The Year 1616

THOMAS ATKINSON, Priest.^

Thomas ATKINSON was bom in the East Riding of Yorkshire, and educated in Doway College, during its residence at Rhemes, where¹ he was ordained priest, as appears by the College Diary, in 1588, and sent the same year upon the English mission. His missionary labours were employed in his native country, where for near thirty years he faithfully and zealously discharged every part of the duty of an apostolic pastor. ‘ In recalling many,’ says m.y author, ‘ to the Catholic fa’th; in diligently visiting his flock, which was numerous and spread in many distant places, to confirm them with the sacraments, to encourage them, and push them forw^ard to the practice of virtue, and to arm them against the deceits and fury of their adversaries; travelling always on foot; frequently passing whole nights without sleep, either employed in the functions of his ministry, or in his journeys; for by serving the same parts of the country for so many years, he was become so well known to the heretics, that he could not safely travel by day. Till at length it pleased the Divine Majesty to reward these labours of His servant, and his tears which he continually shed in prayer, and his most holy life by a glorious and triumphant death.’

Of Mr. Atkinson and his labours, thus also writes the Lady Babthorpe his contemporary, in a manuscript which I have before me.

‘ There was a good priest, one Mr. Atkinson in our country, who lived long in doing great service to God; taking great pains in serving the poor, who without such pains could not have had those helps and comforts that they stood in need of in that time. For divers years he travelled afoot, enduring all weathers; and many times when he had a weary and wet day, the houses to which he went could not receive him in; but he was obliged to stay in some outhouse or corner, being both wet and cold, and even in the time of frost and snow, so long, till the owners of the houses could receive him in with safety. This he used so long, that in a great frost he got a fall and broke his leg; in the cure of which he suffered much, lighting on a bad surgeon. Yet after his recovery he used his former charity and pains; but not being able to travel much on foot, he had a horse to help him. In this man God shewed wonderful things at his taking and imprisonment. One was, that his irons fell off his legs, when the keeper had fastened them on; which being reported to the Lord Sheffield, who was the President of the North, he sent to the keeper to know if it were true, who confessed the truth. Another charity the good man used was, when he came to poor folk’s houses, he would not let them be at any charge, but both found himself meat and them; and gave them money too: so what he received from those that were able he bestowed on the poor.’

His apprehension and death is thus briefly related in a manuscript sent me from St. Omer's, written the same year that he suffered, and agreeing perfectly with the printed account published at Doway.

‘ A venerable priest, called Mr. Atkinson, a man of seventy years of age, or more, who had laboured in this vineyard above thirty² years, in the province of York, going always on foot, and for the most part by night, from one Catholic house to another, to help, confess, and administer the holy sacraments; in this present year of our Lord i6i6, coming to the house of a Catholic gentleman [Mr. Vavasour of Willitoft] was espied by a heretic, and suspected to be a priest; who maliciously advertised some officers of it; and they coming with all speed, met the said priest coming from the

THOMAS ATKINSON i6i6]

Catholic house, and apprehended him; carrying him, with the gentleman, his wife, and children, guarded with armed men to the city of York. Where [it being the time of the assizes] he was brought before the President and the judges there present. They examined him, whether he was a priest or no? which the holy old man would not acknowledge, for fear of endangering the goods and lives of the gentleman, and his wife and children, who had harboured him; yet would not directly deny, because he would not say anything that might have any colour or appearance of untruth. Yet the judges, having no other proof or witness, condemned him to death, and gave sentence on him as a traitor.

They found about him at his apprehension a pair of beads, some blessed grains, with a copy of indulgences granted by His Holiness, which they there read publicly to the people, laughing and scoffing at them, and saying a thousand untruths of the use of them, as heretics are accustomed; and by reason they found these things about him, they were confirmed in their opinion that he was a priest, and thereupon impanelled a jury and condemned him. And on the nth of March y according to our style, he was drawn upon a hurdle from the prison to the place of execution, where he had his life offered him if he would take the oath, which he constantly refusing, was turned off the ladder, and being half dead was cut down by the executioner [dismembered, bowelled] and quartered. All which he suffered with wonderful patience, courage, and constancy, and signs of great comfort; seeing that now fulfilled in him which he had so long desired, not without some foreknowledge, by vision from God, as himself secretly discovered to some friends that were with him in the same prison, where at this present are remaining about eighty other Catholics, condemned most of them in a prcemunire, that is to say, the loss of all their goods, and perpetual imprisonment.

A certain young man, a Catholic, having a desire to get some relics of this holy martyr, bought of the hangman his stockings; which a Protestant espying, caused the young man to be examined by the magistrate; and being found to be a Catholic and the servant of a Catholic gentleman, they sent him to prison, where he remains and suffers with the rest.

After the condemnation and death of this holy man, the judges and justices of the assizes, perceiving their proceedings not to be pleasing to the people (having condemned him against all law, without either witness or other substantial proof, only for having beads about him, and because he would not directly deny himself to be a priest) endeavoured to satisfy the world by producing afterwards a base wicked fellow, who witnessed before them, that the party condemned was a priest, and that he had sometimes seen him say Mass.

