The Seventh Book: 1662-1663

The Seventh Book: 1662-1663

1662.

Having now left America, and being returned to England, let us go and see the state of persecution at London, where desperate fury now raged; though it was not in that chief city alone the Quakers, so called, were most grievously persecuted: for a little before this time there was published in print a short relation of the persecution throughout all England, signed by twelve persons, showing that more than four thousand and two hundred of those called Quakers, both men and women, were in prison in England; and denoting the number of them that were imprisoned in each county, either for frequenting meetings, or for denying to swear, &c. Many of these had been grievously beaten, or their clothes torn or taken away from them; and some were put into such stinking dungeons, that some great men said, they would not have put their hunting dogs there. Some persons were crowded full both of men and women, so that there was not sufficient room for all to sit down at once; and in Cheshire sixty-eight persons were in this manner locked up in a small room; an evident sign that they were a harmless people, that would not make any resistance, or use force. By such ill-treatment many grew sick, and not a few died in such jails; for no age or sex was regarded, but even ancient people of sixty, seventy, and more years of age, were not spared: and the most of these being tradesmen, shopkeepers, and husbandmen, were thus reduced to poverty; for their goods were also seized, for not going to church, (so called,) or for not paying tithes. Many times they were fain to lie in prison on cold nasty ground, without being suffered to have any straw; and often they have been kept several days without victuals: no wonder therefore that many died by such hard imprisonments as these.

At London, and in the suburbs, were about this time no less than five hundred of those called Quakers, imprisoned, and some in such narrow holes, that every person scarcely had convenience to lie down; and the felons were suffered to rob them of their clothes and money. Many that were not imprisoned, nevertheless suffered hardships in their religious meetings, especially that in London, known by the name of Bull and Mouth. Here the trained bands came frequently, armed generally with muskets, pikes, and halberds, and conducted by a military officer, by order of the city magistracy; and rushing in, in a very furious manner, fell to beating them, whereby many were grievously wounded, some fell down in a swoon, and some were beaten so violently, that they lived not long after it. Among these was one John Trowel, who was so bruised and crushed, that a few days after he died. His friends therefore thought it expedient to carry the corpse into the aforesaid meeting-place, that it might lie there exposed for some hours, to be seen of every one. This being done, raised commiseration and pity among many of the inhabitants; for the corpse, beaten like a jelly, looked black, and was swoln in a direful manner. This gave occasions to send for the coroner, and he being come, empannelled a jury of the neighbours, and gave them in charge, according to his office, to make true inquiry upon their oaths, and to present what they found to be the cause of his death. They viewing the corpse, had a surgeon or two with them, to know their judgment concerning it; and then going together in private, at length they withdrew without giving in their verdict, only desiring the friends to bury the corpse, which was done accordingly that evening. And though the coroner and jury met divers times together upon that occasion, and had many consultations, yet they never would give in a verdict; but it appeared sufficiently, that the man was killed by violent beating. The reasons some gave for the suspense of a verdict were, that though it was testified that the same person, now dead, was seen beaten and knocked down; yet it being done in such a confused crowd, no particular man could be fixed upon, so that any could say, that man did the deed. And if a verdict was given that the deceased person was killed, and yet no particular person charged with it, then the city was liable to a great fine at the pleasure of the king, for conniving at such a murder in the city in the day-time, not committed in a corner, but in a public place, and not apprehending the murderer, but suffering him to escape. In the meanwhile the friends of the deceased were not wanting to give public notice of the fact, and sent also a letter to the lord mayor, which afterwards they gave out in print, together with a relation of this bloody business. In this letter it was said, ‘It may be supposed thou hast heard of this thing, for it was done not in the night, but at the midtime of the day; not suddenly, at unawares, or by mishap, but intendedly, and a long space of time a doing; and not in a corner, but in the streets of the city of London; all which circumstances do highly aggravate this murder, to the very shame and infamy of this famous city, and its government.’

A certain person who spread some of these printed relations, was imprisoned for his pains; nevertheless another brought one of them to the king, and told him how the thing had been done; at which the king said, ‘I assure you it was not by my advice that any of your friends should be slain: ye must tell the magistrates of the city of it, and prosecute the law against them.’ This saying of the king was not long after also published in print: but violence prevailed still; for the person that was apprehended for spreading the said books, was sent to prison, by the special order of Alderman Brown, of whom, since mention may be made several times in this work, it gives me occasion to say something of what kind of man he was.

In the time of Cromwell he had been very fierce against the royalists, especially at Abingdon, not far from Oxford; for this error he endeavoured now to make compensation by violently persecuting the harmless Quakers; otherwise he was a comely man, and could commit cruelty with a smiling countenance. But more of his actions may be represented hereafter.

The Quakers, so called, seeing that they could not obtain justice, let the matter of the murdered persons alone; for suffering was now their portion, and therefore they left their cause to God. Oftentimes they were kept out of their meeting-houses by the soldiers; but then they did not use to go away, but stood before the place, and so their number soon increased; and then one or other of their ministers generally stepped upon a bench, or some high place, and so preached boldly. Thus he got sometimes more hearers than otherwise he might have had. But such an one sometimes was soon pulled down, which then gave occasion for another to stand up and preach, and thus often four or five one after another, were taken away, as innocent sheep, and carried to prison with others of their friends, it may be forty or fifty at once. This puts me in mind of what I heard my mother Judith Zinspenning say, who in the year next following being gone for England, with William Caton and his wife, who lived at Amsterdam, to visit her friends there, and coming to London, went with others to the Bull and Mouth meeting; but entrance being denied, they stayed in the street, where she saw one preacher after another pulled down, at the instant cry of some officer or other, ‘Constable, take him away.’ Several being thus led away, the constable came also to her, and perceiving by her dress that she was a Dutch woman, pulled her by the sleeve, and said with admiration, ‘What a Dutch Quaker!’ but meddled no further with her. This keeping of meetings in the streets became now a customary thing in England; for the Quakers, so called, were persuaded that the exercise of their public worship was a duty no man could discharge them from, and they believed that God required the performing of this service from their hands. And by this meeting in the streets, it happened sometimes that more than one, nay, it may be three or four at a time, did preach, one in one place, and another in another, which in their meeting places could not have been done conveniently. But thus they got abundance of auditors, and among these sometimes eminent men, who passing by in their coaches, made their coachmen stop. At this rate they found there was a great harvest, and thus their church increased under sufferings; and in those sharp times they were pretty well purified of dross, since the trial was too hot for such as were not sincere: for by frequenting their meetings in such a time, one was in danger of being imprisoned, or beaten lame, or unto death; but this could not quench the zeal of the upright.

Now the taking away of one preacher, and the standing up of another, became an ordinary thing in England, and it lasted yet long after, as I myself have been an eye-witness of there. And when there were no more men preachers present, it may be a woman would rise, and minister to the meeting; nay, there were such, who in years being little more than boys, were endued with a manly zeal, and encouraged their friends to steadfastness. In the meanwhile many also were imprisoned, without being hauled out of their meetings; for some have been apprehended for speaking only something on the behalf of their friends; as Rebecca Travers, who, going to the lieutenant of the Tower, desired him to have compassion on some who were imprisoned for frequenting of meetings. But he grew angry at this; and when she went away, one of the keepers gave her ill language: on which she exhorting him, to be good in his place, whilst it was the Lord’s will he had it, he was so offended, that going back to the lieutenant, he complained that she had spoken treason, and thereupon she was apprehended, and sent to prison. Nay, the rude soldiers were encouraged to cruelty by officers who were not a whit better, for they themselves would sometimes lay violent hands on peaceable people; as amongst the rest of the aforementioned, alderman Richard Brown, who formerly had been a major-general under Cromwell, and now behaved himself with such outrageous fierceness, that even the comedians did not stick to expose him, by an allusion to his name Brown, and saying, ‘The devil was brown.’

A book was also printed, wherein many base abuses, and also his furious behaviour were exposed to public view; and this book was dedicated to him with this small epistle:

‘Richard Brown,

‘If thou art not sealed up already for destruction, and if repentance be not utterly hid from thy eyes, the Lord convert thee, and forgive thee all thy hard and cruel dealings towards us: we desire thy repentance rather than thy destruction; and the Lord God of heaven and earth give judgment of final determination between thee and us, that all the earth may know whether thy cause against us, or our cause be just before him, who only is the righteous judge.’

The said book, though published without the author’s name, yet one of them was not only sent to Brown, but as a sign that the Quakers, so called, owned it, others were, by about thirty of them, delivered to the lord mayor, and the sheriffs of London, that so they might know what was acted under their authority; for some, though not authorized, yet being favourites at court, made bold to act against the Quakers whatever their malice prompted them to. Among these was one Philip Miller, who, though not an officer, yet in the month called May of this year, came into a meeting of the said people, in John’s street, in the parish of Sepulchres, at London, without any order or warrant, and having a cane in his hand, commanded the rabble who attended him to secure whom he pleased; and then he fetched a constable, whom he forced by his threats to go along with him, and five persons he apprehended, among whom was John Crook, of whom further mention is like to be made again. Some days after, this Miller came to the said meeting place again, and struck several persons with his cane, because they would not depart at his command; and then he charged the constables, whom he brought along with him, to secure and take into custody whom he pleased.

About the latter end of the aforesaid month, on a First-day of the week, one captain Reeves, and some soldiers with muskets and drawn swords, came violently rushing into the Bull and Mouth meeting, where they pulled down him that was preaching, and presently laid hold of another, who desired Reeves to show his order for this his doing: to which he answered, he would not in that place; but it appeared afterwards that he could not, as having no warrant. Yet he caused his soldiers to take away about forty persons, (some of whom were not at the meeting, but had been taken up in the streets,) and have them into Paul’s yard, where they were kept till the public worship was ended there; and then alderman Richard Brown came into the place where the prisoners were guarded, and with great rage and fury laid hands first on a very aged person, and pulled him down twice by the brim of his hat, whereby he lost it. Then he served another in like manner, and a soldier struck this person a great blow with a pistol on his bare head: two others Brown used in the like manner, and then he sent them all to Newgate, guarded by soldiers.

The same day some soldiers came to a meeting in Tower street, and without any warrant, took away twenty-one persons, called Quakers, and carried them to the Exchange, where they kept them some time, and then brought them before the said Richard Brown, who in a most furious manner struck some, and kicked others; which made one of the prisoners, seeing how Brown smote one with his fist on the face, and kicked him on the shin, say, ‘What Richard, wilt thou turn murderer? Thou didst not do so when I was a soldier under thy command at Abingdon, and thou commandedst me with others, to search people’s houses for pies and roast meat, because they kept Christmas as a holy time; and we brought the persons prisoners to the guard, for observing the same.’ For such a precise man the said Brown was at that time, that he pretended to root out that superstitious custom; though there is reason to question, whether his heart were sincere in this respect: however, such blind zeal was unfit to convince people of superstition; and Brown well knowing that by his former carriage, he had very much disobliged those of the church of England, endeavoured now to make amends for it, by his fierce brutality against the harmless Quakers, and so to come into favour with the ecclesiastics and courtiers. One of Brown’s family having heard what was said to him, replied, ‘There is an Abingdon bird.’ To which Brown, returned, ‘He is a rogue for all that,’ and struck him with his fist under the chin; which made another prisoner say, ‘What, a magistrate and strike!’ Upon which Brown with both his hands pulled him down to the ground by the brim of his hat, and then commanded the soldiers to take them all away, and carry them to Newgate.

