his own land and go to Flanders, where he and his family could practice their religion and freedom. But he was now closely watched, and not only was his secretary, whom he had sent to prepare for their journey, arrested and closely questioned as to his faith, but the Queen herself visited the Earl at Arendelle House in the Strand. And in return for his princely hospitality, they'd him remain a prisoner in his own domain. Nothing, however, could be actually proved against Philip at this time, though the very clear intimidation of what was in store for him after his reception into the church might well have frightened a weaker Catechumen from making his profession of faith. Being received in the next year by the Jesuit Father Weston, he immediately became one of the most earnest of converts. And he who had once found his delight in the frivolary of a court, now discovered it in the joy of communion with his Lord at the daily mass, which with great humility and reverence he himself many times would serve. Reconciliation to the church. The hearing of mass, the harboring of a Jesuit priest, were crimes enough to condemn any man in those days. And the Earl soon decided that his only chance of life and liberty lay in carrying out his plan of voluntary exile, into which his wife and the child soon to be born were shortly to follow him. In a letter written to the Queen he explains his reasons and how he was come to the point in which he must consent, either to the certain destruction of his body or the manifest endangering of his soul. He trusted therefore that if to escape such evils he should leave the realm without license the Queen would not visit him with her displeasure. Embarking from the nearest port probably somewhere about little Hampton, Philip Howard set out little thinking that every movement of his had been reported to the Queen by spies, and that she had allowed him to proceed so far that she might the more surely entrap him. Before he was out of sight of land he was pursued and captured and thrown into the tower. Therefore a year he lay unnoticed. But it was difficult, even not a formulated definite charge of treason against him. But at the end of that time he was accused of having sought to leave the kingdom without a license and of having correspondence with Cardinal Alan. To these the Earl replied that as to the first he was justified by necessity, because the laws of the country did not permit him to worship God according to his conscience, and that his correspondence with Alan was not on matters of state, but of religion. He was not withstanding, condemned to pay a fine of ten thousand pounds, and to be imprisoned during Her Majesty's pleasure. Close confinement in the tower was now his lot. Grief indeed he must have felt at the separation from his wife and the child whose face he was never to look upon. Botley Payne too he suffered, for the harsh treatment he received changed him from a gallant young courtier to an invalid, old before his time. But his soul was free and happy enough, for he had ample leisure to pray and meditate, and fortitude sufficient to take these trials as a penance for his years of indifference and sin. The year 1587, after two years, had thus passed, bears witness upon the walls of his prison to his devotion to the faith. Quanto plus Afflictionis pro Cristo in Hoxsacolo Tonto plus Gloria Cum Cristo in Futuro. Arendelle June 22, 1587. The more affliction we endure for Christ in this world, the more glory we shall obtain with Christ in the next. The next year saw the attempt of Philip of Spain to invade England and marked a crisis in the story of the imprisoned Earl. At the beginning of that year, his close confinement had been so far relaxed that he was allowed to converse with an old priest, named William Bennett, and two laymen Sir Thomas Gerard, father of the Jesuit, and Mr. Shelley, all imprisoned for their faith. To these four captives presently came a rumor that the armada had sailed for England, and that on its arrival all Catholic prisoners would be promptly put to death. A suggestion made by Philip that they should join in a common form of prayer against this fate was rejected almost immediately, lest it should be misrepresented by those outside, but the harm was already done. Prison walls have ears, and when presently the Earl was again placed in solitary confinement, the three other prisoners were threatened with torture, unless they would bear witness against him. The answer of Sir Thomas Gerard, one who had borne much persecution for the faith, was fatal to the Earl, for he declared that the latter had proposed a prayer of twenty-four hours duration for the success of the Spaniards. Possibly he said it from weakness and hope of release, for there seems to have been little enough truth in it. Anyhow it proved the ruin of his own soul, for he became an apostate from the faith, and lived an evil life till about a year before his death. On this evidence Philip Howard was found guilty of high treason, and condemned to die. Possibly, however, the Queen had reason to dread a public outcry if this noble victim of hers was brought on so slender a charge to the scaffold. Possibly his delicacy of health suggested that he would save her further trouble by dying quietly in prison within a few months. That, however, was not to be. For six more years Philip remained in the tower, adding to the rigors of his imprisonment by his own austerities, and expecting that every day might be his last. His letters to his wife breathe a truly wonderful spirit of peace and resignation to the