Mr. Atkinson suffered at York, March ii, 1615-16.

His Latin life printed at Doway 1617, confirms the truth of that extraordinary event, of his irons falling off his legs when he was employed in prayer, as a thing well known and attested by many; as also the vision he had before his apprehension, in which our blessed Lady revealed to him that he should glorify her Son, by suffering for His cause a cruel martyrdom.

JOHN THULIS, Priest, and ROGER WRENNO, or WORREN, Layman.³

JOHN THULIS was born in Lancashire, at a place called Up-Holland, and performed the greatest part of his studies abroad, in Doway College during its residence at Rhemes; from whence, being now a student in divinity and in holy orders, he was sent to Rome where he was made priest. After his return to England he fell into the hands of the adversaries of his faith, and was for many years a close prisoner in Wisheach Castle. When or how he escaped, or was released from thence, I have not found; but for the latter part of his time he seems to have exercised his missionary functions in his own country; at least there he was apprehended by order of William, Earl of Derby, and committed prisoner to the county gaol at Lancaster.

His Latin life, printed at Doway the year after his execution, informs us that God Almighty had prepared this His servant for the crown of martyrdom, by many trials and crosses, which he had undergone with a wonderful courage' and tranquillity of mind. And that once when he was brought to death’s door by extremity of sickness, and had received all the rites of the Church, he was divinely admonished that he was not to die that time, but to look for a more glorious death by martyrdom. That he was a man exceedingly mortified in his life, and who had acquired so great a command of his passions, that though by nature he was of a choleric i6i6] JOHN THULIS AND ROGER WRENNO disposition, he had so far overcome himself that even in the midst of calumnies and lies, which were unjustly cast upon him, he behaved with that temper and meekness, and so moderated all his words, as if nothing had come out of his mouth, but what had been well studied and meditated beforehand; insomuch that one of the judges who sat upon him at his trial was heard to say in the company of many gentlemen, that he had scarce met in all the north of England with a man of so much modesty, prudence and temper.

In the same prison of Lancaster Castle^ where Mr. Tkulis was confined, among other Catholics there was one Roger Wrefino, or Worren, a weaver by trade, but a zealous and devout soul. These two, not long before the Lent Assizes i6i6, found means to make their escape out of prison about five in the evening; and making the best of their way, as they imagined, from that time till the next day, walking all that while a good round pace; when they thought they were now about thirty miles from Lancaster, they found themselves to be very near that town, God’s holy will designing for them there the crowm of martyrdom. So being discovered at sunrising in that neighbourhood, they were apprehended and brought back again to their lodgings in the castle, where they were sure to be better looked to for the future. Soon after this the assizes came on, when they were both brought to their trial, and both condemned. Mr. Thulis was sentenced to die as in cases of high treason, for being a priest, and exercising his priestly functions in this realm; and the weaver, as in cases of' felony, for relieving and assisting priests. Yet they both of them had their lives offered them if they would take the new oath of allegiance, and as to Mr. Thulis, a gentleman of that country (Mr. Ashton of Leaver) who was his godson, proffered him £20 a year for his life if he would comply; but they both constantly refused the oath, as inconsistent with truth and their conscience.

The day appointed for their execution was the i8th of March. When Mr. Thulis was brought out of the castle, and laid upon a hurdle in order to be drawn to the gallows; as he took his last leave of his fellow priests, who remained there in prison, he recommended to them mutual love and charity, the proper characteristics of the true disciples of Christ. Wrenno was conducted at the same time to execution in the company of divers malefactors, who were to suffer the same day, four of whom had been lately reconciled in prison by Mr. Thulis to God and His Church, and constantly professed to the last the Catholic faith as the true and only saving religion.

At the gallows, when Mr. Thulis was going up the ladder, he was again called upon to save his life by taking the oath; And why, said they, should you boggle at it? It requires nothing more of you than a civil allegiance to the King. Write me then, said he, a form of an oath which contains nothing but civil allegiance^ and I will take it. They told him, they could tender him no other form of oath than that which was ordered by the Parliamentary statute; And that, said he, I cannot in conscience take; for it contains many things contrary to Catholic faith. So he was turned off the ladder, and afterwards cut down and quartered. His four quarters were hung up at four of the chief towns of the county, viz.^ Lancaster y Preston y Wigan y and Warrington; that at Preston was fixed to the church steeple; and his head was set up on the castle walls.

As for WrennOy the weaver, after he was turned off the ladder, the rope broke with the weight of his body, and he fell down to the ground; and after a short space he came perfectly to himself, and going upon his knees began to pray very devoutly, with his eyes and hands lifted up to heaven. Upon this the ministers came up to him, and extolled the providence and mercies of God in his regard, and likewise the King’s clemency, who would give him his life, if he would but condescend after all to take the oath. The good man at this presently arose, saying, I am the same man I waSy and in the same mindy use ^our pleasure with me; and with that he ran to the ladder, and went up it as fast as he could. How noWy says the Sheriff, what does the man meany that he is in such haste? Oh! says the good man, if you had seen that which I have just nozo seeUy you would he as much in haste to die as I now am. And so the executioner putting a stronger rope about his neck, turned the ladder, and quickly sent him to see the good things of the Lord in the land of the livingy of which before he had had a glimpse.

