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DISRUP TION
ii
iii
DISRUP TION
W hy Things Change
David Potter
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iv
3
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197518823.001.0001
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America
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CONTENTS
List of Illustrations xi
Acknowledgements xiii
Introduction 1
1: Constantine and the Christian Church 13
Christianity 13
Jesus and His Followers 14
The Spread of Christianity 17
Crisis and Transition 23
Diocletian and the Conversion of Constantine 27
Creating Imperial Christianity 34
Nicaea 36
Christian and Non-Christian 39
Constantine’s Legacy 42
Patterns of Change 45
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vii
Contents
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ix
Contents
References 287
Index 319
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xi
ILLUSTR ATIONS
1.1. Constantine 32
1.2. Helena Augusta 44
2.1. Dome of the Rock (Shutterstock) 76
2.2. Coin of ‘Abd al-Malik (American Numismatic
Society) 78
3.1. Martin Luther (Shutterstock) 103
3.2. Charles V 108
3.3. Henry VIII 115
3.4. Thomas Cromwell 120
3.5. Mary Tudor 128
3.6. Elizabeth I 129
3.7. William of Orange (Shutterstock) 136
4.1. Rousseau 158
4.2. Washington lays down his command
(Yale University Art Gallery) 173
4.3. Robespierre 189
xi
xii
I l l u s t r at i o n s
xii
xii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
xiii
xvi
Ac k n o w l e d g e m e n t s
xiv
1
Introduction
Introduction
2
3
Introduction
3
4
Introduction
Our first two studies will be ones in which the changes were dis-
ruptive, successful, and of continuing importance today. These are
the emergence of Christianity and Islam as world religions.
The transformation of Christianity from a relatively success-
ful minority cult into a world religion was accidental. The catalyst
was a Roman emperor, Constantine, who was trying to solve some
problems of his own. He needed to create a narrative to justify his
seizure of power at a time when traditional political ideologies had
been pretty thoroughly shattered by domestic instability and military
failure. He drew upon ideas that had been developed by some of his
recent predecessors as a way of creating a myth of legitimacy, chiefly
by claiming the favor of a particular divinity.
Constantine chose the Christian God as his protector for quite
specific reasons, then worked with a small number of Christians to
provide his new religion with an intellectual and institutional frame-
work that could shape the political discourse of his age. It is quite pos-
sible that, by the end of his life, Constantine envisaged the possibility
that his empire could become a predominantly Christian institution.
But the creation of the institutions that made this possible was a pro-
cess of trial and error. One very important point is that once he had
shaped the Christian movement into one that could achieve univer-
sal significance, Constantine showed considerable wisdom in leaving
the process of conversion to individual consciences.
The emergence of Islam underscores the importance of a num-
ber of factors we saw with the rise of Christianity. But there are
some important differences. Perhaps the most important was that
Constantine made use of ideas that had been in circulation for three
centuries after the career of Jesus. There was a long history of inter-
pretation that had already shaped the Christian community before
Constantine’s intervention. The rise of Islam, on the other hand, was
the product of the generation that followed upon those who had
known the Prophet themselves.
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5
Introduction
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6
Introduction
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7
Introduction
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8
Introduction
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9
Introduction
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10
Introduction
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1
Introduction
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12
Introduction
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13
Chapter 1
Constantine and
the Christian Church
CHRISTIANITY
Di s r u p t i o n : Why Thi n g s C h a n g e
Christianity replaced belief systems that had been in place for thou-
sands of years and were thought to have guaranteed the protection of
the Roman Empire by supernatural beings.
How did the followers of Christ change the world so profoundly?
How did the belief that the world was protected by many gods give
way to the belief that there was only one god. How did old ways of
measuring time, based on local traditions throughout the world, give
way to the single way many in the West now measure time? How
did old ways of thought pass through the crucible of Christianity to
shape the way we think about the world today? Even though Roman
emperors oversaw the rise of Christianity, our ideas about democ-
racy, the rights of the individual and the rule of law, and our traditions
of entertainment and rational thought were all shaped by Greek and
Roman thinkers of pre-Christian times. Indeed, the return of many of
these ideas, buried in the Middle Ages, will play crucial roles in our
third and fourth disruptions.
