THE GOLDEN CRUCIFIX

New Zealand Tablet, 13 August 1908, Page 3

THE GOLDEN CRUCIFIX

' ' A wild midwinter night in a quaint classic, cruel old London, . the London of Queen Elizabeth and- of "Shakespeare.- -The -storm whirled the snow through -the z dark and -narrow • streets • like foam through caves and fissures irt black'_ -ocean cliffs:;' ' At long intervals, swinging oil lamps, snow-coated^ "vainly sought with feeble rays to pierce the gloom. In doorway "recesses, under the shelter of the projecting upper" stories and street-fronting'-gables, on which the snow outlined' the- criss-'erbss- beams, -the * : few and •inefficient watchmen of the night- stood with their" halberds- beside . H them and^their lanterns at their feet, slapping- their arms to keep their sluggish blood in circulation.. To one- .of these .dubious guardians of the peace --spoke a solitary-belated" pedestrian, a man stalwart and snovy-covered. ,' Prithee, good watch, is not th]s> the,;house of-Master Adam Langhorne, the mercer"?' - ' \'. 'It is -not, my wande.ring nightbird.' -- _ The : watchman picked up his lantern and scannedvhts questioner. He saw a bold young face, bronzed and bearded, a form clad in sailor garb. ' But, he did live here — I am . most certain of ; the- house. ' Jl~: ' Art 'a's, sure of Jhy sight, sir, . mariner, as. Thou art! of thy memory ! See her^e. ' The watchman to^k his'halbe'rd' and tinkled its steel head "against , a brass basin (hat hung from a red-and-white striped pole projecting from the , side ' of -the doorway. 'Is that a4_mercer's sign,- son of Neptune, or hast thou gone so long unshorn on the* brine .-aslto have forgotten ' the trade emblem of the ancient and 'Useful ■ order.-..oi>barber-surgeons? So get thee on thy way, my. young ..sea dog.' . ' Methinks thou art out of humor to-night,' watchman,' said the sailor, taking a coin from, his pouch." ~\ So" mightest thou -thyself be, if- thy billet was .to ;4rama alU_ , niglif in the snow,' said the, watch, his manner softening as-"th"c : lantern light showed him the glint of gold. • _ 'No,- good sailor, 1 vow 1 know of no person of the name you mention living on these streets. But new- 1_ am on this post.. Belike he has , moved away, belike lie lives in. the neighborhood.' -' -"A- friend of yours, hey?' r 'My father, friend watch, and' his wife, 'my good mother,' replied the other, with :a sigh of disappointment ; 'and this night, after ten years' absence, fondly had I hoped to meet them. But now ' *— ■ - • >«*** - ' -■■ - - ■ - ■„ ' Bur now, sir mariner, best, if you value your life" or lucre, or both, to give over your search for the night and to return to your ship or lodgings, foremost dangerous at this hour are these streets.' - - -•* . - - . _ 1 Dangerous" as the Spanish' Main?"' queried the sailor, with -Sr3r la - U 2!?\ . ' Friend watch, -I may tell thee that I have sailed with Raleigh, Drake, and Hawkins.' ' And friend marine, I may tell thee that where 1 thou standest now is as dangerous as any place on land ,or water. And so I bid thee God-speed.' __ T'»e watchman, with his halberd and lantern, left his place of shelter and plodded along the street. As the solemn sound" of a midnight bell earner floating over the peaked "roofs he "halted and raised his voice : _ 'Twelve o'clock, and all's well.' ..« Then in a flurry of white, 'he "disappeared round a~ corner. With a sudden sense of ' apprehension and" loneliness, Lieuten- - ant Guy Langhorne turned back the way he .had come to re-seek in the Mermaid Inn, wherehe had arrived* an hour. r or -two before, after his ship had cast- anchor, in the' Thames. '.He crunched onward through the dark' and- cheerle,ss\ streets, •\-;sdhietiiw?-sinking to his knees in the snow-,- for the thoroughfares] of "Ayhich were as yet unpave'4, were\"j,n part rugged and --•uneven,- abounding in -dangerous* Vuts and pits. "" " • "" '■* '■■' :V-- By ',arid%ye.,, through the veil of .falling flakes," he discovered 'ixthree figures""mSving in advance of "him, those of an elderly V; man; a youth -and a mai'cfen. "Soon heXreache.d and passed the™, " and just then. came a^glare of Igjht" thaf- .enabled .him, bett'er~to . see their persons and dfaces, as the ponderous carriage of some noble rolled by, accompanied •by running linkbbys waving blazing torches. Langho||e, saw a grave, pale face,' framed in" grey locks that fell from under a broa.d-lea/e'd hat,.- a - rosy^cheeked damsel whose white wimple. gleamed" through the opening x>f her hooefcd cape, and a'- stout, stolid, cudgel-bearing youth who wore the cap and jerkin, of. aiV apprentice. .-..," 'Are we far frohV our ' journey's end, my daughter?' the - grey-haired man inquired as Langhorne passed.

