WISE, THOUGH UNTAUGHT
Whose life was work-whose language rife
With rugged maxims hewn from life.
“MR. WINGATE! I knew not your honor," exclaimed John Bunyan. "Will not your lordship sit down?”
“Nay, my man; but who is this with thee?”
“John Rogers, my playmate, whose father lived in the cottage next the house in which I was born, at Bunyan' s End.”
“And where has he been to dress thus bravely?”
“He went North during the troubles by reason that the steward's daughter forsook him for the curate, and hath but just come back to Elstow. He is a leech of no small skill.”
“I can warrant that ye both know how to handle a pike at a pinch; so much the better," said Mr. Wingate, eyeing Rogers haughtily. "I want ye both upon a business that will require skill. Ye know Sir Samuel Luke, of Copple End House?”
“Yea, your honor, I know him well," replied Bunyan.
“Well, next evening I want ye to go to the coppice on the Bedford Road, nigh to the riding stone, and lie in wait. About twelve of the clock comes Lady Luke with some treasure, and I want ye to spring out upon her, and as she rides upon a pillion behind the servant-man, ye ought to master him easily, and bring the lady and the casket she bears to them who shall meet you in the wood. In truth, it contains papers that are of no value to her, but they will damage me, and also Sir George Blundell and Sir Henry Chester, to say naught of Dr. Lindall. In doing this service ye shall have a gold noble each, with an angel hush money. What say ye? Yes, of course.”
“I cannot do it, your honor," said Bunyan; "anything else to pleasure you I am willing to attempt, but not this.”
“But consider, if ye will do us this service it shall stand you in for much gear; if ye will not, a Wingate never forgot a slight.”
“When your honor's son fell into the Ouse I fished him out; and for Sir Henry Chester, 'tis not a month since that I brought back his child that had been stolen by the gipsies, and for that he called me gipsy, and gave me but a great for my pains. Nay, sir, I cannot for myself.”
“But ye will, good man," said Wingate, turning to Rogers. "'Tis ever so with these prating Roundheads; in my father's time men had not been so nice, not one but had cracked a score of heads at his master's bidding.”
“Nay, sir," said Rogers, "I like not this work either. If I struck a blow it would be for the Parliament. But I will keep your counsel, though I dare not do your will.”
“Then look for vengeance from me. I will not forget thee, tinker. Wait! Wait! I say.”
“'Tis a proud lad, though he be but a boy," said Rogers. "His uncle was one of the party that took rich Henry Crispe out of his bed at Quex Park, Kent, and carried him over the seas to Bruges. He got not back until his friends had paid three thousand pounds good gold for his liberty.”
“But I will the morn to Sir Luke to give him heed," said Bunyan; "he is to be at Bedford sitting in the Swan Chamber with other great men-the more that I propose going to see Mr. Gifford, who is minister at St. John's Church.”
“But what know ye of him, and how heard he about the men?" asked Rogers.
“Why, this morning as I went through Bedford, intent upon my calling, it was my lot that I should pass through one of the streets that are nigh the High Street. There sat three poor women in the sun, and as they talked in the doorway I heard some of their speech. I drew nigh to listen; but alas! 'twas such talk as I never dreamed of ever before! They spoke of a new birth, of how God had worked in their hearts to show them their lost state, of how they were once under the curse of God for their guilt and iniquity; and then they spoke comfortably of the loving kindness of God in giving His dear Son to die for them, and how they had been led to trust Christ, and found in Him peace and rest for their soul. Methought that is what I much want, yet how to obtain it I knew not. Then they talked of how God had visited them and refreshed them; and said one (Mary Fenne, by name), `I mind now how once when I was sore grieved and vexed, for that the Sheriff's man seized my kettle and lace-pillow for a church rate, I walked in darkness by the river bank, and, as I watched the dark waters that swept under the bridge nigh the black prison, I remembered the river that Ezekiel saw, and methought its healing waters came even to my marshy and barren heart.