1. Our own 1 BCE/CE were established by the sixth-century CE theologian Dionysius Exiguus
on the basis of mathematical calculations that have no connection to Gospel narratives.
14
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1 . C o n s ta n t i n e a n d t h e C h r i s t i a n C h u r ch
Jesus was about thirty years old when he was baptized in the fif-
teenth year of the reign of Tiberius, Rome’s second emperor
(r. 14–37 CE).
Galilee, where Jesus grew up, became part of the Roman province
of Syria, which included not only modern Syria but also portions of
southern Turkey, portions of Israel, and all of modern Lebanon in 6
CE. This is one of the years later (and incorrectly) associated with his
birth, presumably because the provincial census imposed that year
by the Roman governor, Quirinius, was a momentous occasion. The
census was imposed because Rome’s first emperor, Augustus, had
just removed a local king in response to complaints about his brutal-
ity. This king was a son of King Herod, who had been on the throne
when Augustus established his own position, and been allowed to
remain on the throne despite Augustus’ disapproval of his homicidal
tendencies until his death in 4 BCE. One result of Quirinius’ census
was a rebellion, as people—especially the poor, upon whom the bur-
den of taxation would fall most heavily—reacted against the intru-
sive behavior of Roman officials.
In the year Jesus was born, the emperor Augustus was wrestling
with the transition of the Roman state from the failed democracy
of the Roman Republic—which had created the empire in the
first place—to a bureaucratic monarchy. A result of the creation
of empire had been that the democratic institutions of Rome had
been overwhelmed by the corporate greed which had taken over
the governing class. These aristocrats—men like Julius Caesar—
ultimately funded a series of devastating civil wars. The theory of
government that Augustus introduced was that the “first man,”
selected through the consensus of the Roman people, would guide
the institutions of the state. His power, in turn, would derive from
laws passed by the Roman people. This “first man,” or princeps,
would ultimately morph into the figure we know today as the first
Roman emperor.
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Di s r u p t i o n : Why Thi n g s C h a n g e
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1 . C o n s ta n t i n e a n d t h e C h r i s t i a n C h u r ch
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Di s r u p t i o n : Why Thi n g s C h a n g e
Paul was a prime mover, the core community of believers agreed that
Jesus’ words were really meant for everyone. The connections with
Rome that had come into existence pretty rapidly also helped. Rome
was the center of the world, the great melting pot and testing ground
for new ideas. If a movement was going to have a future, it would have
to have a presence in Rome.
The people to whom Paul addressed his Letter to the Romans
include some interesting names. Not only do we have Junia, who may
have known Jesus, but we have a group of people who are said to be
“in the house of Narcissus.” There are several possibilities here—one
is that these people had once served a man named Narcissus who
had been one of the favorites of the emperor Claudius (r. 41–54 CE);
the other possibility is that this is the Narcissus who served Nero,
Claudius’ notorious’ successor (r. 54–68 CE). Whatever the case,
there were some very centrally located Christians at Rome within a
decade of Jesus’ death.
Christians soon came to Nero’s attention. Thanks to his gov-
ernment’s incompetent management of a fire that broke out in the
summer of 65 CE, a large part of Rome burned to the ground. Nero
didn’t recite poetry while this was happening (as some people later
alleged), but he still took the blame. He tried to shift the responsibil-
ity elsewhere, and this is when Christians first came to general notice.
Nero accused the Christians who lived in Rome of having started
the fire. He subjected those he could catch to hideous punishments,
which convinced no one of their guilt and, as the great Roman histo-
rian Tacitus, no fan of either Nero or the Christians, tells us, simply
attracted attention to the group and increased membership in the
movement.
Christians would later say that Nero’s victims included Paul and
Peter, one of Jesus’ original followers. There’s no contemporary evi-
dence for this assertion, but the fact that it came up later is a sign of
how important Nero’s hostility was to the developing sense of group
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1 . C o n s ta n t i n e a n d t h e C h r i s t i a n C h u r ch
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20
Di s r u p t i o n : Why Thi n g s C h a n g e
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1 . C o n s ta n t i n e a n d t h e C h r i s t i a n C h u r ch
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2
Di s r u p t i o n : Why Thi n g s C h a n g e
only Roman magistrates could hand down death sentences, and they
did so at trials held in public during which the accused was pressured
to confess that he or she deserved the punishment that the magistrate
was going to hand down.