They suffered at Lancaster y March i8, 1615-16.

THOMAS MAXFIELD, Priest *

He was descended of an ancient family of this name in Staffordshire. His father, who was a man of great piety, had sufered much for his religion; and besides the confiscationof his estate, and a long and close imprisonment of many years, was actually under⁴ i6i6]

sentence of death for his faith when this son was born; his wife being at the same time a close prisoner for the same cause. As for Mr. Thomas, having got some little tincture of grammar in his own country, he was sent abroad to the English College of Doway, where he arrived in 1603, and there made a good progress in learning; finished his course of philosophy; and was advanced two years in the study of divinity, when he was attacked with a long and lingering sickness, which obliged him to interrupt his studies, and return to his native country, in hopes of recovering his health by change of air; which had its desired effect, for after some time he recovered, and then without delay crossed the seas again, and returned to the College; where, having completed his divinity, and being found by the superiors every way qualified by virtue and learning for an apostolic life, he was presented to holy orders in 1614, and sent upon the mission in 1615.

At his coming to London the first visit he made was to a priest, an intimate friend of his, a close prisoner in the Gatehouse; where likewise he celebrated Mass for the first time after his arrival in England, After which three months did not pass before he was apprehended, being upon his knees before the altar, after Mass, in recollection and prayer. In this posture the pursuivants found him, and immediately laying hands upon him violently hauled him away, as if he had been some notorious robber or housebreaker taken in the fact.

He was convened before some of the bishops, who put the usual murthering questions unto him. Was he a Romish priest? Why did he presume, after having taken orders in the Church of Rome, to return into England contrary to the laws of this nation? Was he willing to take the oath of allegiance? &c. To these interrogatories, Mr. Maxfield returned a plain and distinct answer, viz., he owned himself a priest, ordained by a Catholic Bishop, according to the form appointed in the Roman pontifical, and by authority derived from the Bishop of Rome. That as he was lawfully ordained, so was he likewise lawfully sent to preach the Word of God, and to administer the sacraments to his countrymen; and that as the mission of priests lawfully ordained is originally from Christ, Who sent His Apostles even as His Father had sent Him, he humbly conceived no human laws could justly render his return into England criminal; for this would be to prefer the ordinances of men to the commands of the supreme legislator Christ Himself. As to the rest, he would pay obedience in all civil matters to his Majesty; but would not take the oath of allegiance as it was worded. Upon this he was sent to the Gatehouse^ where he had before offered to God the first-fruits of his mission.

His conduct in prison (for about eight months) was truly religious and edifying to all. The author of the Latin account of his martyrdom, published at Doway the same year he suffered, who seems to have been an eye-witness of his behaviour, gives this commendation of him: that he wholly devoted himself to prayer, and other religious exercises; that he used great mortifications; and that his comportment in general, during the time of his confinement in the Gatehouse, was such as afforded great comfort and edification to the other prisoners.

But as zeal for the conversion of souls was his predominant virtue, it put him upon thoughts of making his escape out of prison, that he might be in a condition of being more serviceable to the souls of his neighbours at a time when priests were very much wanted. The design he communicated to a fellow-prisoner, a Father of the Society of Jesus, who was his spiritual director, together with his motives and reasons; and farther, to learn the will of heaven, he earnestly recommended the affair to God in his devotions for many days, adding fasting and alms to his prayers, and humbly beseeching the Almighty to manifest His will to him, and give such issue to his undertaking as should be best pleasing to Him, and most conducive to His divine honour and glory.

And now, having concerted his measures, he attempted to put his design into execution on the 24th oi June, 1616, letting himself down in the dead of the night from a high window by the help of a cord. But when he was just come to the ground, he was surprised to find himself fast in the arms of an unknown person, who by his loud cries gave the alarm to the neighbourhood, and so turnkeys, watchmen, &c., came rushing in upon him, and after having hauled, dragged, beat, and buffeted him, to make sure work they thrust him under a table, girding about his neck a massive collar of iron; to this again they fasten a ponderous chain of an hundred weight, wherewith they inhumanly load and fetter him, and in this painful posture they keep him for some hours till the morning, and then he met with even more barbarous usage, as we shall now see.

There was in the Gatehouse a subterraneous dungeon, a deep and dark hole, which, if we may judge by the filth and nastiness of the place, had not been opened or made use of for a long time; in this dungeon was a pair of wooden stocks of an odd contrivance, made not so much to secure as to torture the prisoner. Here, by the jailer’s orders, Mr. Maxfield was to take up his quarters; and in this i6i6]

engine his feet were fastened in such manner that he could neither stand upright, nor yet lie down, or turn or move his body into any other posture for a little ease. To which was added another torment more intolerable to human nature, from the swarms of venomous insects generated in the filth and moisture of the vault, which by their creeping over his body, fast locked up in this cruel machine, sorely annoyed him, without his being able to make the least defence against them. The darkness, stench, horror, and torments of this place the confessor of Christ endured from before daybreak on Friday till Monday night, that is for above seventy hours together, without the least intermission till a warrant was sent from the Council for his immediate removal to Newgate in order for his trial.