Upon a First-day of the week, in the month called June, a company of soldiers came into the Bull and Mouth meeting, with pikes, drawn swords, muskets, and lighted matches, as if they were going to fight; though they knew well enough they should find none there but harmless people. The first thing they did was to pull down him that preached, whom they hauled out of the meeting, rejoicing as if they had obtained some great victory: then they brought him to the main guard at Paul’s, and returned to the Bull and Mouth, where they apprehended some more, whom they also carried to Paul’s. After some hours, these prisoners were carried to the house of the fore-mentioned Brown, and he, asking the names of the prisoners, and hearing that of John Perrot, said, ‘What, you have been at Rome to subvert,’ but recalling himself, said, ‘to convert the Pope.’ On which Perrot told him, ‘He had suffered at Rome for the testimony of Jesus.’ Whereupon Brown returned, ‘If you had converted the Pope to your religion, I should have liked him far worse than I do now.’ To which Perrot replied, ‘But God would have liked him better.’ After some more short discourse, Brown committed them all to Newgate.

After this manner, the meetings of those called Quakers were disturbed at that time, of which I could produce, if necessary, many more instances. Once, one Cox, a wine-cooper, came with some soldiers into a meeting, where, after great violence used, they took up two men of those called Quakers, whom they beat most grievously, because they refused to go along with them, though they showed no warrant for it. At length the soldiers carried them both upon muskets into Paul’s yard, and when they laid them down, they dragged one of them by the heels on his back, in a very barbarous manner; which being done, the said wine-cooper was heard to say, he would go and get a cup of sack, for these devils had even wearied him out: and yet he went to another meeting-place of these people, where he also behaved himself very wickedly; and being asked for his order, his answer was holding out his sword, this is my order. Thus it seems he would ingratiate himself with Brown, who now being in favour at court, was knighted, and sometime after also chosen lord mayor of London; and by his furious behaviour, the soldiers were also encouraged to commit all manner of mischief; insomuch, that being asked, what order they had for their doings, one lifting up his musket, said, ‘This is my order:’ so that things now were carried by a club-law. Nor did the soldiers respect age, but took away out of a meeting at Mile-end, two boys, one about thirteen and the other about sixteen; and they were brought before the lieutenant of the Tower, who to one present, saying, he supposed they were not of the age of sixteen years, and then not punishable by the act, returned, they were old enough to be whipped; and they should be whipped out of their religion. And so he sent them to Bridewell, where their hands were put into the stocks, and so pinched for the space of two hours, that their wrists were much swoln; and this was done because they refused to work, as being persuaded that they had not deserved to be treated so; they also eating nothing at the charge of the said workhouse. These lads, though pretty long in that prison, yet continued steadfast, rejoicing they were counted worthy to suffer for the name of the Lord: and they wrote a letter to their friends’ children, exhorting them to be faithful in bearing their testimony for the Lord, against all wickedness and unrighteousness.

Some days before this time, Thomas and John Herbert, living in London, and other musketeers, came with their naked swords into some private dwellings, and broke two or three doors; (for when some persons were seen to enter a house, though it was only to visit their friends, it was called a meeting.) Now it happened in one house, these rude fellows found five persons together, one of whom was William Ames, who was come thither out of Holland, and another was Samuel Fisher: and when it was demanded what warrant they had, they held up their swords, and said, ‘Do not ask us for a warrant; this is our warrant.’ And thereupon they took away these persons by force, and carried them to Paul’s yard, where they were a laughing-stock to the soldiers; and from thence they were brought to the Exchange, where they met with no better reception from the rude soldiers; and from thence they were conducted to alderman Brown’s house in Ivy-lane. He seeing these prisoners, sent them to Bridewell with a mittimus, to be kept at hard labour. But afterwards bethinking himself, and finding that his mittimus was not founded on justice, (for these persons were not taken from a meeting,) next morning he sent another mittimus, wherein they were charged with unlawful assembling themselves to worship. Now, suppose one of the musketeers had heard any of these persons speak by way of exhortation to faithfulness in this hot time of persecution, this would have been taken for a sufficient charge, though not cognizable by law: but they ran upon shifts, how poor or silly soever.

Thus these persons were committed to Bridewell, and required to beat hemp; and they were treated so severely, that W. Ames grew sick, even nigh to death, wherefore he was discharged; for in a sense it might be said, that his dwelling-place was at Amsterdam in Holland, since he was there the most part of the time for some years successively, and that he might not be chargeable, he worked at wool-combing; and it being alleged that he was of Amsterdam, it seems they would not have him die in prison, as some of his friends had done. The others having been six weeks in Bridewell, were presented at the sessions in the Old Bailey: but instead of being tried for what was charged against them, they were required to take the oath of allegiance, as the only business, (according to what the deputy recorder said,) they were brought thither for. The prisoners then demanded, that the law might be read, by virtue of which the said oath was required of them. This was promised by the court to be done; but instead thereof, they ordered the clerk to read only the form of the oath, but would not permit the law for imposing it to be read. But before the prisoners had either declared their willingness to take it, or their refusal of it, they were commanded to be taken away; which the officers did with such violence, that they threw some of them down upon stones. This made Samuel Fisher say, ‘Take notice people, that we have not yet refused to take the oath; but the court refuseth to perform their promise which they made but just now before you all, that this statute for it should be read: if such doings as this ever prosper, it must be when there is no God.’ But this was not regarded; and the prisoners, without any justice were sent to Newgate. Among these, was also one John Howel, who had been sent by alderman Brown to work at Bridewell, because he being brought before him, did not tell on a sudden what was his name: and being demanded in the court why he did not tell his name, he answered, because he had been beaten and abused in the presence of Richard Brown, when he was brought before him. Brown, who was also on the bench, asked him roughly, ‘Wherein were you abused?’ And Howel replied, ‘Blood was drawn on me in thy presence; which ought not to be done in the presence of a justice of peace.’ But Brown growing very impetuous, returned, ‘Hold your prating, or there shall be as much done again here in the presence of the court.’

About midsummer, Daniel Baker returned into England, (who, as hath been related, had been at Malta,) and about a fortnight after his arrival, he, with four others, were taken by a band of soldiers from the Bull and Mouth meeting, and carried to Paul’s yard, where having been kept for some hours, they were brought to Newgate; but in the evening they were had before alderman Brown, to whom Baker with meekness said, ‘Let the fear of God and his peace be set up in thy heart.’ But Brown fell a laughing, and said, ‘I would rather hear a dog bark;’ and using more such scoffing expressions, he charged Baker, &c. with the breach of the king’s law in meeting together. To which Baker said, ‘The servants of God in the apostles’ days, were commanded to speak no more in the name of Jesus; and they answered, and so do I too, whether it be better to obey God than men, judge ye.’ He also instanced the case of the three children at Babylon, and Daniel who obeyed not the king’s decrees. But Brown grew so angry, that he commanded his men to smite Daniel on the face. This they did, and pulling him four or five times to the ground, they smote him with their fists, and wrung his neck so, as if they would have murdered him. This these fellows did to please Brown, showing themselves to be ready for any service, how abominable soever. And Baker reflecting on his travels, signified, that even Turks and heathens would abhor such brutish actions. His fellow-prisoners were also abused by Brown, and then sent to Newgate again. And after some days, they were called to the sessions, where their indictment was read, which like others in such cases, did generally run in these terms: that the prisoners, under pretence of performing religious worship, otherwise than by the laws of the kingdom of England established, unlawfully and tumultuously did gather and assemble themselves together, to the great terror of his majesty’s people, and to the disturbance of the peace of the king, in contempt of our said lord the king, and his laws, to the evil example of all others in the like case offending, &c. The indictment being read, no witness appeared against the prisoners, save Brown, who sat on the bench: and therefore the oath, as the ordinary snare, was tendered to them; for it was sufficiently known, that their profession did not suffer them to take any oath. They denying to swear, were sent back to prison, to stay there until they should have taken the oath.

If I would here set down all such like cases as have happened, I might find more work than I should be able to perform: for this vexing with the oath was become so common, that some have been taken up in the streets, and brought to a justice of the peace, that he might tender the oath to them, and in case of denial, send them to prison, though this was directly contrary to the statute of Magna Charta, which expressly saith, ‘No freeman shall be taken or imprisoned, or be disseised of his freehold or liberties, but by the law of the land.’ But this was not regarded by Richard Brown, who did whatever he would; for force and violence were now predominant: and sometimes when the prisoners were brought to the bar, for frequenting meetings, freedom was denied to them to justify themselves; but to be hectored and baffled was their lot.

Once it happened, that a prisoner, who had been a soldier formerly under Brown, seeing that no justice or equity was observed, called to him, saying, ‘That he was not fit to sit on the bench; for he made the son to hang the father at Abingdon; so that he could prove him to be a murderer.’ This bold saying caused some disturbance in the court, and Brown, how heavy soever the charge was, did not deny the thing in court, nor clear himself from it: yet the other Quaker prisoners did not approve this upbraiding, but signified, that though the fact were true, yet they were not for reproaching any magistrate upon the bench, whose place and office they did respect and honour. But I do not find that Brown, (on that account,) ever prosecuted him that spoke so boldly, although otherwise he did whatever he would, without fearing that his fellow-magistrates, (who respected him that was a favourite at court,) would disclaim it, as may appear by this following instance.

A certain person who had been in a very violent and abusive manner taken to prison by the soldiers out of a meeting, because he was not willing to go, said in the court, that his refusing to go, was because they would not show him any warrant for their apprehending him: since for aught he knew, they might be robbers or murderers, with whom he was not bound to go. But Brown, who was for violence, said to this, if they had dragged him through all the kennels in the street, they had served him right, if he would not go. This he spoke in such a furious manner, that one of the prisoners told him, ‘Thou hast had many warnings and visitations in the love of God, but hast slighted them; therefore beware of being sealed up in the wrath of God.’ Hereupon one of the jailers came with his cane and struck several of the prisoners so hard, that divers of them were much bruised; and it was reported by some, that Brown cried knock him down, though others, (for mitigating it a little,) would have it, pull him down. But the former seems most probable: for the blows were so violent, that some of the spectators cried out, murder! murder! and asked, ‘Will ye suffer men to be murdered in the court?’ Whereupon one of the sheriffs in person came down from his seat to stop the beating. But Brown was so desperately filled with anger, that he said to the prisoners, ‘If any of you be killed, your blood shall be upon your own head:’ and the hangman standing by with his gag in his hand, threatened the prisoners to gag any of them that should speak any thing. Thus innocence was forced to give way to violence. And once, when one at the common juridical question, guilty, or not guilty, answered, I deny I am guilty, and I can say I am not guilty; and also in Latin, non reus sum. Yet he was sentenced as mute, and fined accordingly, though the words he spoke, fully signified not guilty, albeit he had not expressed them in the same terms. But now they were for crossing the Quakers in every respect.

I will yet mention some more instances of Brown’s brutality, before I leave him. Another being demanded to answer to his indictment, guilty, or not guilty, and not presently answering, but thinking a little what to speak safely, Brown scoffingly said, ‘We shall have a revelation by and by.’ To which the prisoner said, ‘How long will ye oppose the innocent? How long will ye persecute the righteous seed of God?’ But whilst he was speaking, Brown indecently began to cry in the language of those wenches that go crying up and down the streets, ‘Aha, aha! Will you have any Wellfleet oysters?’ And, ‘have you any kitchen-stuff, maids?’ And when a prisoner at the bar said he could not for conscience-sake forbear meeting among the people of God, Brown scurrilously returned, ‘Conscience,--a dog’s tail.’ And when alderman Adams speaking to one of the prisoners said, ‘I am sorry to see you here.’ ‘Sorry!’ said Brown, ‘What should you be sorry for?’ ‘Yes,’ said Adams, ‘He is a sober man.’ But Brown, who could not endure to hear this, replied, that there never was a sober man amongst them, meaning the Quakers. The spectators, who took much notice of him, discommended this his carriage exceedingly. But he seemed to be quite hardened; for at a certain time two persons being upon their trial for robbing of a house, he told them, they were the veriest rogues in England, except it were the Quakers.