Given the strength of the Christian tradition of elevating mar-
tyrs to sanctity, it would be easy to imagine that there was some-
thing unique about the Roman state’s attitude toward Christianity
in 200 CE. That would be a false assumption. The Roman state
had, at various times, punished people for being Jewish, for wor-
shiping the Egyptian goddess Isis, for being connected with Celtic
Druidism, or for promoting immorality through the worship of
Dionysus. People were also deeply suspicious of Epicureans, whose
denial that the gods took a direct interest in the world was taken
by some as being a sign that they were really atheists. Trajan had
declared that while he thought people should not be Christians,
they shouldn’t be hunted down, and governors should not accept
anonymous denunciations of people for being Christian. If a
Christian appeared in court and refused to offer sacrifice for the
emperor’s well-being, he or she could be executed because such an
action would count as treason.
In 200 CE, the Christian community was successful, known, not
always despised, and definitely part of the landscape of the Roman
Empire. Christians, aided by their readings of contemporary phi-
losophy, were developing all manner of new ideas about the nature
of God, the relationship of Jesus’ revelations to Jewish scripture, and
the possibility of new revelations. They were beginning to evolve an
administrative structure with regional overseers or bishops selected
from their congregations.
Given the intellectual ferment of their movement, it is perhaps not
surprising that they also began seeking a set of overarching doctrines
in which all could believe, and began to limit the books that could
be viewed as authoritative revelations in order to create a definable
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1 . C o n s ta n t i n e a n d t h e C h r i s t i a n C h u r ch
canon. The canon that we now know as the New Testament began
to stabilize in the later second century, but disputes about doctrine
would continue, and bishops would become ever more interested in
defining heresy, even at the cost of declaring that other bishops held
heretical ideas. One of the most remarkable books of this period,
strictly excluded from the canon, purported to be the recollections
of Judas Iscariot, who pointed out that he had done God’s will in
handing Jesus over to the authorities and that bishops need not be
listened to.
The disputes within the Christian community were in many ways
a sign of strength, for they reflected the importance people placed
on their faith. But they also indicate that at that time, there was not
a single Christian message, aside from belief in Jesus’ death and
resurrection.
When Septimius Severus, emperor since 193, died in 211 CE, there
would have been few, if any, Christians who thought their faith would
replace that of their pagan neighbors as dominant within the Roman
world. If a Christian imagined that a fellow Christian would ever be
emperor, it’s likely that would have been regarded as an exceptionally
eccentric point of view. Indeed, nowhere in the surviving Christian
literature of this period is the possibility ever mentioned. A hundred
years after Severus’ death, Constantine would be on the verge of his
conversion. What changed and why?
The first thing that changed was Rome’s ability to dominate its
neighbors. In 225 CE a new regime came to power in Persia (Iran
and Iraq), Rome’s great imperial neighbor to the east. The previ-
ous regime had been reasonably inefficient—“overrated” according
to a contemporary—and Roman armies had sacked the capital of
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Di s r u p t i o n : Why Thi n g s C h a n g e
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1 . C o n s ta n t i n e a n d t h e C h r i s t i a n C h u r ch
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Di s r u p t i o n : Why Thi n g s C h a n g e
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1 . C o n s ta n t i n e a n d t h e C h r i s t i a n C h u r ch
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Di s r u p t i o n : Why Thi n g s C h a n g e
brother of this pair now controlled the western part of the empire,
and a new ruler was needed in the east before the campaign against
him could begin. No senior officer, perhaps leery of the short life
expectancy of people holding this job, wanted to be emperor. The
choice fell upon a mid-level guard officer named Diocles.
Diocles, who immediately changed his name to Diocletian (it
sounded classier), proved to be a very different emperor from what
anyone could have anticipated. Winning the civil war, he selected a
comrade, Maximian, to be, first, his deputy, and later a nearly equal
co-emperor. Diocletian advertised the notion that he and Maximian
would be the earthly equivalent of the gods Jupiter and Hercules,
who defended civilization from all evil.