will of God, and his whole time was spent in making preparation for the hour of death. In the August of 1595, being seized with a fatal sickness that showed many symptoms of poison, he once more earnestly entreated the Queen to let him say farewell in person to his wife and his young son. The mocking answer was returned that if the Earl would but once go to the Protestant service his request should not only be granted, but he should be restored to her favor and to all his former estates and honors. To this the dying man listened very patiently, returning answer that he declined to accept Her Majesty's favors on this condition, and that his chief sorrow was that he had but one life to lose in so good a cause. After a night spent in constant prayer he died, at noon, of Sunday, October 19, 1595. In a most sweet manner, without any sign of grief or moan, only turning his head a little aside, as one falling into a pleasing sleep, he surrendered his happy soul into the hands of Almighty God, who to his, so great glory, had created it. His body put hastily away in his father's dishonored grave within the tower was brought by his widow nearly thirty years later to his family's seat at Arendale in Sussex, where it lies in a vault beneath the collegiate chapel, which forms part of the parish church. A part of the inscription on the coffin runs thus. On account of his profession of the Catholic faith he was first imprisoned, then condemned, to pay a fine of ten thousand pounds, and at length was most unjustly sentenced to death under Elizabeth. After a life of ten years and six months, very wholely and piously spent to the severest bondage in the same tower. On the nineteenth of October 1595 he fell asleep in the Lord, not without a suspicion that his death was caused by poison. A finer epitaph is that traced by some unknown prisoner in the tower, immediately below his inscription. Gloria et honorae aeum cor nosti domine, in memoria etterna erit eustis. Thou, O Lord, hast crowned him with glory and honor, the just shall be had in everlasting remembrance. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Rick Veena. A Book of English Martyrs by E. M. Wilmot Buxton. CHAPTER XIV. COM RAC COM ROPE. 1595 He cannot have God for his father that refuses the Catholic Church for his mother. Letter of Father Robert Southwell. In the spring of the year that sought a death of the Earl of Arundel, there was committed for some months to the Marshall Sea that monster of iniquity, Richard Topcliff, the scourge and persecutor of Catholics throughout the reign of Elizabeth. His offense, the least of all his many crimes, was contemptuous speech used towards the privy council when examined as to a business disgraceful enough. He was accused of securing a huge bribe for undertaking to persecute to death the father and uncle of another precious rascal, Thomas Fitzherbert, the betrayer of Father garlic in order that he might obtain their estates. Bullies are ever cowards, and in a letter written on Good Friday to the Queen, this arch-hypocrite whines, quote, I have helped more traitors to Tyburn than all the noblemen and gentlemen of your court, your councillors accepted. And now by this disgrace I am in fair way and made apt to adventure my life every night to murderers, for since I was committed, wine in Westminster had been given for joy of that news. In all prisons rejoicings, and it is like that, the fresh dead bones of Father Southwell at Tyburn and Father Walpole at York executed both since Shrovetide will dance for joy, end quote. The first of these two martyrs who had for some time been the fellow prisoner of Lord Arendelle in the tower was the son of a Norfolk squire who had been induced by the sting of constant persecution to fall away from the faith. That his conforming was no very thorough affair is seen by the fact that though he brought up his eldest boy as a Protestant, he sent the younger, Robert, to Douay when he was quite a child. From thence the imaginative enthusiastic boy of fifteen went to Paris and within two years became a Jesuit. From that time he strove by every means in his power to prepare himself for the life of a missionary in England, a life which was almost certainly doomed, as we have seen, to end in a martyr's death. Think, he writes as a novice, what is demanded of one thrown into prison by heretics, condemned to hunger and thirst, and to be tempted in all manner of ways? And again five years later, when he was hoping and longing to be sent on that Jesuit mission that had cost Father Campion his life in all the other missionaries save one their liberty, he notes down this reflection. Quote, what would you do if your health were to fail and with it all hope of suffering for Christ and the glory of martyrdom? End quote. Such an event was clearly too terrible to be conceived. In 1586, when he was about 26 years old, this ardent young priest was granted his heart's desire and was sent on the English mission with Father Garnet. His headquarters were mainly at the town or country house of the Countess of Arendelle, whose husband was by this time a prisoner in the tower. The very existence of Father Southwell was a menace to her safety, and for that reason he probably wore constantly the livery of a groom of the chambers. But we can imagine the consolation his presence was to the grief-stricken young wife, whose chief care now was to bring up her baby boy aright and to aid the church for whose faith her husband was suffering. By her aid he opened a house where the harassed priests might resort and where he set up a