Sometimes it happened that the prisoners were brought to the bar without being indicted; and when they said, ‘What have we done?’ and desired justice; Brown, having no indictment against them, often cried, ‘Will you take the oath?’ And they then saying, ‘that for conscience-sake they could not swear,’ were condemned as transgressors, though such proceedings as these were directly against the law. But this seemed at that time little to be regarded.

However, sometime before, it happened at Thetford in the county of Norfolk, that judge Windham, at that time showing himself just in the like case, sharply reproved the justices upon the bench, for having not only committed some persons to prison, but also had them up to the bar, when no accuser appeared against them. But Richard Brown did whatever he would, and showed himself most furiously wicked, when any prisoner was brought before him with his hat on.

One John Brain, being taken in the street, and not in any meeting, was brought by some soldiers before Brown; who, seeing him with his hat on, ordered him to be pulled down to the ground six or seven times, and when he was down, they beat his head against the ground, and stamped upon him; and Brown, like a madman, bade them pull off his nose; whereupon they very violently pulled him by the nose. And when he was got up, they pulled him to the ground by the hair of his head, and then by the hair pulled him up again. And when he would have spoken in his own behalf against this cruelty, Brown bade them stop his mouth. Whereupon they not only struck him on the mouth, but stopped his mouth and nose also so close, that he could not draw breath, and was like to be choaked: at which actions Brown fell a laughing, and at length sent him to jail.

Thomas Spire, being brought before Brown, he commanded his hat to be taken off; and because it was not done with such violence as he intended, he caused it to be put upon his head again, saying, ‘It should not be pulled off so easily.’ Then he was pulled down to the ground by his hat, and pulled up again by his hair. William Hill being brought before him, he commanded his hat to be pulled off, so that his head might be bowed down: whereupon he being pulled to the ground, was plucked up again by the hair of his head. George Ableson was thus pulled five times one after another to the ground, and plucked up by his hair, and so beaten on his face, or the sides of his head, that he staggered, and bled, and for some days was under much pain.

Nicholas Blithold being brought before Brown, he took his hat with both his hands, endeavouring to pull him down to the ground; and because he fell not quite to the ground forwards, he pushed him, to throw him backwards; and then he gave him a kick on the leg, and thrust him out of doors. Thomas Lacy being brought before him, he himself gave him a blow on the face; and Isaac Merrit, John Cook, Arthur Baker, and others, were not treated much better; so that he seemed more fit to have been hangman, than an alderman, or justice. But I grow weary of mentioning more instances of his cruelty. These his abominable achievements were published in print, more at large than I have mentioned them: and the book, as hath been said already, was dedicated to him. And yet I do not find any have been prosecuted on that account; though his wickedness was extravagant, and such as if he wanted to have stakes erected at Smithfield to vend his wood; being by trade a woodmonger.

In this hot time of persecution, Francis Howgill wrote, and gave forth the following paper for encouragement of his friends.

‘The cogitations of my heart have been many, deep, and ponderous some months, weeks, and days, concerning this people which the Lord hath raised to bear testimony unto his name, in this the day of his power; and intercession hath been made often for them to the Lord, and a patient waiting to know his mind concerning them for the time to come; which often I received satisfaction in as to myself, but yet something I was drawn by the Lord to wait for, that I might comfort and strengthen his flock by an assured testimony. And while I was waiting out of all visible things, and quite out of the world in my spirit, and my heart upon nothing but the living God, the Lord opened the springs of the great deep, and overflowed my whole heart with light and love; and my eyes were as a fountain because of tears of joy, because of his heritage, of whom he showed me, and said unto me in a full, fresh, living power, and a holy, full testimony, so that my heart was ravished there with joy unspeakable, and I was out of the body with God in his heavenly paradise, where I saw and felt things unutterable, and beyond all demonstration or speech. At last the life closed with my understanding, and my spirit listened unto him; and the everlasting God said, “Shall I hide any thing from them that seek my face in righteousness? Nay, I will manifest it to them that fear me; I will speak, do thou listen, and publish it among all my people, that they may be comforted, and thou satisfied.” And thus said the living God of heaven and earth, upon the 28th of the Third month, 1662.

‘The sun shall leave its shining brightness, and cease to give light to the world; and the moon shall be altogether darkness, and give no light unto the night; the stars shall cease to know their office or place; my covenant with day, night, times, and seasons, shall sooner come to an end, than the covenant I have made with this people, into which they are entered with me, shall end, or be broken. Yea, though the powers of darkness and hell combine against them, and the jaws of death open its mouth, yet I will deliver them, and lead them through all. I will confound their enemies as I did in Jacob, and scatter them as I did in Israel in the days of old. I will take their enemies, I will hurl them hither and thither, as stones hurled in a sling; and the memorial of this nation, which is holy unto me, shall never be rooted out, but shall live through ages, as a cloud of witnesses, in generations to come. I have brought them to the birth, yea, I have brought them forth; I have swaddled them, and they are mine. I will nourish them, and carry them, as on eagles’ wings; and though clouds gather against them, I will make my way through them; though darkness gather together on a heap, and tempests gender, I will scatter them as with an east wind; and nations shall know they are my inheritance, and they shall know I am the living God, who will plead their cause with all that rise up in opposition against them.

‘These words are holy, faithful, eternal, good, and true; blessed are they that hear and believe unto the end: and because of them no strength was left in me for a while; but at last my heart was filled with joy, even as when the ark of God was brought from the house of Obed-Edom, when David danced before it, and Israel shouted for joy.

FRANCIS HOWGILL.’

That this writing of F. Howgill, who was a pious man, of great parts, together with many other powerful exhortations of such who valiantly went before, and never left the oppressed flock, tended exceedingly to their encouragement in this hot time of persecution, is certain. For how furious soever their enemies were, yet they continued faithful in supplications and fervent prayers to God, that he might be pleased to assist them in their upright zeal, who aimed at nothing for self, but from a true fear and reverence before him, durst not omit their religious assemblies. And they found that the Lord heard their prayers, insomuch that I remember to have heard one say, that at a meeting where they seemed to be in danger of death from their fierce persecutors, he was as it were ravished, so that he hardly knew whether he was in or out of the body. They then persevering thus in faithfulness, to what they believed the Lord required of them, in process of time, when their enemies had taken such measures, that they were persuaded they had found out such means, by which they should suppress and extinguish the Quakers, they saw the Lord God Almighty rose up in their defence, and quashed and confounded the wicked devices of their cruel persecutors, as will be seen in the course of this history.

In the meanwhile let us take a view of the persecution in Southwark. Here the Quakers’ meetings were no less disturbed than in London. Several persons having been taken from their religious meetings, were committed; and after having been in White-lion prison about nine weeks, were brought to the bar, where Richard Onslow sat judge of the sessions. The indictment drawn up against them was as followeth.

‘The jurors for our lord the king do present upon their oath, that Arthur Fisher, late of the parish of St. Olave, in the borough of Southwark, in the county of Surry, yeoman; Nathaniel Robinson, of the same, yeoman; John Chandler, of the same, yeoman; and others, being wicked, dangerous, and seditious sectaries, and disloyal persons, and above the age of sixteen years, who on the 29th day of June, in the year of the reign of our lord Charles the Second, by the grace of God, king of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, &c. the fourteenth, have obstinately refused, and every one of them hath obstinately refused, to repair unto some church, chapel, or usual place of common prayer, according to the laws and statutes of this kingdom of England, in the like case set forth and provided, (after forty days next after the end of the session of parliament, begun and holden at Westminster, on the 29th day of February, in the year of our lady Elizabeth, late queen of England, the thirty-fifth, and there continued until the dissolution of the same, being the tenth day of April, in the 35th year abovesaid.) To wit, on the 3d day of August, in the year of the reign of the said Charles, King of England, the fourteenth abovesaid, in the parish of St. Olave aforesaid, in the borough of Southwark aforesaid, in the county aforesaid, of themselves, did voluntarily and unlawfully join in, and were present at an unlawful assembly, conventicle, and meeting, at the said parish of St. Olave, in the county aforesaid, under colour and pretence of the exercise of religion, against the laws and statutes of this kingdom of England, in contempt of our said lord the king that now is, his laws, and to the evil and dangerous example of all others in the like case offending against the peace of our said lord the king that now is, his crown and dignity, and contrary to the form of the statute in this same case set forth and provided.’

I have inserted this indictment, that the reader may see not only the manner of proceeding, but also with what black and heinous colours the religious meetings of those called Quakers, were represented. This indictment being read, the prisoners desired that they might be tried by the late act of parliament against conventicles. But it was answered, they might try them by what they would that was in force. Then the prisoners desired that the statute, (viz. the 35th of Elizabeth,) might be read. This was done but in part, and it was said to the clerk, it was enough. The prisoners said then, that that act was made in the time of ignorance, when the people were but newly stept out of popery; and they showed also how unjustly they were dealt with. Then being required to plead guilty, or not guilty, to the indictment, some who were not very forward to answer, were hauled out of the court, as taken pro confessis; and so sent back to prison. The rest, being twenty-two in number, pleaded not guilty. Then the jurymen were called, and when they had excepted against one, the judge would not allow it, because he did not like the reason they gave, viz. that they saw envy, prejudice, and a vain deportment in him. Another was excepted against, because he was heard to say, that he hoped ere long, that the Quakers should be arraigned at the bar, and be banished to some land, where there were nothing but bears. At this the court burst out into a laughter; yet the exception was admitted, and the man put by. The prisoners not thinking it convenient to make more exceptions, the jury were sworn; then two witnesses were called, who testified at most, that in such a place they took such persons met together, whose names were specified in writing. Then the prisoners bid the jury, take heed how they did sport or dally with holy things, and that those things, which concerned the conscience, were holy things. And as a man was not to sport with the health or illness of his neighbour, so he was not to sport with the liberty or the banishment of his neighbour. And whereas they were accused of being wicked, dangerous, and seditious sectaries, that was not true; for they were not wicked, but such as endeavoured to live soberly, righteously, and godly in the world; concerning the truth of which, they appealed to themselves. Neither were they seditious, but peaceable. And whereas they were charged for not coming to hear the common prayer, this was incongruous; for the service book was not quite printed several weeks after the said 29th of June; so that they could not be charged of neglecting to hear that which was not to be heard read any where. This puzzled the court not a little; and other pinching reasons were also given by the prisoners, some of whom were men of learning; insomuch that the judge was not able to answer the objections, but by shifts and evasions. At length the jury went out to consult, and one of them was heard to say, as they were going up stairs, ‘Here is a deal to do indeed, to condemn a company of innocent men.’

After some time, the jury coming again, and being asked whether the prisoners at the bar were guilty or not guilty, they said they were guilty in part, and not guilty in part. But this verdict did not please the judge. The jury then going out again, and prevailing upon one another, quickly returned, and declared the prisoners guilty, according to the form of the indictment. Hereupon the judge Onslow pronounced sentence, viz. That they should return to prison again, and lie there three months without bail; and if they did not make submission according as the law directed, either at or before the end of the aforesaid three months, that then they should abjure the realm: but in case they refused to make abjuration, or after abjuration made, should forbear to depart the realm within the time limited, or should return again without license, they should be proceeded against as felons.

Just before sentence given, the judge said to one of the prisoners, there was a way to escape the penalty, viz. Submission. And being asked, what that was? the judge answered, ‘To come to common prayer, and refrain these meetings.’ The prisoner giving reasons for refusal of both, the judge said, ‘Then you must abjure the land.’ ‘Abjure,’ returned the prisoners, is ‘forswear.’ To which one of the justices said laughingly, ‘And ye cannot swear at all.’ Just as if it were but jest, thus to treat religious men. But they had signified already to the jury, that they must rather die than do so. How long they were kept prisoners, and how released, I could not learn; but this I know, that many in the like cases have been long kept in jail, till sometimes they were set at liberty by the king’s proclamation.

