At Glastonbury, too, we have spared those wicked walls which were reared by idolatrous hands of old. Woe unto ye, if, after having put your hands to God's plough, ye turn back from the work! See there!' he howled, facing round to the beautiful Cathedral, 'what means this great heap of stones? Is it not an altar of Baal? Is it not built for man-worship rather than God-worship? Is it not there that the man Ken, tricked out in his foolish rochet and baubles, may preach his soulless and lying doctrines, which are but the old dish of Popery served up under a new cover? And shall we suffer this thing? Shall we, the chosen children of the Great One, allow this plague-spot to remain? Can we expect the Almighty to help us when we will not stretch out a hand to help Him? We have left the other temples of Prelacy behind us. Shall we leave this one, too, my brothers ?'

'No, no!' yelled the crowd, tossing and swaying.

'Shall we pluck it down, then, until no one stone is left upon another?'

'Yes, yes!' they shouted.

'Now, at once?'

'Yes, yes!'

'Then to work!' he cried, and springing from the cart he rushed towards the Cathedral, with the whole mob of wild fanatics at his heels. Some crowded in, shouting and yelling, through the open doors, while others swarmed up the pillars and pedestals of the front, hacking at the sculptured ornaments, and tugging at the grey old images which filled every niche.

'This must be stopped,' said Saxon curtly. 'We cannot afford to insult and estray the whole Church of England to please a few hot-headed ranters. The pillage of this Cathedral would do our cause more harm than a pitched battle lost. Do you bring up your company, Sir Gervas, and we shall do what we can to hold them in check until they come.'

'Hi, Masterton!' cried the Baronet, spying one of his under-officers among the crowd who were looking on, neither assisting nor opposing the rioters. 'Do you hasten to the quarters, and tell Barker to bring up the company with their matches burning. I may be of use here.'

'Ha, here is Buyse!' cried Saxon joyously, as the huge German ploughed his way through the crowd. 'And Lord Grey, too! We must save the Cathedral, my lord! They would sack and burn it.'

'This way, gentlemen,' cried an old grey-haired man, running out towards us with hands outspread, and a bunch of keys clanking at his girdle. 'Oh hasten, gentlemen, if ye can indeed prevail over these lawless men! They have pulled down Saint Peter, and they will have Paul down too unless help comes. There will not be an apostle left. The east window is broken. They have brought a hogshead of beer, and are broaching it upon the high altar. Oh, alas, alas! That such things should be in a Christian land!' He sobbed aloud and stamped about in a very frenzy of grief.

'It is the verger, sirs,' said one of the townsfolk. 'He hath grown grey in the Cathedral.'

'This way to the vestry door, my lords and gentlemen,' cried the old man, pushing a way strenuously through the crowd. 'Now, lack-a-day, the sainted Paul hath gone too!'

As he spoke a splintering crash from inside the Cathedral announced some fresh outrage on the part of the zealots. Our guide hastened on with renewed speed, until he came to a low oaken door heavily arched, which he unlocked with much rasping of wards and creaking of hinges. Through this we sidled as best we might, and hurried after the old man down a stone-flagged corridor, which led through a wicket into the Cathedral close by the high altar.

The great building was full of the rioters, who were rushing hither and thither, destroying and breaking everything which they could lay their hands on. A good number of these were genuine zealots, the followers of the preacher whom we had listened to outside. Others, however, were on the face of them mere rogues and thieves, such as gather round every army upon the march. While the former were tearing down images from the walls, or hurling the books of common prayer through the stained-glass windows, the others were rooting up the massive brass candlesticks, and carrying away everything which promised to be of value.

Micah Clarke Page 162

Arthur Conan Doyle

Scottish Authors

Free Books in the public domain from the Classic Literature Library ©

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Classic Literature Library
Classic Authors

All Pages of This Book