4. Patrick Hamilton – Martyr
J H Merle d’Aubigné
Hamilton rose early on the day he was to appear before the bishops council. Calm, yet fervent in spirit, he burned with desire to confess the truth before that assembly. Without waiting for the hour which had been fixed, he presented himself unexpectedly at Archbishop Beaton’s palace between 7 and 8 o’clock, not long after sunrise. Beaton was already at his task, wishing to confer with the members of his council before the sitting, and he took good care not to give Hamilton a private interview.
Beaton resolved at once to take advantage of Hamilton’s eagerness and to bring forward the sitting, and the accused was brought before them. Hamilton had expected to converse with Beaton in private but he found himself suddenly before a sombre, inquisitorial tribunal. However, he remained gentle and calm before the judges, although he knew that they had resolved to take away his life.
“You are charged,” said the commissioner, “with teaching false doctrines:
^1 Abridged from The History of the Reformation in the Time of Calvin, vol 6. The previous section, “Patrick Hamilton – Evangelising in St Andrews”, appeared last month. But the Archbishop was having Hamilton investigated with a view to charging him with heresy.
(1) that the corruption of sin remains in the child after baptism; (2) that no man is able by mere force of free will to do any good thing; (3) that no one continues without sins so long as he is in this life; (4) that every true Christian must know if he is in the state of grace; (5) that a man is not justified by works but by faith alone; (6) that good works do not make a good man, but that a good man makes good works; (7) that faith, hope and charity are so closely united that he who has one of these virtues has also the others; (8) that it may be held that God is cause of sin in this sense: that when he withhold his grace from a man, the latter cannot but sin; (9) that it is a devilish doctrine to teach that remission of sins can be obtained by means of certain penances; (10) that auricular confession is not necessary to salvation; (11) that there is no purgatory; (12) that the holy patriarchs were in heaven before the passion of Jesus Christ; and (13) that the pope is Antichrist, and that a priest has just as much power as a pope”.
Hamilton listened attentively to this long series of charges. The Archbishop’s theologians had, in their zeal, piled up all they could find, true or false, and had flung the confused mass at the young man in order to crush him. One of the clergy, who had visited him to catch him unawares in some heresy, had given out that the Reformers made God the author of sin (the eighth article). Patrick had denied it, saying that a sinner may get to such a pitch of obduracy that God leaves him because he will no longer hear Him. Hamilton therefore distinguished between the various parts of the indictment: “I declare that I look on the first seven articles as certainly true, and I am ready to attest them with a solemn oath. As for the other points, they are matter for discussion; but I cannot pronounce them false until stronger reasons are given me for rejecting them than any that I have yet heard.”
The scholars conferred with Hamilton on each point; and the 13 articles were then referred to a commission of theologians. A day or two later, the commissioners made their report and declared all the articles, without exception, to be heretical. To invest the judgment with special solemnity, the Archbishop announced that sentence would be delivered in the cathedral on the last day of February, before an assembly of clergy, nobility and people.
While the priests were preparing to put to death one of the members of the important family of the Hamiltons, some noble-hearted laymen were preparing to rescue him. The men of Linlithgow were not alone in the matter. John Duncan, laird of Airdrie, who had been taken prisoner by the English at the battle of Flodden, had gained for the gospel some friends in England during his captivity. On his return to Scotland, he opened his house as an asylum for the gospellers. Hearing of the danger that beset Patrick Hamilton, indignant at the conduct of the bishops and burning with desire to save the young Reformer, Duncan had armed his tenants and servants. He marched towards St Andrews, intending to enter it by night, carry off his friend and conduct him to England. But the Archbishop’s horsemen were warned of the enterprise and surrounded Duncan’s feeble troop, disarmed them and made Duncan prisoner. The life of this noble Christian was spared at the intercession of his brother-in-law, who was in command of the forces which captured him, but he had once more to quit Scotland.
This attempt was frustrated just when the commissioners presented their report on Hamilton’s alleged heresies. The Archbishop then ordered the arrest of the young evangelist. The governor of the castle of St Andrews put himself at the head of a well-armed body of men and that night they surrounded the house where Hamilton was living. According to one historian, he had already retired to rest; according to others, he was in the society of pious friends and was conversing with them. While he appreciated the affection of his friend Duncan, he had no wish for force to be used to save him. He knew that, in a spiritual war, the weapons must be spiritual, that Christ’s soldiers must fight only with the sword of the holy Word. He remained calm in the conviction that God disposes all that befalls His children, so that what the world thinks an evil turns out for their good.
At the very moment when the soldiers were surrounding his house, Hamilton felt himself encompassed by solid ramparts, knowing that God marshals His forces around His people, as for the defence of a fortress. There were knocks at the door: it was the governor of the castle. Hamilton knew what it meant. He rose, went forward with his friends, opened the door and gave himself up. Then, pointing to his friends, he added, “You will allow them to retire”, and he entreated them not to make any resistance to lawful authority. But these ardent Christians could not bear the thought of losing their friend. “Promise us,” they said to the governor, “to bring him back safe and sound.” The officer only replied by taking away his prisoner to the castle.
