An account of the prophet’s last days by his Secretary, Bannatyne
WE RETURNED TO Edinburgh in August after a truce was signed between the King’s lords and the Queen’s party in the castle. As we were not able to go to our former house we were given the goldsmith’s mansion in the Netherbow. Its owner was in the castle and had been outlawed for coining. On the first Sunday I helped Master Knox up to St Giles and into the pulpit, but his voice was so feeble that none could hear, and many wept to see the great prophet so decayed and broken.
Most of the time Master Knox remained in bed dictating his ‘History’ and sometimes writing, rising perhaps once or twice to meet with a visitor or take some nourishment. A small hall was fitted out in the aisles of the church so that he could address the congregation, and many crowded in to hear his words, expounding still the Word of God.
When news came of the terrible massacre of Protestants in Paris his wonted fire and pronounced the judgment of God on the persecutors of His chosen servants. Then he called for Edinburgh Castle to be pulled down on the heads of the ungodly. He warned that if Mary was not silenced her siren voice would once again woo our nation from the path of righteousness, and worked to such a pitch of fury that those who heard him trembled for their lives. He called for the Queen to die that justice might finally be done for her apostasy, adultery, murder and deceit. Neither Scotland nor England could be secure while she remained alive. He swayed the minds and hearts of all the people against her cause, and even her life.
That was his last Sunday sermon. He seemed to sense that time was short. He wrote to Secretary Cecil thanking him for his support, and saying that, while he would have liked to serve the Lord in England, his calling had lain here in Scotland where the labour, though hard, had been fruitful in this miserable wilderness.
He wrote to James Lawson, his chosen successor, urging him to come quickly before it was too late. The day after he attended Lawson’s induction he was unable to rise. His breathing was troubled and terrible coughing racked his chest. Master Knox never left the house again.
After the doctor prescribed cordials and some wine, the Master improved and was able to sit up in bed and listen to Mistress Margaret or myself reading from the scriptures. Many friends and public men came to pay their respects and wish him farewell. One evening he was able to get up for supper with some guests, and ordered a new barrel of wine to be broached. Jesting, he ordered everyone to drink their fill since he would not live to drain the cask.
The next morning, however, his fever rose again and he tried to get up to preach thinking it was Sunday. I called the Mistress and she soothed him back to rest.
That evening the Earl of Morton came and sat on the bed. I was at a distance but heard the Master ask if Morton had foreknowledge of Darnley’s death. He denied it, and then my Master looked earnestly at him saying that since he was Regent he must mend his ways and serve the Lord in righteousness all his days. Then he gave the Douglas a benediction. As he left the chamber there were tears in Morton’s eyes and he took brusque leave of our house.
When James Lawson came the Master could barely speak, but he urged him to go with the Minister of Leith one last time to try and win back Kirkcaldy’s soul from the brink.
‘Tell him, my once dear William,’ he whispered, drawing painful breath, ‘that he will miserably perish, since neither the craggy rock in which he trusts, nor the carnal prudence of that godless Maitland he considers like a god, nor the aid of foreigners, will deliver him. Instead he will be disgracefully dragged from his nest and hung on the gallows in the face of the sun. How near his soul is to me, if only I could save him from the fires of punishment.’
He fell back exhausted and did not speak again that night.
The next morning, which was his last, he rose and after sitting awhile in his chair returned to bed, commending his young family to the care of friends. At midday the young Mistress read to him the fifteenth chapter of Corinthians, ‘O Death where is thy sting; O grave where is thy victory.’ In a voice barely audible he commended his own soul and body to the Lord.
But at five o’clock after sleeping through the afternoon, he suddenly spoke out in a strong voice. ‘Go read where I first cast my anchor.’ Margaret Stewart knew what he meant and turned to the seventeenth chapter of John.
‘I have glorified thee on the earth; I have finished the work thou gavest me to do. And now, O Father, glorify me with thine own self, with the glory which I had with thee before the world was. I have manifested thy name unto the men thou gavest me out of the world… O righteous Father the world has not known thee: but I have known thee, and they have known that you sent me.’
From time to time he was able to take a sip of weak ale held to his lips, and at seven o’clock he fell asleep. At ten o’clock when he was accustomed to say evening prayers he stirred. The doctor lent over to ask if he could hear the prayers being said.
‘I would to God that you and all men could hear them as I have. I praise God for that heavenly sound.’
An hour later he died with the Mistress at his bedside.
The funeral was in St Giles, and Regent Morton gave the oration. ‘There lies one who neither feared nor flattered any flesh. He has gone to his reward.’