Life of Bunyan | Page 5

out
of a boat into Bedford river, and either time had a narrow escape from
drowning. One day in the field with a companion, an adder glided
across their path. Bunyan's ready switch stunned it in a moment; but
with characteristic daring, he forced open the creature's mouth, and
plucked out the sting--a foolhardiness which, as he himself observes,
might, but for God's mercy, have brought him to his end. In the civil
war he was "drawn" as a soldier to go to the siege of Leicester; but
when ready to set out, a comrade sought leave to take his place. Bunyan

consented. His companion went to Leicester, and, standing sentry, was
shot through the head, and died. These interpositions made no
impression on him at the time.
He married very early: "And my mercy was to light upon a wife, whose
father was counted godly. This woman and I, though we came together
as poor as poor might be--not having so much household stuff as a dish
or spoon betwixt us, yet this she had for her portion, 'The Plain Man's
Pathway to Heaven,' and 'The Practice of Piety,' which her father had
left her when he died, in these two books I would sometimes read with
her; wherein I also found some things that were somewhat pleasing to
me. She also would be often telling of me what a godly man her father
was, and what a strict and holy life he lived in his days, both in word
and deeds. Wherefore these books, with the relation, though they did
not reach my heart to awaken it about my soul and sinful state, yet they
did beget within me some desires to reform my vicious life, and fall in
very eagerly with the religion of the times--to wit, to go to church twice
a-day, and that, too, with the foremost; and there should very devoutly
both say and sing as others did, yet retaining my wicked life. But,
withal, I was so overrun with the spirit of superstition, that I adored,
and that with great devotion, even all things--the high-place, priest,
clerk, vestment, service, and what else belonging to the Church;
counting all things holy that were therein contained, and especially the
priest and clerk, most happy, and, without doubt, greatly blessed,
because they were the servants, as I then thought, of God, and were
principal in the temple to do his work therein."
So strong was this superstitious feeling--one shared by the ignorant
peasantry in many portions of England, even at the present day--that
"had he but seen a priest, though never so sordid and debauched in his
life, his spirit would fall under him; and he could have lain down at
their feet and been trampled upon by them--their name, their garb, and
work, did so intoxicate and bewitch him." It little matters what form
superstition takes--image-worship, priest-worship, or temple-worship;
nothing is transforming except Christ in the heart, a Saviour realized,
accepted, and enthroned. Whilst adoring the altar, and worshipping the
surplice, and deifying the individual who wore it, Bunyan continued to
curse and blaspheme, and spend his Sabbaths in the same riot as before.
One day, however, he heard a sermon on the sin of Sabbath-breaking. It

fell heavy on his conscience; for it seemed all intended for him. It
haunted him throughout the day, and when he went to his usual
diversion in the afternoon, its cadence was still knelling in his troubled
ear. He was busy at a game called "Cat," and had already struck the ball
one blow, and was about to deal another, when "a voice darted from
heaven into his soul, 'Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, or have
thy sins and go to hell?'" His arm was arrested, and looking up to
heaven, it seemed as if the Lord Jesus was looking down upon him in
remonstrance and severe displeasure; and, at the same instant, the
conviction flashed across him, that he had sinned so long that
repentance was now too late. "My state is surely miserable--miserable
if I leave my sins, and but miserable if I follow them. I can but be
damned; and if I must be so, I had as good be damned for many sins as
few." In the desperation of this awful conclusion he resumed the game;
and so persuaded was he that heaven was for ever forfeited, that for
some time after he made it his deliberate policy to enjoy the pleasures
of sin as rapidly and intensely as possible.
To understand the foregoing incident, and some which may follow, the
reader must remember that Bunyan was made up of vivid fancy and
vehement emotion. He seldom believed; he always felt and saw. And
he could do nothing by halves. He threw