In this year it was the share of John Crook, (who himself once had been a justice,) to be taken out of a meeting at London in John’s street, as hath been said already, by one Miller, though not in office. And he with others was brought to his trial in the said city, before the lord mayor of London, the recorder of the same, the chief justice Forster, and other judges and justices, among whom was also Richard Brown.

Now since J. Crook published this trial in print, and by that we may judge, as ex ungue leonem, of other trials of the Quakers, I will give it here at large.

J. Crook being brought to the sessions house in the Old Bailey, with two of his friends, viz. Isaac Gray, doctor of physic, and John Bolton goldsmith: one of the prisoners was called to the bar, and then asked by the

Chief Judge. What meeting was that you were at?

Prisoner. I desire to be heard, where is my accuser?

Ch. Judge. Your tongue is not your own, and you must not have liberty to speak what you list.

Pris. I speak in the presence and fear of the everlasting God, that my tongue is not my own, for it is the Lord’s, and to be disposed of according to his pleasure, and not to speak my own words; and therefore I desire to be heard: I have been so long in prison----then he was interrupted by the judge.

Judge. Leave your canting; and commanded him to be taken away, which he was accordingly, by the jailer. This was the substance of what the prisoner aforesaid spoke the first time.

C. Judge. Call John Crook to the bar; which the crier did accordingly, he being amongst the felons as aforesaid.

J. C. being brought to the bar:

C. Judge. When did you take the oath of allegiance?

J. C. I desire to be heard.

C. Judge. Answer to the question, and you shall be heard.

J. C. I have been about six weeks in prison, and am I now called to accuse myself? For the answering to this question in the negative, is to accuse myself, which you ought not to put me upon; for, Nemo debet seipsum prodere.[23] I am an Englishman, and by the law of England I ought not to be taken, nor imprisoned, nor disseized of my freehold, nor called in question, nor put to answer, but according to the law of the land; which I challenge as my birthright, on my own behalf, and all that hear me this day; (or words to this purpose.) I stand here at this bar as a delinquent, and do desire that my accuser may be brought forth to accuse me for my delinquency, and then I shall answer to my charge, if any I be guilty of.

[23] No one ought to betray himself.

C. Judge. You are here demanded to take the oath of allegiance, and when you have done that, then you shall be heard about the other; for we have power to tender it to any man.

J. C. Not to me upon this occasion, in this place; for I am brought hither as an offender already, and not to be made an offender here, or to accuse myself; for I am an Englishman, as I have said to you, and challenge the benefit of the laws of England; for by them is a better inheritance derived to me as an Englishman, than that which I received from my parents: for by the former the latter is preserved; and this is seen in the 29th chapter of Magna Charta, and the petition of right, mentioned in the third of Car. I. and in other good laws of England; and therefore I desire the benefit and observance of them: and you that are judges upon the bench, ought to be my counsel, and not my accusers, but to inform me of the benefit of those laws; and wherein I am ignorant, you ought to inform me, that I may not suffer through my own ignorance of those advantages, which the laws of England afford me as an Englishman.

Reader, I here give thee a brief account of my taking and imprisoning, that thou may the better judge what justice I had from the court aforesaid; which is as followeth.

I being in John’s street, London, about the 13th day of the Third month, (called May,) with some other of the people of God, to wait upon him, as we were sat together, there came in a rude man called Miller, with a long cane in his hand, who laid violent hands upon me, with some others, beating some, and commanding the constables who came in after him, but having no warrant, were not willing to meddle; but as his threatenings prevailed, they, being afraid of him, joined with him to carry several of us before justice Powel, (so called,) who the next day sent us to the sessions, at Hicks’s Hall; where after some discourse several times with them; we manifested to them the illegality both of our commitment, and their proceedings thereupon; yet notwithstanding, they committed me and others, and caused an indictment to be drawn against us, founded upon the late act against Quakers and others; and then remanded us to New Prison, where we continued for some days; and then removed us to Newgate, where we remained until the sessions in the Old Bailey aforesaid: whereby thou mayest understand what justice I met withal, by what went before, and now further follows:

Ch. Judge. We sit here to do justice, and are upon our oaths; and we are to tell you what is law, and not you us: therefore, sirrah, you are too bold.

J. C. Sirrah is not a word becoming a judge: for I am no felon: neither ought you to menace the prisoner at the bar: for I stand here arraigned as for my life and liberty, and the preservation of my wife and children, and outward estate, (they being now at the stake;) therefore you ought to hear me to the full, what I can say in my own defence, according to law, and that in its season, as it is given me to speak: therefore I hope the court will bear with me, if I am bold to assert my liberty, as an Englishman, and as a Christian; and if I speak loud, it is my zeal for the Truth, and for the name of the Lord; and mine innocency makes me bold--

Judge. It is an evil zeal; interrupting John Crook.

J. C. No, I am bold in the name of the Lord God Almighty, the everlasting Jehovah, to assert the Truth, and stand as a witness for it: let my accuser be brought forth, and I am ready to answer any court of justice.

Then the judge interrupted me, saying sirrah, with some other words I do not remember. But I answered, You are not to threaten me, neither are those menaces fit for the mouth of a judge; for the safety of the prisoner depends upon the indifferency of the court: and you ought not to behave yourselves as parties, seeking all advantage against the prisoner, but not heeding any thing that may make for his clearing or advantage. The judge again interrupting me, saying.

Judge. Sirrah, you are to take the oath, and here we tender it you, (bidding, read it.)

J. C. Let me see mine accuser, that I may know for what cause I have been six weeks imprisoned, and do not put me to accuse myself by asking me questions; but either let my accuser come forth, or otherwise let me be discharged by proclamation, as you ought to do--Here I was interrupted again.

Judge Twisden. We take no notice of your being here otherwise than of a straggler, or as any other person, or of the people that are here this day; for we may tender the oath to any man. And another judge spake to the like purpose.

J. C. I am here at your bar as a prisoner restrained of my liberty, and do question whether you ought in justice to tender me the oath on the account I am now brought before you, because I am supposed to be an offender; or else why have I been six weeks in prison already? Let me be cleared of my imprisonment, and then I shall answer to what is charged against me, and to the question now propounded; for I am a lover of justice with all my soul, and am well known by my neighbours, where I lived, to keep a conscience void of offence, both towards God and towards man.

Judge. Sirrah, leave your canting.

J. C. Is this canting, to speak the words of the scripture?

Judge. It is canting in your mouth, though they are Paul’s words.

J. C. I speak the words of the Scripture, and it is not canting, though I speak them; but they are words of truth and soberness in my mouth, they being witnessed by me, and fulfilled in me.

Judge. We do ask you again, whether you will take the oath of allegiance? It is but a short question, you may answer if you will.

J. C. By what law have you power to tender it? Then, after some consultation together by whispering, they called for the statute book, and turning over the leaves, they answered,

Judge. By the third of King James.

J. C. I desire that statute may be read; for I have consulted it, and do not understand that you have power by that statute to tender me the oath, being here before you in this place, upon this occasion, as a delinquent already; and therefore I desire the judgment of the court in this case, and that the statute may be read.

Judge. Then they took the statute-book, and consulted together upon it, and one said, we are the judges of this land, and do better understand our power than you do, and we do judge we may lawfully do it.

J. C. Is this the judgment of the court?

Judge. Yes.

J. C. I desire the statute to be read that empowers you to tender the oath to me upon this occasion in this place; for, Vox audito perit, sed litera scripta manet,[24] therefore let me hear it read.

[24] Words only spoken are lost; writing remains.

Judge. Hear me.

J. C. I am as willing to hear as to speak.

Judge. Then hear me: you are here required to take the oath by the court, and I will inform you what the penalty will be, in case you refuse; for your first denial shall be recorded, and then it shall be tendered to you again at the end of the sessions; and upon the second refusal you run into a premunire, which is the forfeiture of all your estate, (if you have any,) and imprisonment.

J. C. It is justice I stand for; let me have justice, in bringing my accuser face to face, as by law you ought to do, I standing at your bar as a delinquent; and when that is done, I will answer to what can be charged against me, as also to the question; until then, I shall give no other answer than I have already done, at least at present.

Then there was a cry in the court, take him away, which occasioned a great interruption: and J. Crook spake to this purpose, saying, Mind the fear of the Lord God, that you may come to the knowledge of his will, and do justice; and take heed of oppressing the innocent, for the Lord God of heaven and earth will assuredly plead their cause: and for my part, I desire not the hurt of one of the hairs of your heads; but let God’s wisdom guide you. These words he spake at the bar, and as he was carrying away.

On the sixth day of the week, in the forenoon following, the court being sat, John Crook was called to the bar.

C. Judge. Friend Crook, we have given you time to consider of what was said yesterday to you by the court, hoping you may have better considered of it by this time; therefore, without any more words, will you take the oath? And called to the clerk, and bid him read it.

J. C. I did not, neither do I deny allegiance, but do desire to know the cause of my so long imprisonment; for, as I said, I stand at your bar as a delinquent, and am brought hither by force, contrary to the law; therefore, let me see my accuser, or else free me by proclamation, as I ought to be, if none can accuse me; for the law is grounded upon right reason, and whatsoever is contrary to right reason, is contrary to law; and therefore if no accuser appear, you ought to acquit me first, and then I shall answer, as I have said, if any new matter appear; otherwise it is of force, and that our law abhors, and you ought not to take notice of my so being before you; for what is not legally so, is not so; and therefore I am in the condition, as if I were not before you: and therefore it cannot be supposed, in right reason, that you have now power, at this time, and in this place, legally to tender me the oath.

Judge. Read the oath to him; and so the clerk began to read.

J. C. I desire justice, according to the laws of England; for you ought first to convict me, concerning the cause of my so long imprisonment; for you are to proceed according to laws already made, and not to make laws, for you ought to be ministers of the law.

Judge. You are a saucy and an impudent fellow: will you tell us what is law, or our duties? Then said he to the clerk, read on; and when the clerk had done reading,

J. C. said, read the preface to the act; I say again, read the title and preamble to the act; for titles to laws are claves legum, as keys to open the law; for by their titles, laws are understood and known, as men by their faces. Then the judges would have interrupted me, but I said as followeth: if you will not hear me, nor do me justice, I must appeal to the Lord God of heaven and earth, who is judge of quick and dead; before whom we must all appear, to give an account of the deeds done in the body; for he will judge between you and me this day, whether you have done me justice or not.

These words following, (or the like,) I spake as going from the bar, being pulled away, viz. Mind the fear of the Lord God, that you may do justice, lest you perish in his wrath. For sometimes the court cried, pull him away, and then said, bring him again: and thus they did several times, like men in confusion and disorder.

The same day, in the afternoon, silence being made, John Crook, was called to the bar, before the judges and justices aforesaid: the indictment being read, the judge said,

Mr. Crook, You have heard your indictment, what say you? Are you guilty or not guilty?

J. C. I desire to speak a few words in humility and soberness, in regard my estate and liberty lies at stake, and am like to be a precedent for many more; therefore I hope the court will not deny me the right and benefit of the law, as being an Englishman. I have some reason, before I speak any thing to the indictment, to demand and tell you, that I desire to know mine accusers; I have been kept these six weeks in prison, and know not, nor have seen the faces of them.

Judge. We shall afford you the right of the law, as an Englishman. God forbid you should be denied it; but you must answer first, guilty, or not guilty, that so in your trial you may have a fair hearing and pleading; but if you go on as you do, (and will not answer guilty, or not guilty,) you will run yourself into a premunire, and then you lose the benefit of the law, and expose yourself, body and estate, to great hazards; and whatever violence is offered to your person or estate, you are out of the king’s protection, and lose the benefit of the law; and all this by your not answering, (guilty, or not guilty.) If you plead not guilty, you may be heard.