printing press for that ever-pressing necessity of spreading Catholic literature. But the greater part of his time, during his six years' missionary work, was spent in going from place to place, saying mass whenever possible, instructing, preaching, drawing back the weak to the faith, strengthening the timid, encouraging the strong. That all this was done in the face of almost hourly danger is seen in his letter to Father Parsons about this time. He says, quote, I give myself to preaching, hearing confessions, and other works proper to the society, compassed with daily dangers, and never for a moment in security, but my very difficulties are a source of courage, for alarms jostle one another so thick and fast that none can last long, and hence all are little thought of. My one endeavor is that the enemy find me not unprepared. The rest I leave to God, end quote. In the midst of all this busy work, he solaces himself with the composition of those verses, burning with fervor, which give him a high rank among our religious poets. We will quote here a few lines from his time goes by turns, which breathed that spirit of hope and faith and humility, by which he was distinguished. Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring, no endless night, yet not eternal day, the saddest birds a season find to sing, the roughest storm, a calm, may soon allay, thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all, that man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. There is no doubt that to the sensitive poetic soul of this young priest, the thought of the martyr's death, with all its attendant horrors, was most repugnant. His proper setting, one would think, was the shelter of some beautiful old country house, or the dreaming spires of a quiet university city, where he might have matured the fruit of his poetic imagination in peace and seclusion. Yet he spent his six short years in England, as we have seen, in constant danger, harassed on all sides, with hope yet dread of martyrdom ever before his eyes. His notes are full of hints of this perfectly natural fear of a cruel death. There are many among the martyrs, he writes, of my age and younger, and is weak or weaker than I, but the divine grace that did not fail them will sustain me. One great encouragement was his at this time. His great desire was to draw his father again to the faith he had deserted. Tenderly, he writes to him such words as these. Quote, Oh dear Sire, remember that the scripture terms it a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God, who is able to crush the proud spirit of the obstinate and to make his enemies the footstool of his feet. Wrestle no longer against the struggles of your own conscience and the forcible admonitions that God doth send you. Embrace his mercy before the time of rigor and return to his church, lest he debar you the portals of his kingdom. He cannot have God for his father that refuses the Catholic Church for his mother. Neither can he attain to the church triumphant who is not a member of the church militant. End quote. His earnest words prevailed, and one of the secret joys of his imprisonment must have been the knowledge that his father, in the face of hideous difficulties, was now a fervent Catholic. His own life work was nearly over, though he was still barely thirty-two years of age and probably looked much younger. His zeal and success in saving souls had already made him the special mark of Topcliffe's hatred, and the latter now made use of a miserable tool, one of the priest's own penitence to betray him. One of Father Southwell's hiding places had been at Uxenden, near Harrow, the home of the Bellamies, a family conspicuous for its faith during the years of persecution. Anne, youngest daughter of the family, had under his direction developed such devotion and fervor that she had been arrested and imprisoned at Westminster, close to Topcliffe's own house. There this unhappy girl fell absolutely into the miscreants' clutches. Such power did he exert over her that, probably in despair, she gave up her faith and agreed to aid him in his work of priest-hunting. By his direction she wrote to Father Southwell on her release, asking him to meet her at her father's house. Thus, as Father Gerard says, betraying to death both her spiritual and her natural father. Her fall seems to have been known by this time, but it is probable that the young priest thought she was turning to him for help as a penitent and longing to be reconciled to the church. He hastened to Uxenden and was implored by Mrs Bellamy the same mass early next morning before seeing the unhappy girl. This he did and was taken in the act of doing so, with the vestments still upon him, by Topcliffe himself and the officers who had been watching the house ever since his arrival. I never did take so weighty a man, if he be rightly considered, writes the miscreant in Glee to Elizabeth, and proceeded to carry off his victim to the prison he kept in his own house for the purpose of using in secret the torture of which even the fanatic judges of those days had ceased to approve. Ten times here was the young Jesuit hung up by his hands, an agony which he himself declared was worse than ten deaths, and again three times after he was committed to the tower. Yet not one word would he say, as to the houses or company he had frequented, lest other Catholics should get into trouble through him. The dungeon into which this refined and scholarly man was at first thrown was so filthy that his clothes were soon covered with vermin, and he would probably