There was something so very cruel and barbarous in this treatment of Mr. Maxfieldy that it moved the whole prison to compassionate his condition and study to give him help, so that not without danger of incurring the like penalty, they raised up a plank and opened a small passage over the dungeon, through which they spoke to him, pitied his extreme sufferings, and threw him in an old blanket to cover him, being before almost naked; and a priest of the Society, a prisoner there, whom Mr. Maxfield had made use of for his confessariuSy ventured to come to this hole to speak to him, to comfort him, and to exhort him to patience and courage. But what surprised this good father very much, was to find the man of God so far from being dejected amidst that variety of sufferings, or in need of any human comforts, that his soul seemed to be elevated with supernatural lights, and abounding with heavenly consolations.

On Monday at night he was dragged out of this dungeon, living indeed, and that was all; his face as pale as that of a dead corpse; his spirits sunk with hunger and want of rest to that degree that he was under continual faintings away; his hands and feet so^benumbed as to have lost all feeling and use, insomuch that it was some time before he was able to move. However the same night, having first fettered his arms, they hurried him away and forced him to walk from Westminster to Newgate. Here he was committed to the common side, amongst a gang of felons, and was loaded with heavy irons, without any other convenience for a little rest but the bare floor. But that which gave this holy soul the greatest pain, was the profane and impious discourse of those miserable wretches, who, though threatened with approaching death, yet took no care to make their peace with God, but added daily new crimes to their former heavy load of wickedness, without the least remorse or sense of God’s judgments upon impenitent sinners. Mr. Maxfield laid hold of every occasion to bring these poor wretches to a sense of their deplorable state, and to a repentance for their sins, and the Divine goodness gave that blessing to his words that he reconciled two of the felons to God and His Church. The keepers were soon acquainted with it, and he looked for nothing less than the stocks or dungeon a second time; but as his trial was at hand, and he was looked upon to be a dead man, they winked at it, only took care to prevent the like practices for the future, by removing him from the common side, and placing him amongst his fellow-priests, a comfort he could not obtain before.

On Wednesday the 26th oijune^ 1616, Mr. Maxfield was brought to the bar. The trial was soon over, for being indicted for taking orders in the Roman Church, and exercising the same in England, he fairly confessed himself a priest, and so was remanded back to New-gate, locked up in a separate place by himself, loaded with heavy irons, and so strictly looked to, that no person was allowed to visit him. However he procured by some means or other to desire his fellow-priests in the other part of the prison to recite the Te Deum, to give thanks to God for the blessings he had received that day. The next morning he was again brought to the bar to receive sentence, when the Judge offered him life, provided he would take the oath of allegiance, to which Mr. Maxfield replied that his conscience would not permit him to take that oath in the manner it was worded, for that it contained some expressions which he conceived were not consistent with truth. Then turning himself to the standers-by, he desired them to take notice that he was condemned for no other crime but his priesthood, no other treason being so much as objected against him; and that even for this too, in their own hearing, pardon had been offered him, provided he would take the oath of allegiance. He therefore protested, upon the word of a dying man, that he acknowledged King James his true and lawful sovereign; that he bore him true and faithful allegiance, and was willing to declare the same upon oath, provided it were done without such clauses and assertions as are contrary to truth and the Catholic religion. After he had said this he was proceeding to shew the iniquity of the laws, by which men were condemned to death for exercising priestly functions, in a nation which had been converted to the Christian faith by priests of the same religion, when the Court interrupted him, bidding him attend to the sentence which was pronounced in the usual form, viz., that he should be drawn to the place of execution, hanged, then cut down alive, dismembered and bowelled, his bowels to be thrown into the fire, his head to be severed from the body, his body quartered, &c i6i6]

After sentence pronounced he was hurried back to prison and thrust into the condemned hole, where he lay till the execution day.

Strict orders were sent to Newgate that no Papists should have access to the prisoner. However some few made interest to see him. Amongst others a lady of quality found means to make him a charitable visit, who declared herself very much edified and comforted with his heavenly discourses and saint-like comportment.

The Spanish Ambassador went to Court to solicit a pardon for him; and that being refused, he petitioned at least for a reprieve; but was told that his Excellency must wait till Tuesday next for a final answer. This was on Sunday evening; and the dead- warrant being signed for the executing the prisoners the very next day, the Ambassador suspected the worst, but knew not how to remedy it. However he sent his own son to wait on Mr. Maxfield personally in Newgate, and with him his director. Father Didacus de Puente, a religious man of great learning and piety, of the Order of St. Dominic, who in company of some others of the Spanish nation got admittance to see and comfort the holy man, and to desire his prayers, not only for the Ambassador and his family, but also for the King his master and the whole nation of Spain: assuring him withal, that no endeavours should be wanting on the Ambassador’s part to procure him a reprieve, though he very much doubted whether he should succeed.