J. C. It is recorded in the statutes of the 28 Edw. 3. & 3. and 42 Edw. 3. & 3. in the words, No man is to be taken, or imprisoned, or be put to answer, without presentment before justices, or matter of record, or by due process, or writ original, according to the old law of the land; and if any thing from henceforth be done to the contrary, it shall be void in law, and holden for error. And also in the 25th of Edw. 1. 2. and the 3 Car. 1. and the 29 cap. Mag. Chart. No freeman shall be taken and imprisoned but by the law of the land: these words, (the law of the land,) are explained by the statute of 37 Edw. 3. 8. to be, without due process of law; and if any judgments are given contrary to Mag. Chart, they are void, 25 Edw. 1. 2.

Judge. Mr. Crook, you are out of the way, and do not understand the law, though you adore the statute law so much, yet you do not understand it.

J. C. I would have you tell me the right way.

Judge. Mr. Crook, hear me: you must say, guilty, or not guilty; if you plead not guilty, you shall be heard, and know how far the law favours you. And the next thing is, there is no circumstance whatsoever that is the cause of your imprisonment, that you question, but you have, as a subject, your remedies, if you will go this way, and waive other things, and answer guilty, or not guilty; and what the law affords you, you shall have, if you do what the law requires you; or else you will lose the benefit of the law, and be out of the king’s protection.

J. C. Observe how the judge would draw me into a snare, viz. By first pleading, (guilty, or not guilty,) and when I have done so, he and his brethren intend suddenly to put me, (as an outlawed person,) out of the king’s protection; and how then can I have remedy for my false imprisonment? Therefore first clear me, (or condemn me,) from my false imprisonment, while I am in a capacity to have the benefit of the law, and not to outlaw me for an offence created by yourselves; and then, to stop my mouth, you tell me, that if I have been wronged, or false imprisoned, I may have my remedy afterwards: this is to trepan me, and contrary to both law and justice, &c.

Judge. You must plead guilty, or not guilty.

J. C. I do desire in humility and meekness to say, I shall not; I dare not betray the honesty of my cause, and the honest ones of this nation, whose liberty I stand for, as well as my own; as I have cause to think I shall, if I plead to the present indictment, before I see the faces of my accusers; for truly, I am not satisfied in my judgment and conscience, that I ought to plead to a created offence by you, before I be first acquitted of the cause of my being brought prisoner to your bar; and therefore it sticks with me to urge this further, viz. That I may see my accusers--Interruption.

Judge. The errantest thief may say, he is not satisfied in his conscience.

J. C. My case is not theirs, yet they have their accusers; and may not I call for mine? And therefore call for them, for you ought to do so: as Christ said to the woman, Woman, where are thine accusers? So you ought to say to me, Man, where are thine accusers?--Interrupted.

Judge. Your indictment is your accuser, and the grand jury have found you guilty, because you did not swear: what say you, Mr. Crook, are you guilty, or not guilty? If you will not answer, or what you have said, be taken for your answer, as I told you before, you lose the benefit of the law; and what I tell you, is for your good.

J. C. What is for good, I hope I shall take it so.

Judge. If you will not answer, you run yourself into a premunire; and you will lose the benefit of the law, and the king’s protection, unless you plead guilty, or not guilty.

J. C. I stand as brought forcibly and violently hither: neither had I been here but by a violent action; and that you should take no notice of it, seems strange to me; and not only so, but that you should hasten me so fast into a course, that I should not be able any ways to help myself, by reason of your hasty and fast proceedings against me, to put me out of the king’s protection, and the benefit of all law: was ever the like known, or heard of, in a court of justice?

Judge. Friend, this is not here in question, whether you are unjustly brought here, or not: do you question that by law, but not disable yourself to take advantage by the law: if brought by a wrong hand, you have a plea against them; but you must first answer guilty, or not guilty.

J. C. How can I help myself when you have outlawed me? Therefore let proclamation be made in the court, that I was brought by force hither, and let me stand cleared by proclamation, as you ought to do; for you are discernere per legem, quid sit justum,[25] and not to do what seems good in your own eyes--here I was interrupted again, but might have spoken justice Crook’s words in Hampden’s case, who said, That we who are judges speak upon our oaths, and therefore must deliver our judgments according to our consciences; and the fault will lie upon us, if it be illegal, and we deliver it for law: and further said, We that are judges must not give our judgments according to policy, or rules of state, nor conveniencies, but only according to law. These were his words, which I might have spoken; but was interrupted.

[25] To determine by law what is just.

Judge. What, though no man tendered the oath to you, when you were committed, (as you say,) it being now tendered to you; from the time you refused it, being tendered to you by a lawful authority, you refusing, are indicted: we look not upon what you are here for, but here finding you, we tender you the oath; and you refusing it, your imprisonment is now just, and according to law. (Something omitted which I spoke afterwards.)

J. C. How came I here, if you know not? I have told you it is by force and violence, which our law altogether condemns; and therefore I not being legally before you, am not before you; for what is not legally so, is not so; and I not being legally brought to your bar, you ought not to take notice of my being here.

Judge. No, no, you are mistaken; so you may say of all the people gazing here, they not being legally here, are not here: I tell you, a man being brought by force hither, we may tender him the oath; and if he take it not, he may be committed to prison; authority hath given us the power, and the statute-law hath given us authority to tender the oath to any person, and so have we tendered it to you; and for your not taking it, you are indicted by the grand jury: answer the accusation, or confute the indictment; you must do the one or the other; answer, guilty, or not guilty.

J. C. Here I was interrupted, but might have said, that the people that were spectators, beholding and hearing the trials, are not to be called gazers, as the judge terms them; because it is their liberty and privilege, as they are Englishmen, and the law of England allows the same; so that they are not to be termed gazers upon this account, but are legally in that place, to hear trials, and see justice done, and might have spoken, (if occasion had been,) any thing in the prisoner’s defence, tending to clear up the matter in difference, and the court must have heard them or him: and this as a stander-by, or amicus curiæ;[26] so saith Cook.

[26] A friend of the court.

J. C. The law is built upon right reason, or right reason is the law; and whatever is contrary to right reason, is contrary to law; the reason of the law, being the law itself. I am no lawyer, and my knowledge of it is but little, yet I have had a love to it for that reason I have found in it, and have spent some leisure hours in the reading thereof; and the law is that which I honour, and is good in its place; many laws being just and good, not all, but, I say, a great part of them, or much of them; and it is not my intention in the least to disparage, or derogate from them.

Judge. Mr. Crook, you have been told, you must plead guilty or not guilty, or else you run yourself into a premunire; be not your own enemy, nor be so obstinate.

J. C. I would not stand obstinately before you, neither am I so; if you understand it otherwise, it is a mistake indeed.

Judge. Will you speak to the indictment, and then you may plead? If you will not answer guilty, or not guilty, we will record it, and judgment shall go against you. Clerk, enter it.

Recorder. Mr. Crook, if you will answer, you may plead for yourself: or will you take the oath? The court takes no notice how you came hither; what say you? Will you answer? For a man may be brought out of Smithfield by head and shoulders, and the oath tendered to him, and may be committed, without taking notice how he came here.

J. C. That kind of proceeding is not only unjust, but unreasonable also--(here was some interruption,) and against the laws aforesaid, which say, No man shall be taken or imprisoned but by warrant, or due process of law: so that this speech of the recorder’s, savours more of passion than justice; and cruelty, than due observance of law; for every forcible restraint of a man’s liberty, is an imprisonment in law. Besides, this kind of practice, to take men by force, and imprison them, and then ask them questions, the answering of which makes them guilty, is not only unrighteous in itself, but against law, and makes one evil act the ground of another; and one injury offered to one, the foundation of another; and this is my case this day--Interruption.

Judge. Mr. Crook you must not be your own judge, we are your judges; but for our parts we will not wrong you: will you answer, guilty or not guilty? If not, you will run yourself into a premunire unavoidably, and then you know what I told you would follow; for we take no notice how you came hither, but finding you here, we tender you the oath.

J. C. Then it seems you make the law a trepan to ensnare me, or as a nose-of-wax, or what you please: well, I shall leave my cause with the Lord God, who will plead for me in righteousness. But suppose I do take the oath (now,) at this time, you may call me again, (to-morrow,) and make a new tender; or others may call me before them.

Judge. Yes, if there be new matter; or if there fall out any emergent occasion whereby you may minister on your part new occasion: Mr. Crook, will you swear?

J. C. If I do take it to-day, it may be tendered me again to-morrow, and so next day, ad infinitum, whereby a great part of my time may be spent and taken up, in taking the oath and swearing.

Ch. Judge. When you have (once) sworn, you may not be put upon it again, except you minister occasion on your part.

J. C. Is this the judgment of the court, that the oath (once) taken by me is sufficient, and ought not to be tendered a second time, without new matter ministered on my part?

Judge. Yes; you making it appear you have (once) taken it.

J. C. Is this the judgment of the whole court? For I would not do any thing rashly.

Judges. Yes, it is the judgment of the court; to which they all standing up, said, Yes.

J. C. Then it seems there must be some new occasion ministered by me after I have (once) taken it, or it ought not to be tendered to me the second time.

Judges. Yes.

J. C. Then by the judgment of this court, if I may make it appear that I have taken the oath (once) and I have ministered no new matter on my part, whereby I can be justly charged with the breach of it, then it ought not to be tendered to me the second time: but I am the man that have taken (once) being a freeman of the city of London, when I was made free; witness the records in Guildhall, which I may produce, and no new matter appearing to you on my part; if there do, let me know it; if not, you ought not, by your own judgment, to tender me it the second time; for de non apparentibus et non existentibus eadem ratio est.[27]--Interrupted by the shout of the court, when these last words might have been spoken.

[27] That which doth not appear, is to be judged of as that which doth not exist.

Judge. Mr. Crook, you are mistaken, you must not think to surprise the court with criticisms, nor draw false conclusions from our judgments.

J. C. If this be not a natural conclusion from the judgment of the court, let right reason judge; and if you recede from your own judgments in the same breath, (as it were,) given even now, what justice can I expect from you? For, if you will not be just to yourselves, and your own judgments, how can I expect you should be just to me?

Judge. Mr. Crook, if you have taken it, if there be a new emergency, you are to take it again; as for instance, the king hath been out of England, and now is come in again; there be many that have taken it twenty, thirty, or forty years since, yet this new emergency requires it again; and although you have taken it, yet you must not make it appear before you answer guilty, or not guilty; therefore do not wrong yourself, and prejudice yourself and family: do you think that every fellow that comes hither, shall argue as you do? We have no more to do, but to know of you, whether you will answer (guilty, or not guilty,) or take the oath, and then you shall be freed from the indictment: if you will not plead, clerk, record it: What say you? Are you guilty, or not guilty?

J. C. Will you not stand to your own judgments? Did you not say, even now, that if I had (once) taken the oath, it ought not to be tendered to me the second time, except I administered new matter on my part that I have not kept it, &c. But no such matter appearing, you ought not to tender it to me the second time, by your own confession, much less to indict me for refusal.

Judge. If you will not plead, we will record it, and judgment shall be given against you; therefore say, guilty, or not guilty, or else we will record it. (The clerk beginning to record it.)

J. C. Before I answer, I demand a copy of my indictment; for I have heard it affirmed by counsel learned in the law, that if I plead before I have a copy, or have made my exceptions, my exceptions afterwards against the indictment will be made void: therefore I desire a copy of the indictment.

Judge. He that said so, deserves not the name of a counsel; for the law is, you must first answer, and then you shall have a copy. Will you plead guilty or not guilty?

J. C. If my pleading guilty, or not guilty, will not deprive me of the benefit of quashing the indictment for insufficiency, or other exceptions that I may make against it, I shall speak to it.

Judge. No, it will not. Will you answer, guilty, or not guilty. If you plead not, the indictment will be found against you: will you answer? We will stay no longer.

J. C. I am upon the point: will not my pleading deprive me of the benefit of the law? For I am tender in that respect, because it is not my own case only, but may be the case of thousands more; therefore I would do nothing that might prejudice others, or myself, as a Christian, or as an Englishman.