Maximian would administer the western provinces while
Diocletian concentrated his attention on the Balkans and the east.
In 293, after some military embarrassment in the west, the two
emperors selected two deputies who would see more of the front-
line action. Maximian selected his son-in-law, Constantius, for the
job; Diocletian selected a man named Galerius, who became his
son-in-law.
Constantius had a son by a previous marriage named Constantine,
who was about thirteen when Constantius became deputy emperor
(a post bearing the title Caesar). At the time of his father’s appoint-
ment to high office, or shortly thereafter, this Constantine was sent to
Diocletian’s court and then to serve on Galerius’ staff.
Constantine was present for the great military triumph of the era,
Galerius’ crushing defeat of a Persian army. He was also in Nicomedia
in 303 when Diocletian suddenly decided to unleash an empire-wide
persecution of the Christian Church. Diocletian had earlier tried to
purge Christians from the army, and it is quite possible that his deci-
sion to launch the new persecution was connected with other policies
he was initiating to cleanse “un-Roman” elements from what he saw
as his reconstructed and perfected empire. It is also possible that the
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1 . C o n s ta n t i n e a n d t h e C h r i s t i a n C h u r ch
fact he could see a large Christian church from his palace enhanced
his antipathy toward the Christian community.
Constantine would have seen the edict posted, and perhaps stood
aside as people he knew were arrested or dismissed for their faith.
He may even have known the Professor of Latin at Nicomedia, a
Christian from North Africa named Lactantius. Lactantius was not
himself arrested, but people he knew certainly were.
Outside of Nicomedia the persecution was carried out with vary-
ing degrees of enthusiasm. The chief administrator of Egypt was an
eager persecutor, arresting a number of Church leaders and sending
them to a mine in Palestine (a form of harsh imprisonment), and
seizing a good deal of property. A governor in North Africa appears
to have been rather less keen. A document surviving from this period
records the actions of the chief magistrate in the city of Cirta who,
charged with carrying out the persecution, went to the local bishop,
whom he clearly knew, and asked for some books so that he could
burn them and tell the governor he had carried out the emperor’s
order. After a bit of posturing, books were duly delivered. Another
bishop suggested that his flock could take advantage of the edict to
pass off the works of heretics as scripture so they would be destroyed.
This same bishop may also have called the governor’s attention to
a group of people who were not responsive to his authority so that
they would be arrested. When some of their fellow Christians tried
to bring them food in the notoriously harsh prison at Carthage, the
bishop’s men beat them up. In the provinces of western Europe, where
Constantius was in charge, the edict was largely ignored. Perhaps
aware of its lack of success, Diocletian rescinded his orders in 304.
If Constantine took anything away from Diocletian’s persecution
edicts (there were ultimately two, issued a couple of months apart),
it was that religious persecution was ineffective. It was one thing for
an emperor to promote the worship of a god who could be seen as his
special protector in the way, for instance, that Aurelian had done with
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Di s r u p t i o n : Why Thi n g s C h a n g e
Invincible Sun, and Diocletian was then doing with Jupiter. It was
entirely another thing to tell people that they could not seek salvation
as they saw best for themselves.
Constantine was soon to be in a position to make his own deci-
sions. After twenty-one years in power, Diocletian abdicated on
May 1, 305. Maximian abdicated at the same time, and Constantius
became senior emperor with Galerius as his colleague. The twin abdi-
cations were the first in Roman history and were intended to adver-
tise Diocletian’s success in creating a new political order.
The problem with Diocletian’s thinking was that the staffs of
Maximian and Constantius had grown apart from those of himself
and Galerius. Maximian’s former officials resented Galerius’ people,
and Constantius’ men were not eager to find themselves replaced if
and when Constantius, who was in poor health, should die. Galerius
was technically Constantius’ junior, but he had engineered the
appointment of two of his cronies as the new Caesars, which was
resented by Constantius’ people.
Constantius, recognizing that his health was failing, ordered
Galerius to return Constantine, who was still serving at Galerius’
court in Sirmium (modern Stara Zagora in Bulgaria). Constantine
rejoined his father by the end of 305 and was rapidly adopted by
the staff, which put him on the throne on July 28, 306, the day
Constantius died. He had been on campaign in Britain at the
time, and the building in which he died—the building in which
Constantine was proclaimed emperor—is today incorporated into
York’s cathedral.