These pious visitors found the priest of Jesus Christ in a dark dungeon, loaded with heavy irons like the worst of malefactors; but withal perfectly calm, and even modestly cheerful under his sufferings. And though he was pretty well convinced that he was to die the next morning, yet was he so far from appearing dejected or dismayed at the terrors of approaching death, or the least dissatisfied with his lot, that, on the contrary, there appeared both in his countenance, and in his words and actions, such manifest signs of Christian fortitude, and of an entire dependence and confidence in the Divine protection, for his support and strength in that last dreadful hour, together with such a saint-like and heavenly air in the whole conversation he had with these strangers, as transported them with a holy joy at the sight of this victim of faith, and filled them with respect and veneration towards so great a servant of God. The acts of his martyrdom tell us, that they threw themselves at his feet; that they kissed his hands and his chains, and even the very ground he trod on, beseeching him with tears that they might be serviceable to him in one kind or other. Mr. Maxfield thanked them for their charitable offers, but told them he wanted nothing but theirs, and other good Christians’ prayers, for obtaining the grace of God that he might persevere to the end, and overcome the difficulties he was to encounter with: and therefore being very sensible of his own weakness and insufficiency, he desired them to pray for him. He likewise desired them to use their good offices with the Ambassador, that at his return to Spain he would recommend to his Catholic Majesty the English College of Doway^ upon which his royal predecessor Philip the Second had settled an annual pension, which he hoped the present king, at the intercession of his Excellency, would be pleased to continue. Upon this they took their leave of him, and left him to his devotions. And the reverend father confessor at his return home caused the Blessed Sacrament to be solemnly exposed in the Ambassador’s chapel, where the family and other Catholics spent the night in prayer in behalf of this holy priest, who was in the morning to pour forth his blood in defence of the Catholic religion.

The next day (the ist of July)^ very early in the morning, Mr. Maxfield was demanded by the Sheriff to be carried to the place of execution; and accordingly his irons were struck off, and he was immediately led out. It was observed that much artifice was used to manage this business with as little noise as possible, insomuch that his fellow-prisoners the priests and other Catholics, wffio were lodged in that quarter of Newgate over against him, were kept close up, and not permitted so much as to see him or receive his last blessing as he passed by. However, when he came opposite to the window, he turned his face towards it, and with an audible voice bid them all adieu ^ and then making the sign of the cross upon himself and the crowd, he calmly and cheerfully laid himself down upon the sledge.

The adversaries, to prevent the great concourse of people, besides choosing so early an hour, had ordered that a woman should at the same time be burnt in Smithfield, in hopes that this would make a considerable diversion, and draw a great part of the people that way. But all was to no purpose, the people poured in from all parts of the town; and streets, windows, and balconies were all thronged with unusual numbers to see this holy priest drawn to Tyburn; and great multitudes there were, horse and foot, who accompanied him to the very place of execution, amongst whom were many Catholics of fashion as well foreigners as English. The Spaniards distinguished themselves upon this occasion, who joined themselves in a body, and though they met with many affronts, forced their way through the crowd to the sledge, and accompanied the confessor to the end of his stage, frequently exhorting him to i6i6]

constancy and perseverance, and begging for themselves his prayers and blessing, with their heads uncovered, and bowed down in the most respectful manner.

This was a sensible mortification to some people, who notwithstanding their forwardness to have this priest taken oflF, would gladly have had it done in a more private way; well knowing that putting priests to death for religious matters only could not fail to bring an odium upon Protestants. But there was yet another circumstance, that was not less vexatious to them: for when they arrived at Tyhurn they found the gibbet beautifully adorned with garlands, and wreaths of flowers; and the ground all covered with odoriferous herbs and greens, in honour of the martyr who was going to suflFer there, and of the cause for which he was to shed his blood.

Mr. Maxfield being now in the cart, turned himself to the people, and with a serene' countenance and modest assurance spoke to them to this purpose:

‘ Dear Countrymen, — ^Whereas my return into England^ and my remaining here is the cause of my being brought hither to suffer a disgraceful death, I beg leave to assure you upon the word of a dying man, that my errand into my native country after many years spent abroad, was not to encourage treasons and rebellions, or withdraw His Majesty’s subjects from their allegiance, or in any kind to intermeddle in State affairs, but only to be serviceable to the souls of my dear countrymen, by endeavouring to remove their errors, and bring them back to the faith of their ancestors. Know also, good people, that I am not of the number of those of whom God complains by the mouth of His prophet, that they went without His sending. No, God forbids that I should undertake a business of this consequence without authority of superiors. I came here because I was sent; and I was sent and commissioned to preach to you, by the same Apostolic See which formerly sent St. Augustine and his companions into this kingdom to instruct our Saxon ancestors in the faith of Jesus Christ. And surely, as my mission was from the same authority, and directed to the same end, viz., the conversion of Englishmen to the Catholic faith; by condemning m.e of treason for taking orders in the Church of Rome, and remaining in Efigland, you cannot but see that you involve St. Augustine in the same guilt of treason, a thing in itself absurd to all intents and purposes.’