Judge. Understand yourself, (but we will not make a bargain with you, said another judge,) you shall have the right done you as an Englishman, the way is to answer, guilty or not guilty: if you plead, and find the indictment not good, you may have your remedy; answer, guilty or not guilty?

J. C. As to the indictment it is very large, and seems to be confused, and made of some things true, and some things false; my answer therefore is, what is true in the indictment I will not deny, because I make conscience of what I say, and therefore, of what is true, I confess myself guilty, but what is false, I am not guilty of.

Judge. That is not sufficient, either answer guilty, or not guilty, or judgment will be given against you.

J. C. I will speak the truth, as before the Lord, as all along I have endeavoured to do: I am not guilty of that which is false, contained in the indictment, which is the substance thereof.

Judge. No more ado; the form is nothing, guilty, or not?

J. C. I must not wrong my conscience, I am not guilty of what is false, as I said before; what is true, I am guilty of; what is not true, I am not guilty of that; which is the substance thereof, as I said before.

Recorder. It is enough, and shall serve turn. Enter that, clerk.

* * * * *

The seventh day of the week, called Saturday.

Silence being made, John Crook was called to the bar. The clerk of the sessions read something concerning the jury, which was impanneled on purpose, (as we said,) the jury being discharged who were eye-witnesses of what passed between us and the court: and this jury, were divers of them soldiers, some of whom did by violence and force pull and haul Friends out of their meetings, and some of us out of our houses; and these were of the jury by whom we were to be tried. The clerk reading the indictment, (as I remember.)

J. C. I desire to be heard a few words, which are these, that we may have liberty till the next quarter sessions to traverse the indictment, it being long and in Latin, and like to be a precedent: and I hope I need not press it; because I understood that you promised, (and especially the recorder, who answered, when it was desired, you shall,) that we should have counsel also, the which we cannot be expected to have had the benefit of as yet, the time being so short, and we kept prisoners, that we could not go forth to advise with counsel, neither could we tell how to get them to us; we having no copy of the indictment before this morning; and because so suddenly hurried down to the sessions, we cannot reasonably be supposed to be provided, (as to matter of law,) to make our defence.

Judge. We have given you time enough, and you shall have no more; for we will try you at this time, therefore swear the jury.

J. C. I desire we may have justice, and that we may not be surprised in our trial, but that we may have time till the next quarter sessions, our indictment being in Latin, and so large as it is; and this is but that which is reasonable, and is the practice of other courts: for, if it be but an action above forty shillings, it is not ordinarily ended under two or three terms. And in the quarter sessions, if one be indicted for a trespass, if it be but to the value of five shillings, he shall have liberty to enter his traverse, and upon security given to prosecute, he shall have liberty till the next sessions, which is the ordinary practice: which liberty we desire, and we hope it is so reasonable, it will not be denied, especially upon this occasion, we being like to be made a precedent: and courts of justice have used to be especially careful in making of precedents; for we are not provided, according to law, to make our defence at this time; and therefore if we be put upon it, it will be a surprisal.

Judge. There is no great matter of law in the case; it is only matter of fact, whether you have refused to take the oath or not; this is the point in issue: and what law can arise here?

Recorder. Mr. Crook, the keeper of the prison was spoken to, to tell you, that we intended to try you this day, and therefore ordered him that counsel might come to you if you would; and also that the clerk should give you a copy of the indictment: this is fair; therefore we will go on to swear the jury, for the matter is, whether you refuse the oath, or not? And that is the single point, and there needs neither law nor counsel in the case; and therefore we considered of it last night, when we sent you word, and did determine to try you; and therefore it is in vain to say any thing, for the court is resolved to try you now; therefore swear the jury, cryer.

J. C. I hope you will not surprise us: then the other prisoners, (who also were indicted,) cried out, (having spoken something before,) let us have justice, and let not the jury be sworn till we be first heard. So there was a great noise, the court being in a confusion, some crying, Take them away; others, Stay, let them alone; others saying, Go on to swear the jury; and the cryer, in this uproar and confusion, did do something as if he had done it: then we all cried out for justice and liberty till the next sessions; the court being in a confusion, some crying one thing, and some another, which now cannot be called to mind, by reason of the great distraction that was in the court; neither what we said to them, nor they to us, the noise was so great, and the commands of the court so various to the officers, some commanding them to take us away; others, to let us alone; others, to bring us nearer; others cried, put them into the bail-dock; others, to put them within the furthest bar where the felons use to stand; which we were forced into accordingly. And in this hurlyburly and confusion that was amongst them, some men were sworn, to testify that we refused to take the oath, which we never positively did; other officers of the court, whom they would have sworn, refused to swear, though pressed to it by the chief justice, they desired to be excused. Then spake one of the prisoners again pretty much, but could hardly be understood, by reason of the noise in the court: but the people, to whom he spake with a loud voice, by way of exhortation, might hear the substance of what he said, which cannot now particularly be called to mind; but it was to express the presence and love of God to himself, and to exhort others to mind his fear, that they also might be acquainted with God, &c.

Judge. Stop his mouth, executioner. Which was accordingly done.

Prisoners. Then we cried out, will you not give us leave to speak for ourselves? We except against some of the jury, as being our enemies, and some of them who by force commanded us to be pulled out of our meetings, contrary to law, and carried us to prison without warrant, or other due process of law; and shall these be our judges? We except against them.

Judge. It is too late now, you should have done it before they had been sworn jurymen. Jury, go together, that which you have to find, is whether they have refused to take the oath, or no, which hath been sworn before you that they did refuse: you need not go from the bar. And like words said the recorder and others, there being a confusion and noise in the court, many speaking together.

Prisoners. Then we cried for justice, and that we might be heard, to make our defence, before the jury gave their verdict; but the judge and recorder said, we should not be heard, (making good by their practice, what the chief judge had said the day before, viz. That if we had liberty to speak, we would make ourselves famous and them odious,) crying again stop their mouths, executioner; which was done accordingly, with a dirty cloth, and also endeavoured to have gagged me, striving to get hold of my tongue, having a gag ready in his hand for that purpose; and so we were served several times. Then I called out with a loud voice, Will you condemn us without hearing? This is to deal worse with us, than Pilate did with Christ, who, though he condemned him without a cause, yet not without hearing him speak for himself; but you deny us both.

Judge. Let Mr. Gray come to the bar. Room being made, he was conveyed to an officer in the inner bar, where he spake to the court to this purpose: I desire to know whether, according to law, and the practice of this court, myself and my fellow prisoners, may have liberty to put in bail, to prosecute our traverse at the next sessions?

Court. No, we will try you presently.

Judge. Stop their mouths, executioner: and this was the cry of many upon the bench, they being still in a continued confusion; some crying to the jury, Give in your verdict, for we will not hear them; with other words which could not be heard for the noise, the court being in confusion.

J. C. You might as well have caused us to have been murdered before we came hither, as to bring us hither under pretence to try us, and not give us leave to make our defence; you had as good take away our lives at the bar, as to command us thus to be abused, and to have our mouths stopped: was ever the like known? Let the righteous God judge between us. Will you hear me? You have often promised that you would.

Judge. Hear me, and we will hear you: then he began to speak, and some others of the bench interrupted him: sometimes they speaking two or three at a time, and a noise amongst the officers of the court: but the judge said, We may give you liberty till the next sessions, but we may choose; and therefore we will try you now.

J. C. I bade the people take notice of their promise, that I should have liberty to speak, saying, See now you be as good as your words.

Judge. The law of England is not only just, but merciful; and therefore you shall not be surprised, but shall have what justice the law allows--Interruption.

J. C. I remember what the judge said even now, that the law of England was a merciful law; that the court had said before, they might if they would, give us liberty till the next sessions, but they would not; and the maxim of the law also is, Summum jus est summa injuria;[28] therefore I hope your practice will make it good, that it is a merciful law; and not to execute summum jus, &c. upon me, and thereby condemn yourselves out of your own mouths.

[28] The extreme of the law is extreme injustice.

Judge. Jury, give in your verdict.

J. C. Let me have liberty first to speak, it is but few words, and I hope I shall do it with what brevity and pertinency my understanding will give me leave, and the occasion requires; it is to the point in these two heads, viz. Matter of law, and matter of conscience: to matter of law I have this to say, First, as to the statute itself, it was made against the Papists, occasioned by the gunpowder plot, and is entitled, for the better discovery and suppressing of Popish Recusants: but they have liberty, and we are destroyed, what in you lies--(Interrupted by the judges and disturbance of the court.) As to conscience, I have something to say, and that is, it is a tender thing, and we have known what it is to offend it; and therefore we dare not break Christ’s commands, who hath said, Swear not at all; and the apostle James said, Above all things my brethren swear not.--(Interrupted.) The court calling again to the executioner to stop my mouth; which he did accordingly, with his dirty cloth, as aforesaid, and his gag in his hand.

Judge. Hear the jury; who said something to him, which was supposed to give in the verdict, according to his order; for they were fit for his purpose, as it seems, they beginning to lay their heads together, before we had spoke any thing to them, only upon his words.

Judge. Cryer, make silence in the court: then the recorder, taking a paper into his hand, read to this purport, viz. The jury for the king do find, that John Crook, John Bolton, and Isaac Gray, are guilty of refusing to take the oath of allegiance; for which you do incur a premunire, which is the forfeiture of all your real estates during life, and your personal estates for ever; and you to be out of the king’s protection, and to be imprisoned during his pleasure: and this is your sentence.

J. C. But we are still under God’s protection.

Then the prisoners were remanded to Newgate, where J. Crook found opportunity to make a narrative of the whole trial, which was printed as aforesaid, together with the Latin indictment, in which he showed several errors, either by wrong expressions, or by omissions. Thus the injustice of these arbitrary proceedings were exposed to public view, when this trial appeared in print; that the king himself might see thereby, how ill his subjects were treated. But at that time there were so many among the great ones and bishops, who were inclined to promote the extirpation of the Quakers, that there seemed no human help. J. Crook showed also circumstantially, how in many cases of trial, they had acted against law; for he himself having formerly been a justice, knew well enough how, and after what manner, justice ought to be administered and maintained. How long he continued prisoner, I cannot tell. But by this trial alone the reader may see, how the Quakers, so called, were treated in regard of the oath; and such kind of proceeding was the lot of many of them, because the intent of those in authority seemed to be to suppress them quite.

Now follows, (to continue J. Crook’s words,) a copy of the indictment, with some notes and observations on the same; whereby it may appear, how false it is, and how easily it might have been quashed for insufficiency, had we been allowed time, (which by law they ought to have granted,) and been suffered to have made our own defence; but that they would not do, but stopped our mouths, as before is said, by the hands of the executioner, to prevent what otherwise, (as the judge said,) might have come to pass, viz. having liberty to make our defence, by that means we should make ourselves famous, and them odious.