It rose upon me, the sweet mercy and comfort of Jesus, until I felt that it mattered little what men took from me, so that they left me Christ and His Divine grace and mercy. Oh, but I was strong in Him, and I felt His sweet comfort down in my poor heart, and I felt as if I must shout to the clouds and trees of the gladness that burned like a fire in my bones. Talk of mirth! there was never such light-heartedness round the Maypole as filled me then.'
'Ay,' said a wrinkled and worn ancient woman they termed Norton, "tis even so. I have known depths of sorrow, but they have been times of deep delight to my soul. When my husband died of the wounds he received in battle, my soul was stayed upon God, and I felt my faith grasp His sweet, strong promise; and look ye, gossips, though I have but a penny per week to call my own, I would not give it up with the love of God to be the great Earl of Bedford himself!'
“It seemed to me as if they were in another world far above me; but when they talked about their temptations, methought I knew what they meant, at least in some degree. Yet they declared that they had oftentimes gotten the victory and all through the Word of God. Methought this is indeed news to me.
“I was struck all a-dumb at their wisdom, yet it was sweet to me, like the droppings of the honeycomb. And when I opened my mind to them they made no mock of my distress, nor did they make light of it, but bade me come the next day to talk to their teacher, one Dr. Gifford, and by God's grace I went to him.”
“Well, do as thou list, but 'tis late, neighbor," said Rogers; "will ye walk a step with me, for I must be for home?”
“Aye, that I will," said Bunyan, and the two friends emerged into the quiet, winding street that even then had an old-world look in its peaceful, calm life. They had not gone far beyond the little stream when a noise of clashing swords and oaths fell upon their ears. Without hesitation they hastened forward, and as Bunyan carried a stout oaken staff, he had no fear of entering the fray. Two men, evidently gentlemen, were fighting desperately with four ruffians, who seemed confident of an easy victory.
“William Swinton of Bedford, I declare," said Rogers; "strike always the other side to William Swinton, and one is sure to be right. Against the four, Bunyan, and we will not be wrong.”
In a few moments the arrival of the two sturdy helpers turned the tide of victory, and the four ruffians were speedily hurrying across the fields in hot haste.
The two gentlemen at first seemed inclined to hurry off without noticing their deliverers; but some spark of better feeling evidently lingered in the breast of one, who turned and said: “We thank ye, good men; ye came but in time; we were sore wounded, and might have been worse.”
“Mr. Wingate is welcome to Bunyan' s aid, and so is Sir Henry Chester, for if I mistake not ye are he," said Bunyan, pulling his forelock to the second man.
“Ye saved my life, I suppose," said the other; "but I cannot bear to owe any man anything. I love to be master; here is a gold button from my coat. Now we are quits.”
“I want it not," said Bunyan; and, bidding Rogers farewell, he returned to his cottage.
The next day Bunyan went to the Swan Chamber in Bedford, and warned Sir Samuel of the peril to which his wife was exposed. The stout old knight at once dispatched a troop to bring her past the danger.
“God save thee, Bunyan, thou art a trusty friend," he said. "Fare thee well for thy good deed to me and mine.”
The sun was burning in the heavens as Bunyan approached the rectory of St. John's in Bedford on his visit to Mr. Gifford.
The dining-room, which he entered by a cloister, was a large oak-lined chamber, formerly the living room of the ancient almshouse. In it sat the man John Bunyan has pictured as Evangelist in his Pilgrim's Progress, John Gifford by name. Once a Royalist soldier and a libertine, he had been rescued from death to experience a change no less remarkable, becoming the teacher of a congregation that, though Baptists, were permitted the use of St. John's church during the Commonwealth time.
His greeting was hearty, and though Bunyan at first was somewhat nervous, he soon obtained confidence under the kindly words of Gifford.