The last day of February arrived, the day fixed for pronouncing sentence. The prelate, followed by a large number of bishops, abbots, heads of religious orders and the 12 commissioners, entered the cathedral – a building some centuries old, whose magnificent ruins still astonish the traveller. Among the judges was Patrick Hepburn, Prior of St Andrews, son of the Earl of Bothwell, a dissolute man who had 11 illegitimate children. Not far from him was David Beaton, Abbot of Arbroath, an ambitious young man who already coveted his uncle’s dignity and who, as if to prepare himself for a long work of persecution, vigorously pressed the condemnation of Patrick. Among these hypocrites and fanatics sat Alexander Campbell^2 in a state of agitation. A great crowd of canons, priests, monks, nobles and common people filled the church; some of them greedy for the spectacle which was to be presented to them, others sympathising with Hamilton. “I was myself present,” said Alesius,^3 “a spectator of that tragedy.”
The tramp of horses was soon heard: the party of troops sent to seek Hamilton were come. He entered the church and had to mount a lofty desk, from which he could be easily seen and heard by the assembly. All eyes were turned towards him. “If this young Christian had been a worldling”, said pious folk, “and had given himself up, like the other lords of the court, to a life of dissipation and rioting, he would doubtless have been loved by everybody . . . but because he has added piety and virtue to his rank, he must fall under the blows of the wicked.”
The proceedings began. The commissioners presented their report to the court, duly signed. Then Campbell rose, for the Archbishop had charged him to read the indictment, and the unfortunate man did not dare refuse the horrible task. Hamilton was affected at seeing a man appear as his accuser whom he took for his friend. However, he listened calmly to the address. His calmness, his frankness, his trust in the Lord, impressed every one. “Truly,” said Alesius, “no man ever more fully realised that saying, ‘Trust in the Lord and do good’.” A contest began between the prior of the Dominicans and the young Reformer. The latter, determined to defend his faith in the presence of that great assembly, pointed out the sophistry of his accusers and established the truth by the testimony of the Scriptures. Campbell replied; but Hamilton, always armed with the Word of God, rejoined, and his adversary was silenced. Campbell, unhappy and distressed, inwardly convinced of the doctrine professed by his old friend, could do no more.
He approached the tribunal and asked for instructions. The bishops and the theologians, having no mind for a public debate, directed Campbell to enumerate with a loud voice certain errors which had not yet been reduced to formal articles, and to call Hamilton heretic. This was putting the poor Dominican to fresh torture; but he must hold on to the end. He turned towards Hamilton and said aloud: “Heretic, thou hast said that all men have the right to read the Word of God. Thou hast said that it is against the divine law to worship images. Thou hast said that it is idle to invoke the saints and the Virgin. Thou hast said that it is useless to celebrate masses to save souls from purgatory. . . .” Here Campbell stopped. “Purgatory!” exclaimed Patrick; “Nothing purifies souls but the blood of Jesus Christ.”
At these words, Campbell turned to the Archbishop and said, “My lords, you hear him; he despises the authority of our holy father the Pope”. Then, as if he meant to stifle by insults the voice of the courageous Christian, he cried: “Heretic, rebel, detestable, execrable, impious!” Hamilton turned towards him and said kindly, “My brother, thou dost not in thy very heart believe what thou art saying”. This was too much. The word of tender reproof pierced like a dart the soul of the unhappy Dominican. To find himself treated with so much gentleness by the man whose death he was urging rent his heart! Campbell was embarrassed and silenced. Hamilton’s charity had heaped coals of fire on his head.
Then voting began. The court unanimously condemned the innocent man; then the Primate rose and said, “We . . . have found Patrick Hamilton infected with divers heresies of Martin Luther, which have been already condemned by general councils. We therefore declare the said Hamilton a heretic; we condemn him; we deprive him of all dignities, orders and benefices, and we deliver him over to the secular arm to be punished.”
Beaton then laid the sentence on the table, and the bishops, priors, abbots and scholars present signed the document one by one. To invest the act with more authority, the primate next invited such persons as had a certain rank in the university to sign it likewise. Boys – the earl of Cassilis, for example, who was only 13 – were among them. The priests persuaded them that they were serving God by doing so, and this was very flattering to such children. The court rose, and an escort of some thousands of armed men conducted Hamilton back to the castle. The size of the escort showed the fears which the clergy entertained. Duncan’s attempt had failed, but Sir James Hamilton was still at the head of his soldiers, and many others were interested in this young man. But nothing short of the death of their victim could pacify the priests. They decided that the sentence should be executed the same day. The Primate was sure of the co-operation of the government.
The condemnation had hardly been pronounced when the executioner’s servants were raising the pile before the gate of St Salvator’s College on which Hamilton was to be burnt. While they were heaping up the wood and driving in the stake, Patrick was taking his last meal in one of the rooms of the castle. He ate moderately, as his custom was, but without the slightest agitation; his countenance was perfectly serene. He was going to meet death with good courage, because it would admit him into his Father’s house. He hoped too that his martyrdom would be gain to the Church of God.