have remained there, had not his father boldly petitioned a queen. Quote, that if his son had committed anything for which by the laws he had deserved death, he might suffer death. If not, as he was a gentleman, he hoped her majesty would be pleased to order that he should be treated as a gentleman, and not be confined any longer to that filthy hole. Perhaps the youth of her prisoner appealed to the aging queen, anyhow she not only bade that Father Robert be removed to a better lodging, but allowed him to have the books he asked for, to wit, the Holy Bible, and the works of St. Bernard, and his Breviary. Here for nearly three years, Father Southwell passed out of sight. Almost all we know of his imprisonment is comprised in the report of Father Garnet, in which he says, quote, he had for nearly three years been confined more straightly than ever was anyone before, so that he had neither sight nor speech of any Catholic, and had endured more cruel tortures than this savagery is want to inflict upon others, end quote. Beside this, we know that he managed to write letters of comfort to the Earl of Arendelle, cheering him with the reminder that his long martyrdom in prison is a title of honor, a crown of glory. And we have a letter from the Earl to his Blessed Father, in which he says, I could not be more bound to any man, nor to any, but one of your calling so much, and all this in a time when such comforts were most welcome. Since he had never yet been tried, Father Southwell, at length, took the step of writing to Lord Burgley, asking that he might either be brought to trial and condemned, or acquitted, or else that his friends might be admitted to see him. The reply of Cecil was that if he were in such haste to be hanged, he should certainly have his wish. From the tower he was thrown into limbo, the condemned cell of Newgate, a horrible dungeon without air or light, and from thence passed to the usual mockery of a trial. Accused of being a false traitor to our Lady the Queen, Father Robert replied indignantly that he was no traitor, and that he had no other design in returning to his native country than to administer the sacraments according to the right of the Catholic Church to such as desired them. The youth of the boy priest, as one of his judges called him, seems to have touched even their callous hearts, and the Lord Chief Justice asked him how old he was. I am nearly the same age as was my Savior at the time of his passion, he replied, at which the hypocrite Topcliff cried out at the blasphemy. Then judgment was pronounced, to which he listened quietly, only thanking the judge for the terrible sentence passed upon him, and, saying simply, when offered the services of a minister to prepare him for death, nay, my Lord, the grace of God will be sufficient for that. And so he was led back to limbo to spend his last night in prayer, quote, full of the thought of the journey he was to take next day, through the gate of martyrdom, into a happy eternity, end quote. Dragged on a hurdle to Tyburn, he found a huge crowd waiting to see his end. The usual note of ribaldry and execration was strangely absent, and the people listened with sympathetic interest when, once more, denying that he was a traitor, he said, I die a priest of the Holy Roman Church and a religious of the Society of Jesus, on which account I owe eternal thanks and praises to my God and Savior. I have always prayed for the Queen, and for this short time of my life will pray. I recommend to the mercy of God my poor country. Was the last prayer for others of that sweet soul before it ascended to the Savior's throne? Even the crowd watched him die in silence and respect, and refused to allow the hangman to finish his brutal work after he had been hanged. Quote, he came to the scaffold, writes Father Garnet to the Superior of the Society of Jesus. As calm and tranquil as though of his own free will he were going to a banquet, and now I present you a most lovely flower from your garden, a most sweet fruit of your orchard, a matchless jewel from your treasure house, that unconquered soldier of Christ, most faithful disciple and courageous martyr, Robert Southwell. End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15 of a book of English martyrs. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nathan Swift. A book of English martyrs by E. M. Wilmot Buxton. Chapter 15. Strength and Weakness. 1595. Great hope for the Catholic faith in England. I could wish myself there. Letter of Father Henry Walpole from Belgium. In the year that saw the martyrdom of Father Southwell, there was executed at York another priest of the Society of Jesus. 14 years earlier, Henry Walpole, a young man of three and 20 and a promising lawyer of Gray's Inn, had been one of those who pressed horses to the scaffold on which blessed Edmund Campion was speaking his last words on earth. When the executioner had finished his bloody work and flung Campion's quarters into the cauldron that was simmering hard by, the blood spurred it out upon Henry Walpole and bespattered his garment. The beating heart of the young enthusiast throbbed with a new emotion. Every impulse of horror and indignation stirred within him and it seemed that there had come to him a call from heaven to take up the work that had been so cruelly cut short and to follow the path which Campion had trodden. From that moment his course was determined on and from that day he resolved to devote himself to the cause for which Edmund Campion had died. In these words does Canon Jessup in his most interesting account of our