' Not'far now, Father,' replied the girl. ' Pray,' take Simon's arm, and we shall ,get along 'easier and faster. Your arm, Simon, Heaven grant \ye reach her before she dies.' 'They go to a dying bed,' thought the buccaneer,- but with . the callousness .begotten of {en years' sanguinary war and-rapine, he .almost immediately .forgot the incident. It-was smothered under the press of his own mental -under an oppressive feeling of uneasiness, remorse and fear. that had strangely come upon him like evil spirits' on this the occasion of his return after long • years to his native 'City. " My parents, my little sister — shall I be able,,to find them? Are they living or dead?' were the questions that kept restlessly singing and; stinging "in his --mind. Was this the triumphant - homecoming of his dreams, the sequel of long years of adventure, hardship, imprisonment, ■deeds of recklessness and bloodshed? The winter wind howled as in mockery, the snow spat coldly in his face. He drew his sea cloak close around'him and - hastened his pace, bitter, piercing, foreign seemed the climate of London after his prolonged sojourn in warmer climes. A sudden shriek for help brought him to a halt; then "he turned back on the run. A scuffle was going on .in the' street The girl that Langhorne had just passed was struggling in the grasp of a cutpurse, one of the numerous human wolves with which the city by the Thames was cursed. The'- grey-haired man was already prostrate at the mercy of another. As for the stout apprentice with the stolid face and the cudgel, he had taken to his heels. 'Clear the decks, lubbers!' cried Lieutenant Langhorne. With a powerful buffet he sent one footpad tumbling heels over head in the snow. He swiftly drew his Spanish bilbo and thrust it into the fleshy part of the other. The pair of ruffians floundered and limped away, snarling like wounded beasts •of prey. ' Thank you, sir, oh, a Thousand thanks for saving -us !' exclaimed the girl. ' How fortunate that a~ bra%*e -and true man was so near !' ' Oh, that miserable poltroon, Simon Stokes, to abandon us so!' she continued. 'The fellow has not the courage, .of a . mouse. ' ' And who is Simon?' amusedly inquired the rescuer. 'My father's apprentice, 1 .was the reply. ' Silly, indeed, to " have trusted to the gallantry of' such a creature, but no other ~ choice had I. Out upon him for a runaway !* ' Then, mistress, pray trust in me for a change of convoy.' . ' Sir, we will gladly and thankfully accept your escort. We have not far to go, and our way seems to lie in your direction.' ' Important must be the business that takes you out so late I and makes you run^ a night gauntlet of thieves and murderers,' remarked Langhorne, in perfunctory effort at conversation. ' Of extreme importance, my' good -friend,' said the elderly \ man, still panting fromT the effects of his fall ; business of sad " yet extreme and sovereign importance. And now go in peatref-^ brave young sailor man, and God- bless you.' Our buccaneer bade them good-bye at one of the lowbrowed houses, in the diamond-paned windows of whose projecting upper story there was a faint glimmer of- light. There was no attempt at further acquaintance or introduction, no offer, - beyond a few sincere words of gratitude on the part of the rescued, to dispel a marked sense of reserve and secrecy', but to this the rover of a thousand adventures paid small regard. To him the incident had closed with the closing of .the house door, " when, on turning away to resume his journey, -his foot struck' against a hard, metallic object. Groping in- ;the snow, he picked up what the dim light from the window showed to be. • a golden crucifix. 'It belongs to either the old man or the- girl,' he thought. His first impulse was to knock on the closed portal ; his "second that he should come next day and return the emblem to whom it might belong, and to this end he took sharp mental not 2' of the house and its neighborhood ; his third, and most natural, acquired after long practice, to adopt for the occasion the buccaneering motto: 'To strive, to seek to find, and not to yield/ The article was of gold, and therefore valuable. Crucifixes?' He had seen scores of them taken with other loot from churches '" and convents sacked and .burnt along the coast from St.- "■ Augustine to the Orinoco and sent to the melting pot to increase the reward of the plunderers. A crucifix more or less wo.uld not , make -much difference, no matter. how obtained. " So he dropped this one into his. wallet. ~ i 'At night, let the. wind Wow'. high or low, it is the same merry .old London,' .-fre thought, ' as' he approached the lighted