London session. Jur. pro dno. rege super sacra. suu. presentant qd. ad general. quarterial. session. pacis d’ni. regis tent. pro civitat. London. apud Guihald. ejusdem civitat. die Mercurij scilt. vicesimo quinto die Junij anno regni d’ni. n’ri. Caroli sc’di Dei gra. Angliæ, Scot’ Franc, & Hiberniæ Regis Fidei defensor. &c. quarto decimo, coram Joh. Frederick milite, majore civitat. London. Thoma Adams milite & baronet, Rico’ Brown milite & baronet, & Thoma Aleyn milite & baronet, aldr’is d’ce civitat. ac al. socii, suis justic. d’ci. d’ni regis ad pacem in civitat. præd. conservand. Necnon ad diver’s felon. transgr. & al. malef’ca infra eandem civitat. perpetrat. audiend. & terminand. assign. sessio. ista pacis adjornat. fuit. per præfat. Justic. dc’i d’ni regis ib’m usq; diem Jovis scilt. vicesim. sext. diem ejusdem mensis Junij anno supradicto ad horam septimam ante merid. ejusdem diei apud justicehall in le Old Bailey in paroch. sci. Sepulchri in warda de Farringdon extra London. præd. tenend. coram præfat justic. & al. sociis suis. ad faciend. ulterius prout. cur. con. &c. Ac ad eundem diem Jovis. vicesimum sextum diem Junii anno quarto decimo supradicto general. quarterial. sessio ista pacis tent. fuit pro civitat. London. præd. per adjornament. præd. aput justicehall præd. in paroch & ward. præd. coram præfat. Johe Frederick milite, majore civitat. London. Thoma Adams milite & baronet, Ricardo Brown milite & baronet, & Thoma Aleyn milite & baronet. aldr’is d’ce civitat ac Willo’ Wilde milite & baronet, uno scrivien. dci. d’ni regis ad legem ac recordator. civitat. præd. ac. al. sociis suis justic. d’ci d’ni regis ad pacem in civitat. præd. conservand. Necnon ad divers. felon. transgr. & al malefaca. infra. eandem civitat. perpetrat. audiend. & terminand. assign. Ac ad tunc & ibm. præd. general. quarterial. sessio pacis præd. ulterius adjornat. fuit per præfat. justic. usque diem veneris, scilt. vicesim septem. diem. dci. mensis Junii, anno quarto decimo supradicto, ad horam septimam ante merid. ejusdem diei apud justicehall præd. in parochia & warda præd. tenend. coram præft. justic. & al sociis suis ad faciend. ulterius. prout cur. con. Ac superinde ad istam eandem general. quarterial. session. pacis tent. pro civitat. London. per adjornament. præd. apud justicehall præd. in paroch. & warda præd. dco. die veneris vicesimo septimo die Junii, anno quarto decimo supradicto coram præfat. Johe Frederick milite, majore civitat. London.’ Thoma Adams milite & baronet, Rico’ Brown milite & baronet, Rico’ Chiverton armigero,[29] & Thoma Aleyn milite & baronet, aldr’is d’ce civitat. ac. Willo’ Wilde milite & baronet. uno scriven. d’ci. d’ni regis ad legem ac recordator. ejusdem civitat. ac al sociis suis justic. d’ci d’ni regis ad pacem in civitat. præd. conservand. Necnon ad divers. felon. transgr. & al. malef’ca infra eand. civitat. perpetrat. audiend. & terminand, assign. in aperta general. quarterial. session. præd præfat. justiciar. pacis ult no’iat. existentes major pars justic. pacis ipsius d’ni regis infra d’cam civitat. London’ ad tunc scilt. d’co. vicesimo. septimo die Junii anno quarto decimo suprad’co. apud d’cam paroch. sci Sepulchri in warda de Farringdon extra. London. præd. presen. existend. obtuler. (Anglice did tender) Johi Crook nuper de London. aurifabro, & Isaac Gray nuper de London. generoso & eor. cuilibt separatim per se, (ad tunc existen. et cuilbt. eor. existen. ultra ætat. octodecim annor.)[30] Jurament. content. in quodam Actu in Parliament. D’ni Jacobi nuper regis Angliæ tent. per. prorogationem[31] apud Westm. in com. Middles. quinto die Novembris Anno Regni sui Angliæ Franc. et Hiberniæ tertio, et Scotiæ tricesimo nono nuper edit. et provis in his Anglicanis verbis sequen. viz. I[32] do truly and sincerely acknowledge, profess, testify, and declare, in my conscience, before God and the world, that our sovereign lord King Charles the Second[33] is lawful and rightful king of this realm, and of all other his majesty’s dominions and countries: and that the pope, neither of himself, nor by any authority of the church, or see of Rome, or by any other means with any other, hath any power or authority to depose the king, or to dispose of any of his majesty’s kingdoms or dominions, or to authorize any foreign prince to invade or annoy him or his countries, or to discharge any of his subjects of their allegiance and obedience to his majesty, or to give license or leave to any of them to bear arms, raise tumults, or to offer any violence or hurt to his majesty’s royal person, state or government, or to any of his majesty’s subjects, within his majesty’s dominions. Also, I do swear from my heart, that notwithstanding any declaration, or sentence of excommunication, or deprivation, made or granted, or to be made or granted by the pope, or his successors, or by any authority derived, or pretended to be derived from him or his see, against the said king, his heirs or successors, or any absolution of the said subjects from their obedience; I will bear faith and true allegiance to his majesty, his heirs and successors, and him and them will defend to the uttermost of my power, against all conspiracies and attempts whatsoever, which shall be made against his or their persons, their crown and dignity, by reason or colour of any such sentence or declaration, otherwise; and will do my best endeavours to disclose and make known unto his majesty, his heirs, and successors, all treasons and traiterous conspiracies, which I shall know or hear of, to be against him or any of them. And I do further swear, that I do from my heart abhor, detest, and abjure, as impious and heretical, this damnable doctrine and position, that princes which be excommunicated or deprived by the pope, may be deposed or murdered by their subjects, or any other whatsoever. And I do believe, and in my[34] conscience am resolved, that neither the pope, nor any person whatsoever, hath power to absolve me of this oath, or any part thereof, which I acknowledge by good and full authority to be lawfully ministered unto me, and do renounce all pardons and dispensations to the contrary. And all these things I do plainly and sincerely acknowledge and swear according to these express words by me spoken, and according to the plain and common sense and understanding of the same words, without any equivocation, or mental evasion, or secret reservation whatsoever. And I do make this recognition and acknowledgment heartily, willingly, and truly, upon the true faith of a Christian. So help me God. Ac ad prefat. justic. pacis ult. no’iat[35] ad tunc[36] scilt. d’co. vicesimo septimo die Junii anno quarto decimo superadicto apud paroch. et ward. præd. in d’ca[37] quarterial session. pacis præd. eosdem Joh’em Crooke, Joh’em Bolton, et Isaacum Gray, et eor. quemlibt. separatum per se requisiver. ad jurament. illud super. sacrosco. Dei Evangel. capiend. quodq.; iidem, Johes Crooke, Johes Bolton, et Isaacus Gray, jurament. præd. sic per pr. noi’at justic. pacis ejusdem Johi Crooke, Johi Bolton, et Isaaco Gray, ut præfectur oblat. et requisit. ad tunc et ibm. obstinate et pertinaciter cape. recusaver. et quilibt. eor. recusavit.[38] In malum exemplum omniu. alior. dcti. d’ni regis nunc fidel. subdit. Et in contempt. d’ici. d’ni. regis nunc legumq; suar. contra formam statut. præd. Ac contra pacem d’ci. d’ni regis nunc coron. et dignitat. suas, &c.

WILD.

[29] This is error, for R. C. arm. was not before named.

[30] This is error, because, it is not said, ‘Et subditi d’ni regis.’

[31] This should be prorogationes, for there was a double prorogation.

[32] This is error, because it wants A. B.

[33] It ought to be with some expression of ‘mutatis mutandis,’ of the name of King Charles the Second, instead of King James, who is only named in the act. This is error, it is not agreeable to the statute; for that saith only King James: and certainly the statute intended no otherwise; for it is said, For the trial of his majesty’s subjects, how they stand affected, &c. and not the subjects of his majesty’s heirs and successors.

[34] (My) not in the statute.

[35] Ad pacem conservand. nec non, &c. left out.

[36] Et ibidem, is left out.

[37] Generalis, left out.

[38] Contra debitam quoadlibet eor. Legeanciam, ought here to be inserted; for if he be not a natural subject, the oath is not to be tendered to him. Immediately after the tender to J. C. J. B. and J. G. though they be termed, sub ditos dci: end: Re.

Any Englishman that understands Latin, may, notwithstanding the abbreviations, indifferently understand this indictment; but a foreigner not understanding English, though a scholar, will be at a loss in many places; yet to complete my work, I thought it convenient not to omit such an authentic piece.

Memorand. That in the writ of Oyer and Terminer, Pacsche 9 Hen. 8. upon the insurrection in London, it was resolved clearly by all the justices of England, that the justices of Oyer and Terminer cannot inquire one day, and the same day determine; no more can the justices of the peace, &c. But the justices of jail delivery, and justices in Eyre, may well do it; El. 8. Keyleway’s Rep. f. 159. b. pl. 2. But they do not call themselves so in the indictment.

If one in his absence be found guilty of an offence, whereby he incurs a premunire, he hath two months time allowed him after he is outlawed, to be heard, 27 Ed. 3 1 cap. Coke upon Littleton, sect. 201. fo. 134. b. saith, That the ancient law was, upon trials for felony, &c. the defendant had fifteen days time, or more, (if he prayed it,) to consider of his answer.

With this agrees Britton, fo’ 10. b.

Fortescue in libro de laudib. legum Angliæ.

Mirror of Justice, cap. 4. sect. 7.

The statute of 28 Edw. 1. 9. provides that inquests shall be of the next neighbours, most sufficient, and least suspicious, upon penalty of double damages.

25 Edw. 3. cap. 3. No indictor be upon the inquests for felony nor trespass, if challenged.

34 Edw. 3. 4. Juries to be of the next people, not to be suspected or procured. With this agrees Regist. fo. 178.

11 Hen. 4. 9. That if any indictment be made, but by inquest returned by the sheriff, (without denomination to him of their names,) by any but his sworn officer, it shall be void.

* * * * *

By these and the like treatments, we see how the persecutors endeavoured to root out the Quakers, if possible; for the effecting of which, alderman Richard Brown did whatever he could, continually letting loose the reins to his exorbitant malice, without regarding whether that which he was bent against, was really punishable, or not, whereof the following instance may serve for an evidence.

A certain mender of old shoes, who belonged to the society of the Quakers, was desired by a labouring man, on a Seventh day of the week, late at night, to mend a pair of shoes for him, that he might have them again in the morning, because he had no other to wear. The cobler, to accommodate the man, set up at work till after midnight; but the shoes not being finished then, he went to bed, and rising early in the morning, went to his work again as privately as he could in his chamber; but an envious neighbour informed against him for working on a Sunday; whereupon he was had before the said R. Brown, who committed him to Bridewell, to be there kept to hard labour. And he refusing to beat hemp, as being fully persuaded that he had not deserved such a punishment, was cruelly whipt, but he bore it with great constancy, and not yielding, he was turned up among those of his society, who were imprisoned there on a religious account.

As this case, which befel an honest man, was to be pitied, so there happened about that time, something among the Quakers at London, which was facetious and ridiculous: for several of them being taken out of their religious meetings, were confined in Newgate, where in the night they lodged in a large room, having in the middle of it a great pillar, to which they fastened their hammocks at the one end, and to the opposite wall on the other, quite round the room, in three stories high, one over another; so that they who lay in the upper and middle rows were fain to go to bed first, being obliged to climb up to the higher, by getting into the lower: and under the lower rank of hammocks, by the wall side, were laid beds, upon the floor. Such a multitude of bedding for so many persons in one room, could not but somewhat infect the air, and cause an unhealthy steam: so that some of the prisoners grew sick, and one of them died. This caused some bustle, and it was not without good reason that an ancient grave citizen, having seen the prisoners thus crowded up, said, This is enough to breed an infection among them. And this having been told by Sir William Turner, one of the sheriffs of London, he came into Newgate, and bidding the turnkey bring down the said prisoners to him in the press-yard, were he was, he ordered they should return to Bridewell, where they had been before.