martyr, one generation of a Norfolk house, tell the story of the call of another ardent, sensitive soul to the martyr band. In those days his enthusiasm led him to the point of rashness. His verses upon the death of Campion were everywhere bought up. A large following of young men were said to have been converted by him and his refusal to take the oath of allegiance finally brought the perseverance down upon him. It was feared that this would bring his relatives a well-known Catholic family of Norfolk into trouble and forwith young Walpole set out for the continent to Dewey into the English College at Rome and finally in 1584 was admitted to the Society of Jesus. Four years later he was ordained priest, 1588 and seems to have won high esteem from the authorities for his learning and powers of preaching. It was during this year when his eyes were beginning to turn longingly back to his native land that Father Walpole began to get news of the successful work carried on by that gallant adventurer in the cause of Christ Father John Gerard. By him his cousin Edward Walpole now a large landholder and formerly content with merely abstaining from the services of the established church had been converted into an ardent Catholic. Nearer still to the exiles heart was his own young brother Michael, ever restless and adventurous of soul, who after watching the deportment of the gay and fearless young priest who literally held his life in his hand, threw in his lot with him with all the enthusiasm of the generous hearted youth. When Father Walpole had left England Richard another of his six brothers had followed hard upon his steps and had been enrolled in the English College in 1584 and a third Christopher Walpole was the next to give in his adhesion to the faith under the influence of Gerard. It only needed the news that Father Henry Walpole had been arrested at Flushing and was lying there in peril of his life to make another enthusiastic Catholic of Thomas a fifth brother so that in 1589 five out of the six sons of Christopher Walpole of Annmer Hall were ready to stand shoulder to shoulder in defense of the faith. It was young Michael who undertook the dangerous task of traveling to Flushing and obtaining his brother's release. For Flushing was held at that time by a garrison of Englishmen commanded by a nephew of Lee Sester and it was in the performance of his duties as a priest among the Catholic soldiers that Father Henry had been seized and flung into the filthy common prison among the vilest criminals. By Michael's efforts he was released at length on payment of a ransom having learned as he says during his imprisonment to know better both God the world and himself. For the next two years he was again actively engaged upon the Jesuit mission in Belgium among the soldiers of the Spanish camps as well as among the large numbers of English refugees who had settled in that country. It was an important work by no mean free from danger as he had already proved and the interest in excitement must have been very pleasant to his type of mind. Moreover, during these two years his fervent prayers to God and letters to his family were answered for his brother Michael had now joined Richard at the English College together with his cousin Edward Walpole. Christopher was at Dewey and Thomas had also crossed over to Belgium and obtained a commission in the Spanish army but the soul of Father Walpole was not yet satisfied. His eyes still turned longingly to his own land and to the old home where his father mother and sisters yet live. Together with Jeffrey the stolen apathetic second son who never seemed to have been stirred and conscious or wished to suffer for the faith. Gerard, do with much good, writes the young priest wistfully to a friend. If only he might be sent to work and suffer by his side. And then again he writes, great hope for the Catholic faith of England. I could wish myself there if it were answerable. But he had still to wait and possess his soul and patience. First at Turnai then at Bruges were amongst other work he translated into English the famous Velopater document the clever cynical pamphlet written by Father Parsons which attacks Cecil as the real author of the Catholic persecution in England. Scarcely was it finished when he was summoned to join its author at the New England Seminary at Seville. There and again at Valladolid he came under the close scrutiny of that mastermind. The Father Parsons was not slow to mark both his strength and his weakness. Suddenly came the question, would he go into England? Yes, without a moment's doubt or hesitation, though a thousand edicts threaten 8,000 deaths deter. Gerard do with much good, why not I? But months of delay followed his arrival at Saint Omer for the plague was raging in London and he could get no chance of a passage to Calais to Dover. His brother Thomas had thrown up his commission by the time and had joined him on the route together with another priest and a soldier of fortune named Lincoln weary of waiting for an ordinary transit boat. This little band determined to secure a passage on one of these small pirate ships found lying in Dunkirk harbor and went aboard one stormy December night in high spirits knowing nothing of the fact that a fifth man who had stealthily slipped aboard one of the other ships was one of Walsingham spies who had for some time been watching there every moment. They had a fearful passage and being carried far past Norfolk where Father Walpole hoped to land were presently off the coast of Yorkshire. There was nothing for it but