windows of his inn and-entered beneath, the -swinging, sign of the Mermaid*, when he was greeted -by a !sce»e -of lively concourse and carouse. „. Despite the .lateness, ior rather earliness, of the hour, there was still a noisy gathering of gossips, revellers, and roysterers : in the tap-room; dissipated "young scions of nobility 'and their hangers-on ; carousing" army and naval officers; swaggering. » bravoes from Alsatia, with swords and souls for sale ; witty but licentious playwrights, discussing -the latest drama at the Globe or Blackfriars ;_ players in the scarlet doublets and hose which the law compelled (hem to wear — even reckless and de ; graved apprentices who had stolen out of their masters' homes, with, perhaps,- some of - their masters' hoardings, to plunge in what they considered manly wickedness. Guy Langhorne found' himself a seat at a" small table, and gave order -for a quart " of burnt sack. Celebrities, or those whom the future would make celebrities, were nigh him. There, exchanging quips and jokes, sat shrewd Will Shakespeare— or ' Shakes-scene,' as some of his drama producers sarcastically dubbed him— prosperous joint owner in two theatres, with his ■ boon companions, ' rare Ben Johnson,"' poet Michael Drayton, author of ' The Shepherd's Garland,' and the greut- actor, Richard Burbage, the original Macbeth and Romeo,. Lear, Shylock, and Othello. Yonder, indulging in his characteristic satire' and blasphemy, was the playwright, Kits Marlowe, doomed to draw his last breath in some such scene as this, slain in loathsome quarters by a vulgar groom. Here, whispering and nodding, were a knot of the spie.s,and informers of Lord Treasurer' Burleigh, at whose beck they had helped to consign many of ttfe best and noblest of the land to torture and the scaffold. And there, relating with gloat and swagger the ghastly doings of the day at Tyburn or in the Tower dungeons, was the notorious priest hunter, torturer and executioner, Richard Topcliffe, who had made many a victim of religious persecution at many a horrible scene of -hanging, drawing and quartering. But of all or any of these noted personages the returned buccaneer knew or -cared but little. His prevailing obsessing thoughts were ten years old and more .dwelling on the days ere a hot and final quarrel with his father caused him to flee in anger from home, when his young blood -fired by thrilling" tales of glorious fame and fortune won on the ' Spanish Main, he sought and found service on a departing privateer, and with defiant heart faced the mysterious ocean. -In the old home life he had been a Catholic, his parents being devout and staunch adherents of the proscribed and persecutea faith of the olden times, of the England of Alfred and the Crusaders and William of Wykeham. The Catholic priests and laymen whom he, had seen drawn on hurdles or sledges through the mud of the streets to execution he had piously regarded as martyrs. It had been a dear and coveted privilege of his to assist at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, secretly celebrated, when the merest incautious word or deed or treacherous whisper might have brought ruin . and woe to the priest and congregation. Ay, in those dear and often dreadful days he had been a Catholic, and since then he had been nothing— nothing but a buccaneer, pursuing fickle fortune, facing for the sake of plunder- death by sea or sword, a being without God tp,.love or soul 'to save. ' By the doom of Robin Rover and all the brave fellows that ever swung at yard-arm or walked the plank, it was all hardly worth while,' he muttered, and with a draught- of the hot sack he'sought to drown the queerly awakened voice of a long-dormant conscience. 'Save you, sir captain, and" what cheer from the high seas?' , ** Rousing from his maze, Langhorne wearily turned his eyes on the speaker and saw a stout apprentice. ' Brave and good cheer, my good 'prentice, for all true hearts that love the blue water. - Ho, tapster, fetch this lad a goblet.'. 