Constantine’s seizure of power encouraged Maxentius, son of
Maximian, to launch a coup d’état at Rome on October 28. Galerius’
regional deputy failed to suppress Maxentius’ revolt—then, in the
summer of 307, Galerius himself failed at the same task. That was a
shock. Galerius, conqueror of the Persians, was the greatest soldier
of his age.
30
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Chapter II.
At that time horses were used as a mode of conveyance so much
more than carriages, that almost every gentlewoman had her own
steed, and Miss Cochrane, being a skilful rider, was possessed of a
well-managed palfrey, on whose speed and other qualities she had
been accustomed to depend. On the morning after she had bid her
father farewell, long ere the inhabitants of Edinburgh were astir, she
found herself many miles on the road to the Borders. She had taken
care to attire herself in a manner which corresponded with the
design of passing herself off for a young serving-woman journeying
on a borrowed horse to the house of her mother in a distant part of
the country; and by only resting at solitary cottages, where she
generally found the family out at work, save perhaps an old woman
or some children, she had the good fortune, on the second day after
leaving Edinburgh, to reach in safety the abode of her old nurse, who
lived on the English side of the Tweed, four miles beyond the town of
Berwick. In this woman she knew she could place implicit
confidence, and to her, therefore, revealed her secret. She was
resolved, she said, to make an attempt to save her father’s life, by
stopping the postman, an equestrian like herself, and forcing him to
deliver up his bags, in which she expected to find the fatal warrant.
Singular as such a determination may appear in a delicate young
woman, especially if we consider that she was aware of the arms
always carried by the man to whose charge the mail was committed,
it is nevertheless an undoubted fact that such was her resolve. In
pursuance of this design, she had brought with her a brace of small
pistols, together with a horseman’s cloak tied up in a bundle, and
hung on the crutch of her saddle; and now borrowed from her nurse
the attire of her foster-brother, which, as he was a slight-made lad,
fitted her reasonably well.
At that period, all those appliances which at this day accelerate the
progress of the traveller were unknown, and the mail from London,
which now arrives in about ten hours, took eight days in reaching the
Scottish capital. Miss Cochrane thus calculated on a delay of sixteen
or seventeen days in the execution of her father’s sentence—a space
of time which she deemed amply sufficient to give a fair trial to the
treaty set on foot for his liberation. She had, by means which it is
unnecessary here to detail, possessed herself of the most minute
information with regard to the places at which the postmen rested on
their journey, one of which was a small public-house, kept by a
widow woman, on the outskirts of the little town of Belford. There
the man who received the bag at Durham was accustomed to arrive
about six o’clock in the morning, and take a few hours’ repose before
proceeding farther on his journey.[19] In pursuance of the plan laid
down by Miss Cochrane, she arrived at this inn about an hour after
the man had composed himself to sleep, in the hope of being able, by
the exercise of her wit and dexterity, to ease him of his charge.
19. Lest it should appear at issue with probability that the postman should
thus “take his ease at his inn,” it may be mentioned, as a fact defying all question,
that this official, at a period much later, used sometimes to dismount on a muir,
near the place here mentioned, and partake of a game at quoits, or other sports
which might be proceeding by the wayside.
Having put her horse into the stable, which was a duty that
devolved on the guests at this little change-house, from its mistress
having no ostler, she entered the only apartment which the house
afforded, and demanded refreshment.
“Sit down at the end of that table,” said the old woman, “for the
best I have to give you is there already; and be pleased, my bonnie
man, to make as little noise as ye can, for there’s ane asleep in that
bed that I like ill to disturb.”
Miss Cochrane promised fairly; and after attempting to eat some of
the viands, which were the remains of the sleeping man’s meal, she
asked for some cold water.
“What!” said the old dame, as she handed it to her; “ye are a water-
drinker, are ye? It’s but an ill custom for a change-house.”
“I am aware of that,” replied her guest; “and therefore, when in a
public-house, I always pay for it the price of the stronger potation,
which I cannot take.”