to disembark there and hope for the best. As this they did, still ignorant of the fact that the sinister figure of the spy had managed to land before them and had hurried hotfoot to York to lay information of the probable approach of a Jesuit priest straight from Spain. It was on a wild and dark December night that Father Walpole set foot on the unfriendly soil of Yorkshire and buried for safety in the sand the packet of letters he had brought with him utterly ignorant of their whereabouts and with no settled plans to guide them. The two brothers and their friend committed the fatal blunder of keeping together instead of promptly separating and after wandering through the woods or hiding in a barn all that night sought food and shelter at the village inn of Kilham some nine miles from the coast. Within a few hours the news of the arrival of three strangers and drenched foreign dress was spread far and wide. The constables were at once on the track and the sunset of the next day saw all three exiles committed to the castle prison in York. Here was notable work for Lord Huntingdom and his success was beyond his expectations. It is true that Father Walpole having one confess himself a Jesuit kept obstinate silence as to matters which affected the lives of others and that Lincoln followed his example. But to the dismay of his companions young Thomas Walpole having no strong religious convictions and not minded to run any risk for having served on the Spanish side of Belgium at once told all he knew and not only dug up the packet of letters hidden by Father Henry but took pains to identify another returning priest on his arrival and so became the means of getting him sent to the tower. They were surely of mixed qualities these Walpoles for their zeal and readiness to take up a losing cause was often tempered with a sensitive dread of pain and loss which led in this case to something like apostasy and in that a poor father Walpole to elapse for which we can but feel the tenderest pity and sympathy and which was nobly atoned for by his heroic death. At first Huntingdom hoped to win over the elder brother by means more suave than threats. They were at York at that time a group of apostate priests whom fear of prison and death had prevailed upon to recant and to give information as to their former associates. It was arranged that these gentlemen should hold public disputations with Father Walpole but as the only effect was to gain for the Jesuit from the populace a reputation for learning and devoted piety. They were hastily stopped and the three men were put on their trial. Their first examination was at the hands of Topcliff himself who writes exultingly to the Queen as to the success he had had with young Thomas who had in fact already told all he knew but quite otherwise of Father Henry and Lingen. The Jesuit and Lingen must be dealt with in some sharp sword alone and more will burst out than yet or otherwise can be known. Meantime from his dismal cell the lonely priest has found means to write and receive letters from his friends and his words are somewhat wistful and pathetic in tone especially when we recall what was to happen a few months later. Your reverence's letters give me great comfort but if I could see you though it were but for one hour it would be of greater service to me than I could possibly express. I hope that what is wanting my sweet Lord Jesus will supply by other means whose heavenly comfort and assistance has always hitherto stood by me in my greatest necessities and I am persuaded will continue to do so since his love for us is everlasting then referring to his examination he says I told them I returned into England with a very great desire of the conversion not only of the people but most of all the queen herself and of the whole English nobility which I plainly assure them I should ever use my best endeavors to bring about with the grace of God to their queries concerning others I refuse to answer and when Topcliffe threatened that he would make me answer when he had me in Bridewell or in the tower I told him that our Lord God I hoped would never permit me for fear of any torments whatsoever to do anything against his divine majesty or against my own conscience or to the prejudice of justice and the innocence of others the whole letter breathes a spirit of almost childlike simplicity faith and readiness to suffer together with a curious undercurrent of self distraughtfulness and even uneasiness as to whether what he had said to his enemies had been altogether wise as though in fact he would have been glad of reassurance from his superior on these points as to another matter just at this time he was equally full of scruples his many friends outside were eager to formulate a plan of escape for him but the gentle young priest was doubtful both as to the nature of the risk to be run and even more as to his right to try thus to invade martyrdom he managed to get through the prison gates a letter from the Jesuit father Holtby who a second Gerard was passing unscathed through daily risk of detection and had managed to establish a correspondence with the prisoner in the castle knowing probably his lack of the nerve and cunning necessary to such an undertaking father Holtby advised him not to attempt the escape and he rightly agreed but the time of real trial was now hard at hand in 1594 a pretended plot to assassinate Elizabeth had been fastened on a certain portuguese named Lopez the queen's physician who is said to be in the pay of Spain Lopez probably an innocent victim of the headstrong zeal and