Here the Sheriff interrupted him, and would not suffer him to proceed, giving orders at the same time to the executioner to do his office. Upon which Mr. Maxfield, falling upon his knees, employed himself for a few minutes in private devotions; then he raised his voice, and prayed aloud for the King, Queen, and royal family, and likewise for the people of this kingdom in general; and after another pause in silent prayer, he prayed again aloud for his persecutors, earnestly beseeching Almighty God to forgive all, as he for his part sincerely forgave them who had been any ways instrumental in taking away his life. These prayers he made with a sedate countenance, and a devotion edifying to all. And now the executioner having fitted the cord to his neck, the confessor lifted up his eyes to heaven, and stretching forth his right hand, gave his last blessing to the people, which the greatest part received with bare heads, and many of them kneeling. Then beseeching the Catholics to assist his departing soul with their fervent prayers, he repeated aloud those words. Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit, and so the cart was drawn away.

He had hanged a very little while when the Sheriff cried out to the executioner to cut the rope, and butcher him alive according to sentence. But the crowd opposing it, and by loud reproaches testifying their horror of such a barbarous proposition, the executioner held his hand; and he was permitted to hang till he was dead, at least to all sense of pain, and then he was bowelled and quartered.

The Sheriff, to shew his zeal, forbid, upon pain of imprisonment, that anyone should dare to carry off any part of the body or of his garments, or even of the straw upon which the body was butchered. And to prevent the Catholics from stealing afterwards any of his relics, he ordered a pit to be made near the gallows, of an unusual depth, into which he threw the mangled limbs of the servant of God, and over them two half-rotten carcasses of felons that had been buried there a month before; and upon these again he cast in the bodies of thirteen malefactors who were executed that day, pressing down upon them a great quantity of earth, and so he thought he had done the work effectually. But some zealous young men that very night, notwithstanding all the Sheriff’s precautions, opening the hole, took up the mangled body of the martyr, and carried it away in order to a more decent interment. He suffered July the ist, i6i6.

Mr. Maxfield a little while before his trial wrote the following letter to Dr. Kellison, then President of Doway College, the original of which is to this day preserved in the college.

‘ Most reverend and most dear Father,

‘ As in duty I am bound never to forget you, who have ever had so tender and fatherly care of me; so now especially I must in no ways omit to write to you, being peradventure the

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last time that ever I must salute you: for that now I expect with some hopes (if so unworthy a wretch may presume to hope for so great a dignity), to end my days in the just quarrel of my Lord and Master Christ Jesu. I suppose, good sir, now that it has come to your notice of my attempt out of the Gatehouse; and how it hath pleased God to dispose of me, and deliver me again into the hands of my enemies, who apprehending me, put me to suffer unusual affliction and misery; the particular relation whereof I choose rather to remit to some other than myself to be the reporter. From thence I was removed by special warrant to Newgate; whence, as all men tell me, I am to be produced to my answer upon Wednesday or Thursday next, there to receive my trial on life and death, the happiest news and tidings that ever I heard: God give me strength and courage, and make me to glorify His glorious name by my death, and to fill up the number of my glorified brethren, that are gone before me. I think myself most happy that I branched out of, and still remain a member of, that blessed Plouse of Doway^ that hath afforded to our poor, barren country so much good and happy seed. I am therefore yours, and so will live and die. Let me therefore, dear father, be made partaker of your good prayers, and commend me, I beseech you, to all my good and dearly beloved brethren, whose happiness I wish ever as my own; and I will never cease, God willing, to pray for you and them, and for the prosperity of that House, both in life and after death. I am forced, dear good sir, to be brief, through the much company that cometh to me at this present, and other necessary business; but I hope you will pardon me, and accept of this as a token of a great good-will. I am your poor debtor, and, if I live, I will one day defray all; if otherwise, I hope you will remit it. And so in haste, being called to the grate by the Sheriff’s man, I bid you, dear father, farewell in Christ Jesu. — Your ever most dutiful,

‘ Thomas Maxfield.’

THOMAS TUNSTAL, alias HELMES, Priest.⁵

Thomas TUNSTAL (who in the Doway Records is called Helmes) was collaterally descended from the ancient family of the Tunstals, of Thurland in Lancashire^ which afterwards z removed into Yorkshire^ where they have long resided at Scargill, Hutton^ or Wicklijf, but was himself born in the diocese of Carlisle. He performed his studies abroad in the English College of Doway; was ordained priest in 1609, and sent on the English mission in 1610. Here he quickly fell into the hands of the persecutors, and spent four or five years of his mission in different prisons. His last confinement before his final apprehension was in Wisheach Castle, from whence he made his escape, letting himself down by a rope. From Wisheach he made the best of his way into Norfolk, where he took shelter in a friend’s house not far from Lynn. But he had been there very few days when search was made for him and he was apprehended.