'And', tapster, prithee,\'put no_ lime in it to give thy wine a false- sparkle,' enjoined the youth, proud to display his tavern knowledge. 'And, tapster, " pray tell me if good, Master Topcliffe, that true friend of the Queen and of the Oueen's religion, and chiefx terror of her enemies the Papists, has~as yet departed ( to his .home?' • ' ' Master. Topcliffe has but just set out for his quarters in the gatehouse of the Tower,' replied the aproned knight of the spigot, after a glance towards where late, had -sat the man of rack, cord and gibbet. . ' Too bad, too bad,' commented the apprentice. ' Now I shall have to follow him in haste. Your health, my" brave captain.' In further proof: of his experience the apprentice I drained his goblet to the dregs. • Drat the long journey through

the snow, but glad shall be my welcome and golden my reward, for the good information I "bear, 1 he" continued in a burst of confidence. 'Aha, nothing pleases Master Topcliffe so,' much . as -to be told where he may swiftly and' surely lay his rough* " liands on a Popish priest.' - • • / * .'< _ Soho, .so it is blood money you seek?' contemptuously"inquired Hanghorne. " '" ' Perhaps it is no more blood money than are the doubloons - and pistoles which you have taken, my scandalised "master mariner,, from '-the dead Spaniards,' retorted the apprentice.. 'Yet seek I more-, than blood money-; I .covet sweet revenge oh a tyrant master who whipped me. naked till (he hlood ran down,: my only offence going to the ' playhouse and remaining out ah,night despite his'-st»ycreign command". "Master of. mine he shall;, be no more, but -the gibbet shall" be his when it-gets its own.' It's a piece of rank treason, you know, and a hanging matter," * continued the fellow, \yith a vindictive grin, ' for a man^.to \~ receive a, priest of Rome into his house.' The- buccaneer's eyes flashed " with recognition. ' Already have I seen thee this night, sirrah. -.Thy name is Simon.' 'Simon Stokes, at your fair and honorable servjee'.' - . - ." A runaway poltroon, who in danger- abandoned his -mas----, ter's daughter?' '• - - -*-. . _„ 'Small chance, bold sailor, had my poor cudgel* against- twof robbers' swords. 1 • . ' ", .■. "~ ' And who would now bring trouble to the bed of 'His dying mistress?' • • ■.--'-"' c 'She was kind to me, 'tis true, but— well, by this time, belike,' the old lady is dead.' ■ * *.' 'V- ' Out, reptile of Infamy! 1 cried -Laughorne in anger and disgust. , ' Curs and traitors such as thou are too vile to* b<; let breathe and pollute the air': Ho, tapster, the score, for fain would I forget in sleep this tale" of choicest villainy.' As he:;. opened his wallet to pay he inadvertently drew forth the crucifix^ he had found. It was of rich ornamentation, peculiar makr-i.il' At sight of it the malignant apprentice uttered an exclamat^on'tr of surprise and sarcasm. . " " ~* ' Save me, I have scon that emblem of idolatry befowf-^ay, r* a score, a hundred times ! So, virtuous master' mariner } thou ;" hast ceased buccaneering on the Spanish Main to become a cutpurse in London. That golden article is the property of "' my master's daughter — my late master's daughter— stolen from - her, as I swear I know how, even this very night.' _'- ' Who is thy mistress, viper?' ' Mistress Cicely Langhorne, daughter of Adam Langhorne, - the mercer.' 'Judgment of heaven — my sifter!' Guy Langhorne .sprang to his feet with livid face and blazing eyos, at sight of whose dreadful glare, in which was" concentrated a decade of buccaneering ferocity, the malignant craven Simon Smokes with a cry of alarm fled out into the night.'l Quickly after the apprentice, without waiting to pick up hat- - or cloak, plunged Langhorne. '- ■ But- for a few moments did the incident cause the customers '' of the Mermaid to suspend their drinking and chatter ; Jbrify'^ an ordinary brawl they considered; that had best end in bloodshedp if there were to be any," on the outside. ;- , '."; Terror lent speed to the apprentice, wl.c almost immcdiaVy disappeared in the darkness and the whirling snow. TheV^pVr-^ suer, baffled, bewildered," with despair gnawing at his Vitals - and his boson chilly and shuddering with greater fear than he, , had felt in all his fights on sea and hind, rushed blindly,'. wildly,"-' hither and thither, his eager gaze vainly- trying to ."pierce' '"the black shroud of night for a flying form, his voice - calling with threats and pleadings on the invisible, .fugitive" 10 •■. stop. At length he stood defeated, tense wUh despairful -thought of the immediate grim" shadow of ruin and death thai hovered ■ over those he held dearest on earth; His mother dying,' liis father- in peril of the gibbet ! A gentle old clergyman: doomed ' to inhuman butchery ! He ground his teeth with impotent rage, while the snow fell on his uncovered head and ,'beat with -cold ' nngers on his burning temples. '.