“Indeed!—well, that is but just,” said the landlady; “and I think the
more of you for such reasonable conduct.”
“Is the well where you get this water near at hand?” said the young
lady; “for if you will take the trouble to bring me some from it, as this
is rather warm, it shall be considered in the lawing.”
“It is a good bit off,” responded the landlady; “but I cannot refuse
to fetch some for such a civil, discreet lad, and will be as quick as I
can; but, for any sake, take care and don’t meddle with these pistols,”
she continued, pointing to a pair of pistols on the table, “for they are
loaded, and I am always terrified for them.”
Saying this, she disappeared; and Miss Cochrane, who would have
contrived some other errand for her, had the well been near, no
sooner saw the door shut, than she passed, with trembling eagerness,
and a cautious but rapid step, to the place where the man lay soundly
sleeping, in one of those close wooden bedsteads common in the
houses of the poor, the door of which was left half open to admit the
air, and which she opened still wider, in the hope of seeing the mail-
bag, and being able to seize upon it. But what was her dismay when
she beheld only a part of the integument which contained what she
would have sacrificed her life a thousand times to obtain, just
peeping out from below the shaggy head and brawny shoulders of its
keeper, who lay in such a position upon it as to give not the smallest
hope of its extraction without his being aroused from his nap.
A few bitter moments of observation served to convince her that
possession of this treasure must be obtained in some other way; and,
again closing the door of the bed, she approached the pistols, and
having taken them from the holsters, she as quickly as possible drew
the loading, which having secreted, she then returned them to their
cases, and resumed her seat at the foot of the table. She had barely
time to recover from the agitation into which the fear of the man’s
awakening during her recent occupation had thrown her, when the
old woman returned with the water; and having taken a draught, of
which she stood much in need, she settled her account much to her
landlady’s content, by paying for the water the price of a pot of beer.
Having then carelessly asked and ascertained how much longer the
other guest was likely to continue his sleep, she left the house, and
mounting her horse, set off at a trot, in a different direction from that
in which she had arrived.
Making a compass of two or three miles, she once more fell into
the high road between Belford and Berwick, where she walked her
horse gently on, awaiting the coming up of the postman. Though all
her faculties were now absorbed in one aim, and the thought of her
father’s deliverance still reigned supreme in her mind, yet she could
not help occasionally figuring to herself the possibility of her
tampering with the pistols being discovered, and their loading
replaced, in which case it was more than likely that her life would be
the forfeit of the act she meditated. A woman’s fears would still
intrude, notwithstanding all her heroism, and the glorious issue
which promised to attend the success of her enterprise. When she at
length saw and heard the postman advancing behind her, the strong
necessity of the case gave her renewed courage; and it was with
perfect coolness that, on his coming close up, she civilly saluted him,
put her horse into the same pace with his, and rode on for some way
in his company. He was a strong, thick-set fellow, with a good-
humoured countenance, which did not seem to Miss Cochrane, as
she looked anxiously upon it, to savour much of hardy daring. He
rode with the mail-bags (for there were two—one containing the
letters direct from London, and the other those taken up at the
different post-offices on the road) strapped firmly to his saddle in
front, close to the holsters. After riding a short distance together,
Miss Cochrane deemed it time, as they were nearly half-way between
Belford and Berwick, to commence her operations. She therefore
rode nearly close to her companion, and said, in a tone of
determination,—
“Friend, I have taken a fancy for those mail-bags of yours, and I
must have them; therefore, take my advice, and deliver them up
quietly, for I am provided for all hazards. I am mounted, as you see,
on a fleet steed; I carry firearms; and, moreover, am allied with those
who are stronger, though not bolder than myself. You see yonder
wood,” she continued, pointing to one at the distance of about a mile,
with an accent and air which was meant to carry intimidation with it;
“again, I say, take my advice; give me the bags, and speed back the
road you came for the present, nor dare to approach that wood for at
least two or three hours to come.”
There was in such language from a stripling something so
surprising that the man looked on Miss Cochrane for an instant in
silent and unfeigned amazement.
“If you mean, my young master,” said he, as soon as he found his
tongue, “to make yourself merry at my expense, you are welcome. I
am no sour churl to take offence at the idle words of a foolish boy.