suspicion of the Earl of Essex was put to death and the whole affair became a convenient peg upon which Topcliffe might hang a Jesuit priest come straight from Spain hurrying him from York Topcliffe soon had father Walpole committed to the tower where Philip Howard still lay and father Southwall his fellow Jesuit with whom he left no stone unturned to establish communication during the two months of solitary confinement that elapsed before his examination when this began though faced with the horrors of the torture chamber the replies of the prisoner were firm enough he frankly owned two facts that were already known or which referred to people safe across the sea but when press to name the 40 young Englishmen then studying at the Valladolid Seminary or any Englishman with whom he had intercourse at Dunkirk or on his arrival he was absolutely silent it was the same on the days that followed in the record of the questions asked again and again the clerk noted down as his answer he knoweth but refuses to disclose he was now utterly in Topcliffe's power the rack and the manacles were ready let him speak the stubborn Jesuit who knew so much speak or hang till life shall be only horrible torment but still he would not open his mouth though the examination was only ended by his fainting with agony under the torture in the lonely cell in the salt tower that must have seemed like heaven after the chamber of horrors the Jesuit priests spent the long hours and drawing pictures of saints and angels and chalk upon the walls and in carving his name upon the stones where it may yet be seen Father Gerard his successor there in later days thus describes the spot the next day I examine the place for there was some light though dim and I found the name of Father Henry Walpole of blessed memory cut with a knife on the wall and not far from there I found his oratory which was a space where there had been a narrow window now blocked up with stones there he had written on either side with chalk the names of the different choirs of angels and on top above the cherubim and seraphim the name of the mother of God and above that again in Latin Greek and Hebrew the name of God he adds words at whose import we can but shutter it was truly a great consolation to me to find myself in this place hallowed by the presence of so great and so devoted a martyr the place too in which he was frequently tortured to the number as I have heard of 14 times probably they were unwilling to torture him in public and in the ordinary place because they did it oftener than they would have it known the suggestion in the light of what followed is truly horrible did topcliff during these June days deal with this helpless victim unchecked by observers according to his wicked will it seems so for on the 13th of the month he had managed to extort a written confession which after all betrays nobody and tells nothing that was not already known to the government but that his splendid courage is broken as seen by the pathetic appeal for mercy with which it ends an appeal from a heart rung with despair at its own weakness I desire that this act be concealed tell it shall please the council to dispose of me howsoever to the honors shall seem most to the good of the realm and service of her majesty whom I do beseech upon my knees to take pity upon a miserable prisoner and offender yet now resolved to employ all my forces to her majesty's service and to conform myself ever as it shall please her majesty to appoint me but still they had not learned all they wish to know the names of the seminaries abroad the names of priest harbors at home and it was only after another night of horror that this information was extracted from him what refinement of torture was employed or what agony of remorse followed these revelations weakened but surmised when we read that in the same document he declares his readiness to go to the church though he adds immediately in their preach only such doctrine as my conscious doth tell me to be manifestly deduced out of the word of god ending with a brave attempt to regain his self-respect in the significant words so that it be without prejudice to the Catholic faith which I ever profess let us not presume to judge this man of nervous highly sensitive mind and body who under physical agony such as we cannot even imagine was forced to declare things for which in saner moments he would have died rather than reveal death indeed was a light thing compared to daily torture and death he would have been ready to face with courage but the worst part of the story is to come that he had not yet betrayed anything of great importance is proved by the fact that for the next few months he was left entirely in topcliff's hands to do with as he pleased what happened exactly we cannot tell the secret is well kept by those grim gray stones of the tower cell but we do know that in july 1594 he was able to write the hand of an educated man and that at the end of his nine months imprisonment when some notes of meditations written by him in prison had come into the possessions of father gerard the latter says of them i could scarcely read them at all not because they were written hastily but because the hand of the writer could not form the letters it seemed more like the first attempts of a child than the handwriting of a scholar and a gentleman such as he was what put an end to this dark period of failure of body and soul is not quite certain it seems clear that his admission that he had translated parson's pamphlet ridiculing Cecil was enough to sign his death warrant at