>' -•■. "'•-<-. . " ; -, 'I shall go and -warn them, ' he thought. - j Heaven 'grant ... I get there before the bloodhounds of. the penal law. r ■ But where to find the house? - Where lived his fattier/ th% . mercer, Adam Langhorne? He had taken ' imperfect note of.. Eoo laTel 10 "' " OW hG m!ght nOt bG able to find !t unti1 -^ Anxiously he hurried "through street after, street, looking ThV° Ju" and leftl bUt tO^ n ° aVail - H ™ kbe • fondly-loved sister Cicely on meeting he?, nor Cicely him- He

felt accurst. A deep-voiced clock stcuck three. It sounded lb him like a knell of doom. At length he met. two guardian's or the night. AdamLang--horne? Yes, they well knew the worthy- merchant and his dwel- - ling, 'and' they showed the house and thankfully received largesse. A-girlVvoice challenged .when he knocked. ' Open, Cicely, open— it is ' I,'. you/ brother Guyj" from over the sea. ' - -.-.-- -^ .'-._. ' " . Small time was there, for words of greeting, either warm, . cold or indifferent. - '" " ■ '"' ' ■ - ' ' Father, get the priest" 'away .from "here' at "once," "or" j'ou , and ..he are lost. Your apprentice Simoh'.has gone to spy on .you to Topcliffe. Get the Father hence* .quickly— any where ! • Where is he?' . . .."."" . _ -' -■ ' He .}?.. still here > myson.';. Welcon,ie -be Jhc shelter of our humble roof, to the man of God. 1 • •- ' - ' , -. ' More welcome than safe, ' father • 'Hasten" him-forth, -fcr .the bloodhounds are coming. How fares my mother ?' ; 'She has returned from., .the-; valley of "(he >h";rdow;; Cluy. Great has been her improvement this night, with her miod e.ased by her ..happy receiving of 'the- last* sacrafnents?'-la,a-few momen^..*Guy; jLarighorne %-^ 'kneeling' by. his -mother's bedside, filled poignant cmaf^iV'yet rejoii-ing' at ■ the great' happiness beaming on her face "as" 1 - "with her worn hands she fondly stroked, his jdaik, wet haiiv, V- - ' .Guy, Guy, after al' those years of .weary" waiting ! Oh, my _ son,- my- o"wn and only boy, I knew' you would come" 'Yes, mother, to the bygone life never to- return. Pardon "me, ■mother,'- for a while-. All is'Jost,' he- thought,-- as'- Be descended the' stairs. ' «> For at the front door of < he fijise,' there' 'was- a. loud^and • peremptory knocking. r Dow;jstuirs,^the piercer " and "the grey: priest stood drfaked and prepared "fort departure when ' ciunc that blood-chilling sumnions. ,'• - --•? ' Ho ' vithi " there, .open- the. door, op'en at "once to- offipejrs ;_of- v the law,' commanded a I6ud " voice, and 'the Jcnocking ' was -vrepeatta. t -■•-.- & " Vfc-r- o^' StCPped U) the flOnt and drew his Spanish" blade. *.. Fly 'by the back way,' he" said^; 'I'll keep them" at bay til' j you escape. ' . ;_y But now the door, which, -"by" accident, iad .been left 'unfastened, swung open. Four of the night "watch walked in a burthen which they - deposited in - the passage. Jt vvas the body of a stout young .man, with blood clotting the hiur and streaking the white face.- ' It is one of your apprentices", Master Langhorne,' explained the leader. .- | Yes, it is Simon Stokes,' said the mercer . 'We found him on the_slreel leading to "the Tower, lying .^conscious in a deep .and dangerous , P it, into which, storn,- ' blinded, he stumbled and. fell. " H\s -Skull is seriously fractured, -..alid it will take him man'y-Aveeks to -recover, it-he ever" does ' ; ', Ihe unfortunate youth shall be duly attended to,' said ,'th^mercer. 'Cicely, wine for the "faithful nightwatch '" ' 1- ' &j~ Great, even to the point_of exhilaration, was the .-scene- : df ~- .relief and joy that asserted itself in the household when tfe -j-watch, refreshed, departed. , :/ :I 'lh^ e^ y> 'm L ° rd; iS ki ' id lo " ni « h > lllis S° od h °™.' :e---the:e-the angel of death has passed us by.' - - '-"off^r-K the | c / X - buc 4 yee r lia1 iad c an. impulsive and.Jervcnt act 'MagSne- * OU -" aM ° &>*<*'^^^