But if,” he said, taking one of the pistols from the holster, and
turning its muzzle towards her, “ye are mad enough to harbour one
serious thought of such a matter, I am ready for you. But, methinks,
my lad, you seem at an age when robbing a garden or an old woman’s
fruit-stall would befit you better, if you must turn thief, than taking
his Majesty’s mails upon his own highway, from such a stout man as
I am. Be thankful, however, that you have met with one who will not
shed blood if he can help it, and sheer off before you provoke me to
fire.”
“Nay,” said his young antagonist, “I am not fonder of bloodshed
than you are; but if you will not be persuaded, what can I do? for I
have told you a truth, that mail I must and will have. So now
choose,” she continued, as she drew one of the small pistols from
under her cloak, and deliberately cocking it, presented it in his face.
“Then your blood be upon your own head,” said the fellow, as he
raised his hand, and fired his pistol, which, however, only flashed in
the pan. Dashing this weapon to the ground, he lost not a moment in
pulling out the other, which he also aimed at his assailant, and fired
with the same result. In a transport of rage and disappointment, the
man sprung from his horse, and made an attempt to seize her; but by
an adroit use of her spurs she eluded his grasp, and placed herself
out of his reach. Meanwhile his horse had moved forward some
yards, and to see and seize the advantage presented by this
circumstance was one and the same to the heroic girl, who, darting
towards it, caught the bridle, and having led her prize off about a
hundred yards, stopped while she called to the thunderstruck
postman to remind him of her advice about the wood. She then put
both horses to their speed, and on turning to look at the man she had
robbed, had the pleasure of perceiving that her mysterious threat
had taken effect, and he was now pursuing his way back to Belford.
Miss Cochrane speedily entered the wood to which she had
alluded, and tying the strange horse to a tree, out of all observation
from the road, proceeded to unfasten the straps of the mail. By
means of a sharp penknife, which set at defiance the appended locks,
she was soon mistress of the contents, and with an eager hand broke
open the Government dispatches, which were unerringly pointed out
to her by their address to the council in Edinburgh, and their
imposing weight and broad seals of office. Here she found not only
the warrant for her father’s death, but also many other sentences
inflicting different degrees of punishment on various delinquents.
These, however, it may be readily supposed, she did not then stop to
examine; she contented herself with tearing them into small
fragments, and placing them carefully in her bosom.
The intrepid girl now mounted her steed, and rode off, leaving all
the private papers as she had found them, imagining—what
eventually proved the case—that they would be discovered ere long,
from the hints she had thrown out about the wood, and thus reach
their proper places of destination. She now made all haste to reach
the cottage of her nurse, where, having not only committed to the
flames the fragments of the dreaded warrant, but also the other
obnoxious papers, she quickly resumed her female garments, and
was again, after this manly and daring action, the simple and
unassuming Miss Grizel Cochrane. Leaving the cloak and pistols
behind her, to be concealed by her nurse, she again mounted her
horse, and directed her flight towards Edinburgh, and by avoiding as
much as possible the high road, and resting at sequestered cottages,
as she had done before (and that only twice for a couple of hours
each time), she reached town early in the morning of the next day.
It must now suffice to say that the time gained by the heroic act
above related was productive of the end for which it was undertaken,
and that Sir John Cochrane was pardoned, at the instigation of the
king’s favourite counsellor, who interceded for him in consequence
of receiving a bribe of five thousand pounds from the Earl of
Dundonald. Of the feelings which on this occasion filled the heart of
his courageous and devoted daughter, we cannot speak in adequate
terms; and it is perhaps best at any rate to leave them to the
imagination of the reader. The state of the times was not such for
several years as to make it prudent that her adventure should be
publicly known; but after the Revolution, when the country was at
length relieved from persecution and danger, and every man was at
liberty to speak of the trials he had undergone, and the expedients by
which he had mastered them, her heroism was neither unknown nor
unapproved. Miss Cochrane afterwards married Mr Ker of Moriston,
in the county of Berwick; and there can be little doubt that she
proved equally affectionate and amiable as a wife, as she had already
been dutiful and devoted as a daughter.—Chambers’s Edinburgh
Journal.
THE FATAL PRAYER.
By William Bennet.