The hour of noon struck, the time appointed for the execution. Hamilton bade them call the governor of the castle. Hamilton asked him if all was ready? The governor, whose heart was breaking to see such innocence and nobility requited with a cruel death, could not bring himself to mention the scaffold and answered with emotion, “God give you a better fate!” Hamilton understood him, got up, took the Gospels in one hand, grasped affectionately with the other the hand of the sympathising governor and went like a lamb to execution. He was accompanied by a few friends, his faithful servant followed, and a numerous guard escorted him. He set the cross of Christ, which he was then bearing, above all the delights of life. His soul was full of a solid joy which was worth more than the joy of the world.
He arrived at the spot. All was ready: wood, coal, powder and other combustible material. Standing before the pile, he uncovered his head and, lifting up his eyes to heaven, remained motionless for some moments in prayer. Then he turned to his friends and handed to one of them his copy of the Gospels. Next, calling his servant, he took off his cloak, his coat and his cap and said, “Take these garments; they can do me no service in the fire and they may still be of use to thee. It is the last gift thou wilt receive from me, except the example of my death, the remembrance of which I pray thee to bear in mind. Death is bitter for the flesh . . . but it is the entrance into eternal life, which none can possess who deny Jesus Christ.”
The Archbishop, wishing to ingratiate himself with the powerful family of the Hamiltons, had ordered some of his clergy to offer the young Reformer his life on condition of submitting to the absolute authority of the Pope. “No,” replied Hamilton, “your fire will not make me recant the faith which I have professed. Better that my body should burn in your flames for having confessed the Saviour than that my soul should burn in hell for having denied him. I appeal to God from the sentence pronounced against me and I commit myself to His mercy.”
The executioners passed an iron chain round the victim’s body to fasten him to the stake which rose above the pile. Conscious that acute pains might lead him to err, Hamilton prayed to God that the flames might not extort from him the least word which should grieve his divine Master and added: “In the name of Jesus, I give up my body to the fire and commit my soul into the hands of the Father”. Three times the pile was kindled, and three times the fire went out because the wood was green. Suddenly the powder placed among the faggots exploded, and a piece of wood shot against Hamilton which flayed part of his body, but death had not yet come. Turning to the deathsmen, he asked mildly, “Have you no dry wood?” Several men hastened to get some at the castle.
Alexander Campbell^2 was present, struggling with his evil conscience, in a state of violent agitation which rose with his distress and misery. The servants of the executioner brought some dry wood and made the fire burn more strongly. “Heretic,” said Campbell, “be converted! Recant! Call upon Our Lady; only say, Hail the Queen.” “If thou believest in the truth of what thou sayest,” replied Hamilton, “bear witness to it by putting the tip only of thy finger into the fire in which my whole body is burning.”
The unhappy Dominican took good care to do no such thing. He began to insult the martyr. Then Hamilton said to him, “Depart from me, messenger of Satan”. Campbell, enraged, stormed round the victim like a roaring lion. “Submit to the Pope,” he cried; “there is no salvation but in union with him.” Patrick was broken-hearted at seeing to what a pitch of obduracy his old friend had come. “Thou wicked man,” said he to him, “ thou knowest the contrary well enough; thou hast told me so thyself.” This noble victim, chained to the post and already half-burnt, spoke as a judge; he commanded the Dominican as a king: “I appeal thee before the tribunal seat of Christ Jesus”. At these words Campbell remained mute and fled affrighted to his monastery. His mind wandered; he was seized with madness; he was like one possessed by a demon; and in a little while he died.
Hamilton’s thoughts, though turning heavenward, did not turn away from his home at Kincavil. He had cherished the hope of becoming a father, and some time afterwards his wife gave birth to a daughter who was named Issobel. Hamilton, who had always felt the tenderest respect for his mother, did not forget her at the stake but commended her to the love of his friends. Then he prayed for his native place: “O God, open the eyes of my fellow-citizens, that they may know the truth!” While the martyr’s heart was thus overflowing with love, several of the wretches round him aggravated his sufferings. A baker took an armful of straw and threw it into the fire to increase its intensity; at the same moment a gust of wind from the sea fanned the flames, which then rose above the stake. The chain round Patrick’s body was red-hot and had by this time almost burnt him in two.
One of the bystanders, probably a friend of the gospel, cried to him: “If thou still holdest true the doctrine for which thou diest, make us a sign”. Two fingers of his hand had been consumed; stretching out his arm, he raised the other three and held them motionless as a sign of his faith. The torment had lasted from noon and it was now nearly 6 o’clock. Hamilton was burnt over a slow fire. In the midst of the tumult he was heard crying, “O God, how long shall darkness cover this realm, how long wilt Thou permit the tyranny of men to triumph?” The end was drawing nigh. The martyr’s arm began to fail; his three fingers fell. He said, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit”. His head drooped, his body sank down, and the flames reduced the rest of it to ashes.
Christ hath such riches of merit as are able to pay all thy debts the very first day of thy marriage with Him, though thou hadst been a sinner millions of years before the creation of the world to this day; and when it is done there is the enough left to purchase thee more grace and glory than all angels have in heaven. Thomas Goodwin