lord burley's hands moreover in the january of 1595 a jesuit priest who had been captured in the act of taking over six boys to the spanish seminary had managed to outwith the government and under the appearance of napolitan merchant to get exchanged for an english prisoner of war in their annoyance and irritation when they found that they had let a jesuit missionary slip through their fingers the council called upon toklif for advice who reminded them that they had two notable jesuit still lying in the tower father southwall for nearly three years father wallpole for 15 months to make an example of these might terrorize the rest of the society since no jesuit had been actually executed since the days of campion 13 years before so since father wallpole had been taken at york he was sent to their against the stand to bitter mockery in the trial which be it as remembered he had never yet been allowed his answers on the occasion show that if he had fallen with saint peter he had indeed not only repented with him but was prepared to bear the most distinct witness to the faith of his church for towards the end of a long accusation most ably refuted by him the lord president said to him we deal very favorably with you mr wallpole when notwithstanding all these treasons and conspiracies with the persons aforesaid we offer you the benefit of the law if you will but make the submission ordered by law which if you will not accept of it is proper you should be punished according to the law to which father wallpole replied there is nothing my lord in which i would not most willingly submit myself provided it be not against god but may his divine majesty never suffer me to consent to the least thing by which he may be dishonored as to the queen i every day pray for her to the lord god that he would bless her with his holy spirit and god is my witness that to all here present and particularly to my accusers and to such as desire my death i wish as to myself the salvation of their souls and that to this end they may live in the true catholic faith the only way to eternal happiness when father wallpole was removed to his condemned cell he thought that the end was close at hand and writing to father holtby he says with touching humility i am to be executed tomorrow pray therefore to our god that he may be my helper in the last conflict that i have to sustain for the glory of his name and for the edification of his church i tell you he adds nothing of all that passed during the year's detention in the tower of london i hold my peace too on many other details you will know them in heaven when we shall see each other again let this letter written in haste but with cordial affection suffice it is time for me to lay my penicide to employ myself only in prayer to the great god for whom i am fighting the good fight with whom i hope to be face to face on the morrow even now however he was not left at peace for the judges insisted on another public disputation being held on the sunday following monday april 17 1595 was the actual date of the martyrdom and for an account of this we go to the record of father holtby who speaks first to the self-inflicted penance undergone by the priest before his death he was very austere to himself after his coming out of the tower at night he lay upon the stones unless he leaned upon his elbow and he that lay in the chamber with him did affirm that he never awakened but he heard the father either pray or sigh with him suffered a seminary priest named alexander rawlings whose death it was hoped might terrorize father wallpole into giving way some gentleman of position indeed seemed most anxious to save the latter for when in answer to the usual question he replied that he would gladly pray for elizabeth whom he honored as his queen they ran to the president with the news but huntington done with his evil smile bade them ask if he would so do if the pope forbade it upon which he answered he might not nor would not even up to the last moment both enemies and well-wishers tormented him with questions which perhaps he bore the more meekly because he regarded them as a penance for his past weakness then at length the end came his last prayer was pastor nuster as he was beginning ava maria when they turned him over the ladder they let him hang until he was dead and thus by a steadfast faith and death father henry wallpole atoned for the mistakes and lapses of past days finding at the moment of death a judge more merciful than those of us who would blame a man for failing always to stand upright under a test from which the bravest men will shrink and fall with him we end for the present our story of the martyrs of the sixteenth century though four and twenty more were to suffer before that century was complete but perhaps it is as well that we should close this book with the life of father wallpole fresh in remembrance less familiarity with the details of martyrdom make us forget all that it meant to those who suffered for they were men and women not unlike ourselves they love their lives they rejoiced in the sunshine and the joy of living just as we do and we're not made of stuff that feels no pain and no regrets so much the more than do we owe them veneration and honor since all that they accomplished was done not by their own superior force or will or physical endurance but by their swift and eager correspondence with the grace of god blessed english martyrs pray for the author the illustrator the publishers and the readers of this book amen end of chapter 15 end of a book of english martyrs by em wilma buxton