There was in that neighbourhood a charitable lady who did great service to the poor in the way of surgery. Mr. Tunstal stood in great want of such assistance, having grievously galled and wounded his hands by the rubbing of the rope at the time when he made his escape; the sores for want of proper applications being grown exceeding painful. Therefore his Catholic host advised him to apply to Lady L' Estrange (this was her name), and put himself under her care. She received him kindly, dressed his wounds, and promised him her best assistance for making a cure. However the good lady could not forbear talking to her husband. Sir Hammond L' Estrange, a Justice of Peace, of some particulars relating to her new patient; as, that he was in poor apparel, yet a gentlemanlike man in his discourse and behaviour; but withal somewhat reserved in giving an account how he came by those wounds in his hands; that he was a stranger in the country, and lodged at the house of a Popish recusant. The Justice immediately cried out, this must be the Popish priest lately escaped out of Wisheach, for whom he had that day received orders to make diligent search. Upon this, the lady is reported to have cast herself on her knees to intercede for the man, begging her husband to take no notice of what she had said, adding, that she should be an unhappy woman all her life, if the priest should come to any trouble through her speeches. But notwithstanding all she could say or do, the knight persisted in his resolution of securing the man, and accordingly sent out his warrant, and had him seized and brought before him. And though the lady again renewed her instances to have him dismissed, yet she could not be heard: but Mr. Tunstal was forthwith committed to Norwich gaol, where at the next assizes he was brought upon his trial and condemned.

By the printed account of his martyrdom published at Doway the same year, he was condemned upon the testimony of one single

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witness, and he a man of no conscience or honesty. This fellow made oath that the prisoner had seduced two of the king’s subjects from the Protestant religion to the superstitions of the Church of Rome, and that he had made some attempts that way upon himself. Mr. Tunstal desired the parties might be allowed to speak what they knew: and being called upon, they both declared that what Symons the witness had sworn was false; the prisoner’s discourse to them being no other than a persuasive to holiness of life in general; and that neither of them had been reconciled; this both of them offered to confirm upon oath. Symons being called again, farther deposed, that the prisoner had confessed himself to be a priest in his hearing; and also, that he had been at Rome, and had spoken to the Pope, who had conferred upon him power to forgive sins and dispense indulgences. This was perjury with a witness, for Mr. Tunstal had never seen Rome or Italy in his life. However, his solemn denial of these things was not regarded; but the jury was directed by the judge to find the prisoner guilty of the indictment, which was done accordingly.

The jury had no sooner brought in their verdict, but Mr. Tunstal ^ signing himself with the sign of the cross, and falling upon his knees, with eyes and hands lifted up to heaven, cried out in an audible voice, Benedicta sit Sancta Trinitas, atque indivisa Unitas; confitebimur ei, quia fecit nohiscum misericordiam suam — Blessed be the Holy Trinity, and undivided Unity, we will confess to Him, because He has shewed His mercy unto us; — and in that posture continued for a while in prayer.

Here the Judge [Altham] demanded if he would take the oaths of allegiance and supremacy? Mr. Tunstal replied, his conscience would not permit him to take those oaths; but if his lordship was pleased to appoint some minister to confer with him, he should be glad of the opportunity of rendering an account of his faith; and that he did earnestly entreat him that a conference might be had about religion, that truth might appear. But the Judge cut him short, telling him he was a crafty disputant, a cunning sophister, and as such not to be heard, or treated with by way of dispute. Instead of that, he bid him hearken to the sentence of death which he was to pronounce upon him, viz., that he should be drawn through the streets to the place of execution, where he should be hanged by the neck, then cut down alive, &c. Deo gratias, says Mr. Tunstal, and then with a smiling countenance turning to the Judge, Why, my good Lord, says he, this whole dreadful sentence imports but one death; and I do assure your lordship, by the help of God^s grace, I am not ashamed, nor afraid of death, come when it will.

The next day about nine o’clock, the Sheriff with his officers came to demand the prisoner. Mr. Tiinstal, with a cheerful countenance, saluted them courteously, telling them he was ready to obey their orders. Accordingly being brought to the hurdle, he fell upon his knees, and after some short devotions, rising up he signed himself and the hurdle with the sign of the cross, and so delivered himself to the officers to be pinioned and tied upon it as they thought proper. He was drawn for a long mile through the street and ways so full of dust, that he had liked to have been suffocated with it. When they arrived at the gallows, he was taken off the hurdle; and kneeling down at the foot of the ladder, he employed about a quarter of an hour in fervent prayer. When he got up. Sir Hammond U Estrange off his horse, came and spoke to him in a courteous manner, with his head uncovered, to this effect, — Well, Mr. TunstaL I find then you are determined to die, and I hope you are prepared for it. Indeed, Sir Hammond, says the holy man, die I must, neither do I repine at it; on the contrary, I have great reason to rejoice that I am to die in so good a cause; and therefore I cannot but be thankful in a particular manner to Sir Hammond U Estrange, for being chiefly instrumental in bringing me to this place. I do heartily forgive you, sir, and I beseech God that my guiltless blood may not lie heavy upon you and yours. Sir Hammond thanked him, and so departed.

Then the Sheriff ordered him to go up the ladder, which he did with great courage, blessing himself, kissing both the gallows and the rope, and having spent another quarter of an hour in private devotion, he turned to the people and began to speak upon the text, Spectaculum facti sumus mundo, &c. (i Cor. iv. 9), but was commanded to desist, the ministers apprehending the impression that his words might make upon the standers-by. Then he offered to inform the people at least of the true cause of his condemnation, that it was upon account of taking orders abroad and exercising his priestly functions in England, and not for any treasonable practices against the King or Government; declaring withal, that what Symons had sworn of his being at Rome was false, and that he had been condemned upon the testimony of one single witness, which he conceived was not according to law. But here again he was interrupted by Sir Thomas Jenkinson, and ordered to forbear making reflections upon the proceedings of the Court.

