The government was, however, highly incensed at their audacity, and attached the utmost importance to their capture. Another proclamation was issued, forbidding any one to harbour, protect, or assist the Jesuits to escape, and that he who did so would be considered guilty of high treason. This produced an effect quite contrary to what was intended. Hundreds of persons who, before the proclamation, shewed no liking for the Jesuits, now risked their fortunes, their lives, to protect them. So interesting does persecution render a man—so generous are the instincts of the people. All the activity, all the vigilance of the most energetic and vigilant of governments was for thirteen months baffled by the dexterity and resources of the Jesuits. The history of their escapes, and the daring methods in which they executed them, is both curious and amusing. Space will not permit us to indulge in the recital of more than one of those marvellous escapes. One evening the house in which Parson had sought a retreat was suddenly surrounded by a band who were in pursuit of him. Resistance or concealment was impossible. Parson at once determined on what he would do. He went to the door, opened it, and calmly asked what they wanted. “The Jesuit,” was the reply. “Walk in,” said he, “and search for him quietly;” and as they entered, he went out, and made his escape.[144] The escapes of Campion were no less wonderful. He himself wrote, “My dresses are most numerous, my fashions are various, and as for names, I have an abundance.”[145] The government, enraged at being so often baffled, had recourse, we are sorry to say, to persecution. Thousands of citizens were thrown into prison for nonconformity, or on mere suspicion. Domiciliary visits frequently disturbed even the inoffensive and peaceful Papists, whilst the Jesuit authors of all these disturbances and miseries laughed at the abortive attempts of their enemies to capture them. At last, in July 1581, Elliot, a Papist, betrayed Campion. He was arrested along with two other priests, in a secret closet in a wall of the castle of Yates. They mounted him on the largest horse that could be got, tied his legs under it, pinioned his hands behind his back, and fixed a placard on his hat with this inscription, in great capitals, “Campion, the seditious Jesuit.” He was brought to London, surrounded by a great multitude, vociferating imprecations and curses upon his head. The shouts of jubilee among the Protestants throughout England were deafening, and many a sincere person rejoiced at it, as if by this capture the kingdom was rescued from imminent danger and certain destruction.