“And how came ye to consider yourself shut out from the mercy of God? Know ye not that His compassion is like the great deep? Know ye the limit of your love to your blind child Mary? Nay, ye cannot tell how much ye love her, and think ye God does not love His blind children with much love too?”
“Aye, but I am not one of them! Blind or maimed, I care not, so long as I be one of the family," groaned Bunyan.
“Methinks ye are one, or else ye were not so distressed lest ye should be left out. God had some purpose of grace, or He had not permitted you to seek Him so long and in such distress.”
“Oh! but ye know not what anguish I have felt! As I came along the road, I was sore tempted to try to work a miracle. I had nigh bade the puddles in the path be dry, and the dry places become puddles; but for fear it should appear that I had no faith, and was therefore a castaway, I hesitated to make the trial.
“Oh, and the anguish I have felt when night and day the voices in my heart have cried, `Sell Christ! Sell Christ; yea, sell Him,' and I have shuddered deep in my soul lest I should have done the Judas deed! Oh, for some stout texts of Scripture to stand at my back when the rush of the enemy is upon me! Woe is me! What shall I do?”
“There is naught for thee to do but to seek pardon at the foot of the Cross. Consider this if thou dost feel a thousand times more than thou canst ever do, yet thou wilt not ever feel enough the sore burden of thy sins. Consider how many and black are thine iniquities, and how persistent thou hast been in thy rejection of the mercy of God proclaimed in Christ Jesus! Oh, it is good for thee to realize how black and foul thou art; and how desperate thy case is apart from Christ! Thou art like a man being drawn from a pit by a single rope. He does naught but cling to the rope tied round him; if that rope break he must be dashed to pieces; all his salvation depends upon the rope of another, held in another's hand. That rope is the work of Christ for thee, and He who cast the rope will pull thee out of thy peril and distress.
“But I would specially charge thee not to rest content till thou art established upon the rock Christ Jesus. Be well persuaded, and that by Scriptural proofs alone, that thou art passed from death unto life. Fill thy spirit from the well of the Bible; drink deeply and often of its gracious words if thou wouldst be strong. Depend upon it, it is neglect of the Bible that causes the anguish and weakness of many Christians; thou canst not be strong or useful save by the influence of the inwrought Word, and to it I would commend thee.”
With many gracious words did the teacher urge his friend to seek knowledge and certainty in the Book of God; and so they parted as the evening drew on.
Bunyan procured a Bible, but read only the historical books, avoiding with a strange perversity the Epistles of Paul. He set the Commandments before him as his way to Heaven, and for a year lived a reformed life externally. He was looked upon as a prodigy of piety. His neighbors, who had been shocked by his daring wickedness, were much pleased with the change, and Bunyan, ever eager for the sympathy of others, rejoiced greatly in their esteem and commendations; yet was inwardly conscious that they were not fully deserved; "for," he writes, "had I then died, my state had been most fearful.”
“Wife," said Bunyan one day in course of conversation at home, "is there such a Scripture as 'I must go to Jesus?'" She replied, "I cannot tell"; therefore he stood musing to see if he could remember it. In the course of a few minutes he recalled what is written in the twelfth chapter of Hebrews: "Ye are come to Mount Zion... to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus the Mediator of the New Testament, and to the blood of sprinkling." Then with joy he told his wife, "Oh, now I know, I know!" He writes, "That night was a good night to me; I have had but few better; I longed for the company of some of God's people, that I might have imparted unto them what God had showed to me. I could scarcely lie in my bed for joy, and peace, and triumph through Christ. All my former darkness had fled away, and the blessed things of Heaven were set in my view. These words have often since that time been great refreshments to my spirit. Blessed be God for having had mercy on me!”
Being now able to confess Christ as his Savior, he was baptized by Mr. Gifford, and enrolled in the membership of the Church. This took place in the same year as that in which Oliver Cromwell became Lord Protector, 1653, Bunyan himself being about twenty-five years of age. Two years afterward he became a preacher of the Gospel.