Then he once more recollected himself in prayer, often repeating aloud those penitential words, O God, he merciful to me a sinner! and often calling upon the holy name of Jesus, which he had in a

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manner continually in his mouth; and imploring the intercession of the Blessed Virgin and the saints. Then he prayed aloud for the King, Queen, and royal family, and for the people of England in general, ‘ beseeching God in His great mercy to open their eyes, and bring them to the knowledge of the true faith,’ which prayer he repeated three different times with much fervour and devotion. He also put up a short but fervent prayer to God for the conversion and repentance of his accuser Robert Symons^ beseeching God to touch his heart with His powerful grace, that he might truly repent of his perjury, and do penance for his sin; declaring withal, that if he had ten thousand times as many lives as there were persons present in that crowd, he would most willingly lay them all down for his religion.

Being asked whether he was a Jesuit or a secular priest, he answered, he was a secular priest, but had made a vow of entering into the holy Order of St. Bennet, if it could be done; and therefore he desired of the Sheriff that his head might be set up on St. Bennefs gate.

The Sheriff and the ministers asked him if he believed there was any merit in good works^ and whether he expected to be saved by his good works. He answered, that good works were certainly meritorious and great means of salvation, through the passion of Christ, without which no one could be saved; but as for himself, he acknowledged himself a most unprofitable servant, or rather most wicked and good for nothing; and therefore had his whole recourse to the death and blood of his Redeemer, and desired to hide himself in His wounds. Then he called for a glass of water to refresh his mouth by reason of the great heat and the dust, and asking what o’clock it was, and being told it was about eleven. Then, says he, it is near dinner time; Sweet Jesus! admit me, though most unworthy, to be a guest this day at Thy heavenly table.

Near the gallows, but behind the back of the martyr, there was a great fire prepared to burn his bowels, and by it the block on which he was to be quartered. Mr. Tunstal turned his face towards these objects, which would have shocked another person, and kept his eyes for some time fixed on them; and making the sign of the cross on the fire, remained a while in contemplation. Then the hangman fitted the rope to his neck, which the martyr devoutly kissed, and blessed with the sign of the cross, saying. Glory be to Thee, O Lord. He also desired the executioner to give him notice when he was to be turned off, that he might die with the holy name of Jesus in his mouth. They told him, that he might give the sign himself if he pleased;

but this, he said, he would not do, because he would by no means hasten his own death.

After this he again made the sign of the cross, and lifting up his hands begged the Catholics that were there present to recommend his departing soul to God; and addressed himself to his Saviour in these words of the Church, Bone Jesu, Verhum Patris^ splendor ceternce glorice, &c. — Good Jesus, the Word of the Father, the brightness of eternal glory, &c.; adding at the end. Into Thy hands^ O Lord, I commend my spirit; and often repeating the holy name of Jesus, till the executioner gave him notice. Now, Mr. Tunstal, and turned him off, having these words in his mouth, Jesu, Jesu, have mercy on me.

And thus expired this constant confessor of Christ, having never shewn from the beginning to the end the least token of fear, nor so much as changed his colour. The lookers on, who were very numerous, and amongst them many persons of note, were all sensibly affected with the sight of his death; many shed tears, all spoke kindly and compassionately of him, and appeared edified with his saintlike behaviour. He was permitted to hang till he was dead; then was cut down, bowelled, and quartered. His head was placed on St. Bennefs gate in Norwich, according to his request, his quarters on the walls of the city, where they hung for some time, but then were privately taken down. He suffered Jw/y 13, 1616. The judge who condemned him died before he had finished his circuit; and most of the jury came to untimely ends, or great misfortunes.

The year 1617 passed without any executions of Catholics for religion.

Footnotes

1. Ven. Thomas Atkinson. — From a letter sent over to Douay by a missionary priest in 1616, giving an account of the death of Mr. Atkinson and the others that suffered that year, published the following year at Douay under the title of Exemplar Literarum, etc.; Item from two Manuscripts in my hands; see also Troubles, i. ↩

2. There is a mistake in the number of years; he laboured in the Mission only twenty-eight years. ↩

3. Ven. John Thules and Roger Wrenno, or Worren. — From a printed account of their martyrdom, published at Douay in 1617; and from a Manuscript in my hands; see also Acts of E. M.; Foley, Records, vi. ↩

4. Ven. Thomas Maxfield, or Macclesfield. — From his Life, published this same year at Douay by Dr. Kellison; and from an account sent over to Douay by an eye-witness of his conflict, and printed there in the following year; see also Gillow; C.R.S., iii.; Downside Review, xxxiv. ↩

5. Ven. Thomas Tunstal, alias Helmes, — From the Account of his martyrdom, printed at Douay in i6i8; and from a Manuscript sent me by Cuthbert Constable, Esq., and two other written relations; see also Chalcedon’s Catalogue and Douay Diaries. ↩