Now among these was a shabby fellow, who, to get victuals without working, had thrust himself among the Quakers, when they were taken at a meeting, on purpose to be sent to prison, and to be maintained by them. This lazy varlet was no small burden to our prisoners; for whenever any victuals were brought in to them, either for their money, or sent to them by their friends, he did not stick to thrust in with his knife in hand, and make himself his own carver; and such was his impudence, that if he saw the provision was short, he would be sure to take enough, though others wanted. But how burdensome soever this lazy drone was to the prisoners, they could get no relief; for to whom should they complain? Since the keepers, as well as others, were for vexing and oppressing them. But now at length an opportunity was come to be rid of his troublesome company. Among the prisoners was Thomas Ellwood, a man of literature, and of an acute wit, with whom, long after, I entered into a familiar and pleasing correspondence by letters. The said Ellwood, when he had heard that they were to be sent to Bridewell, drew near to the sheriff, and pointing to the aforesaid fellow, said, That man is not only none of our company, but an idle dissolute fellow, who hath thrust himself among our friends, that he might live upon them; therefore I desire we may not be troubled with him at Bridewell. The sheriff smiling, and seeing this fellow standing with his hat on, and looking as demurely as he could, that the sheriff might take him for a Quaker, called him forth, and said to him, ‘How came you to be in prison?’ ‘I was taken at a meeting,’ said he. ‘But what business had you there,’ said the sheriff. ‘I went to hear,’ returned the fellow. ‘Ay, you went upon a worse design, it seems,’ replied the sheriff; ‘but I will disappoint you,’ continued he; ‘for I will change your company, and send you to them that are like yourself.’ Then calling for the turnkey, he said, ‘Take this fellow, and put him among the felons; and be sure let him not trouble the Quakers any more.’ The fellow, not a little astonished at the hearing of this doom, on a sudden parted with his Quakership; for off went his hat, and falling to bowing and scraping, he said to the sheriff, ‘Good your worship have pity upon me, and set me at liberty.’ ‘No, no,’ said the sheriff, ‘I will not so far disappoint you: since you had a mind to be in prison, in prison you shall be for me.’ Then bidding the turnkey once more to take him away, he had him up, and put him among the felons. After this manner this pretended Quaker was rewarded according to his deeds; and so the true Quakers got rid of him.

Breaking off now this jocose and diverting, though true, narrative, I return to a serious relation of the sufferings of the faithful, which caused the death of some of them; among these was Richard Hubberthorn, who some time before, as hath been related, had a conference with the king; who then promised him, that he and his friends should not suffer for their opinions or religion. But now he was in the month called June, violently hauled from the meeting, bearing the name of the Bull and Mouth, and brought before alderman Richard Brown, who with his own hands pulled down his hat upon his head with such violence, that he brought his head near to the ground, and then committed him to Newgate, where being thronged among others, he soon grew sick; and his sickness so increased, that he had hardly been two months in prison, before he was taken away by death. Two days before his departure, being visited by some of his friends, who asked him if any thing was upon his spirit, he said, that there was no need to dispute matters, for he knew the ground of his salvation, and was satisfied for ever in his peace with the Lord. He also said, ‘That faith which hath wrought my salvation, I well know, and have grounded satisfaction in it.’ In the morning before he deceased, one Sarah Blackberry was with him, to whom he said, ‘Do not seek to hold me, for it is too strait for me, and out of this straitness I must go; for I am wound into largeness, and am to be lifted up on high, far above all.’ In this frame of mind he departed this life, in the evening, and so entered with happiness into eternity.

Now I come also to the glorious exit of E. Burrough, that valiant hero, of whom mention hath often been made in this history. For several years he had been very much in London, and there preached the gospel with piercing and powerful declarations. And that city was so near to him, that oftentimes, when persecution grew hot, he said to Francis Howgill, his bosom friend, ‘I can freely go to the city of London, and lay down my life for a testimony to that Truth, which I have declared through the power and Spirit of God.’ Being in this year at Bristol, and thereabouts, and moved to return to London, he said to many of his friends, when he took his leave of them, that he did not know he should see their faces any more; and therefore he exhorted them to faithfulness and steadfastness, in that wherein they had found rest for their souls. And to some he said, ‘I am now going up to the city of London again, to lay down my life for the gospel, and suffer amongst Friends in that place.’

Not long after, coming to London, and preaching in the meeting-house called the Bull and Mouth, he was violently pulled down by some soldiers, and had before alderman Richard Brown, and committed to Newgate. Several weeks afterwards, being brought to the sessions-house in the Old Bailey, he was fined by the court twenty marks, and to lie in prison till payment. But judging this unreasonable in a high degree, he could not bend thereto for conscience-sake. He was kept there in prison about eight months, with six or seven score prisoners beside, upon the same account. But they being so crowded, that for want of room their natures were suffocated, many grew sick and died, of which number he was one. And though a special order from the king, was sent to the sheriffs of London, for his and some other prisoners’ release, yet such was the enmity of some of the city magistrates, especially Brown, that they did what was in their power to prevent the execution of the said order. And thus E. Burrough continued prisoner, though his sickness increased. During the time of his weakness, he was very fervent in prayer, as well for his friends as for himself; and many consolatory and glorious expressions proceeded from his mouth. Once he was heard to say, ‘I have had the testimony of the Lord’s love unto me from my youth: and my heart, O Lord, hath been given up to do thy will. I have preached the gospel freely in this city, and have often given up my life for the gospel’s sake; and now, O Lord, rip open my heart, and see if it be not right before thee.’ Another time he said, ‘There is no iniquity lies at my door; but the presence of the Lord is with me, and his life I feel justifies me.’ Another day he was thus heard in prayer to God, ‘Thou hast loved me when I was in the womb; and I have loved thee from my cradle: and from my youth unto this day; and have served thee faithfully in my generation.’ And to his friends that were about him, he said, ‘Live in love and peace, and love one another.’ And at another time he said, “The Lord taketh the righteous from the evil to come.” And praying for his enemies and persecutors, he said, ‘Lord, forgive Richard Brown, if he may be forgiven.’ And being sensible that death was approaching, he said, ‘Though this body of clay must turn to dust, yet I have a testimony that I have served God in my generation; and that spirit which hath lived and acted, and ruled in me, shall yet break forth in thousands.’ The morning before he departed this life, (which was about the latter end of this year,) he said, ‘Now my soul and spirit is centred into its own being with God; and this form of person must return from whence it was taken.’ And after a little season he gave up the ghost. This was the exit of E. Burrough, who, in his flourishing years, viz. about the age of eight and twenty; in an unmarried state, changed this mortal life for an incorruptible, and whose youthful summer flower was cut down in the winter season, after he had very zealously preached the gospel about ten years.

About the 19th year of his age, he first came to London with a public testimony, and continued almost eight years together to preach the word of God in that city, with great success; so that many came to be convinced, and great addition was made to the church there. In his youth he surpassed others of his age in knowledge; and though G. Croese, who wrote the pretended history of the Quakers, calls him a rustic fellow, yet he was no more such than the said author himself, who is a country preacher: for he was well educated and instructed in that learning which the place of his nativity, viz. the barony of Kendal in Westmoreland, afforded. Insomuch, that though he was not skilful in languages, yet he had the tongue of the learned; and in his public ministry was very fluent, and elegant in speech, even according to the judgment of learned men.

His enemies now began to rejoice, for they seemed to imagine that the progress of that doctrine, which he so powerfully and successfully had preached, by his decease would have been stopped or retarded: but they made a wrong reckoning. Francis Howgill then gave forth a kind of epicedium, which though in prose, yet was not void of poetical expressions, and was as followeth.

‘Shall days, or months, or years, wear out thy name, as though thou hadst no being? Oh nay! Shall not thy noble and valiant acts, and mighty works which thou hast wrought through the power of him that separated thee from the womb, live in generations to come? O yes! The children that are yet unborn, shall have thee in their mouths, and thy works shall testify of thee in generations, who yet have not a being, and shall count thee blessed. Did thy life go out as the snuff of a candle? O nay! Thou hast penetrated the hearts of many, and the memorial of the just shall live for ever; and be had in renown among the children of men: for thou hast turned many to righteousness, and shalt shine as a star of God in the firmament of God’s power, for ever and ever; and they that are in that, shall see thee there, and enjoy thee there, though thou be gone away hence, and can no more be seen in mutability; yet thy life and thy spirit shall run parallel with immortality. Oh Edward Burrough! I cannot but mourn for thee, yet not as one without hope or faith, knowing and having a perfect testimony of thy well-being in my heart, by the Spirit of the Lord; yet thy absence is great, and years to come shall know the want of thee. Shall I not lament as David did for a worse man than thee, even for Abner; when in wrath he perished by the hand of Joab, without any just cause, though he was a valiant man? David lamented over Abner, and said, died Abner as a fool dieth? (Oh nay! He was betrayed of his life.) Even so hast thou been bereaved of thy life by the hand of the oppressor, whose habitations are full of cruelty. Oh my soul, come not thou within their secret, for thy blood shall be required at the hands of them who thirsted after thy life; and it shall cry as Abel’s who was in the faith; even so wert thou, it shall weigh as a ponderous millstone upon their necks, and shall crush them under, and be as a worm that gnaweth, and shall not die. When I think upon thee, I am melted into tears of true sorrow; and because of the want that the inheritance of the Lord hath of thee, my substance is even as dissolved. Shall I not say as David did of Saul and Jonathan, when they were slain in mount Gilboa, the beauty of Israel is slain upon the high places: even so wast thou stifled in nasty holes, and prisons, and many more who were precious in the eyes of the Lord: and surely precious wast thou to me, oh dear Edward, I am distressed for thee my brother, very pleasant hast thou been to me, and my love to thee was wonderful, passing the love of woman: Oh thou whose bow never turned back, nor sword empty from the blood of the slain, from the slaughter of the mighty; who made nations and multitudes shake with the word of life in thy mouth, and wast very dreadful to the enemies of the Lord; for thou didst cut like a razor, and yet to the seed of God brought forth, thy words dropped like oil, and thy lips as the honeycomb. Thou shalt be recorded amongst the valiants of Israel, who attained to the first degree, through the power of the Lord, that wrought mightily in thee in thy day, and wast worthy of double honour, because of thy works. Thou wast expert to handle thy weapon, and by thee the mighty have fallen, and the slain of the Lord have been many; many have been pricked to the heart through the power of the word of life; and coals of fire from thy life came forth of thy mouth, that in many a thicket, and among many briers and thorns it came to be kindled, and did devour much stubble that cumbered the ground, and stained the earth. Oh how certain a sound did thy trumpet give! And how great an alarm didst thou give in thy day, that made the host of the uncircumcised greatly distressed! What man so valiant, though as Goliath of Gath, would not thy valour have encountered with, while many despised thy youth? And how have I seen thee with thy sling and thy stone, (despised weapons to war with,) wound the mighty! And that which hath seemed contemptible to the dragon’s party, even as the jaw bone of an ass, with it thou hast slain the Philistines heaps upon heaps, as Samson. Thou hast put thy hand to the hammer of the Lord, and hast often fastened nails in the heads of the Lamb’s enemies, as Jael did to Sisera; and many a rough stone hast thou polished and squared, and made it fit for the buildings of God; and much knotty wood hast thou hewed in thy day, which was not fit for the building of God’s house. Oh thou prophet of the Lord, thou shalt for ever be recorded in the Lamb’s book of life, among the Lord’s worthies, who have followed the Lamb through great tribulations, as many can witness for thee from the beginning; and at last hast overcome, and been found worthy to stand with the Lamb upon Mount Sion, the hill of God; as I have often seen thee, and thy heart well tuned as a harp, to praise the Lord, and to sound forth his great salvation; which many a time hath made glad the hearts of them that did believe, and strengthened their faith and hope. Well, thou art at rest, and bound up in the bundle of life; and I know tears were wiped away from thy eyes, because there was no cause of sorrow in thee: for I know thou witnessedst the old things done away, and there was no curse, but blessings were poured upon thy head as rain, and peace as a mighty shower, and trouble was far from thy dwelling; though in the outward man trouble on every side, and hast had a greater share in that, for the gospel-sake, (though a youth,) in thy time, than many besides: but now thou art freed from that, and hast obtained a name through faith, with the saints in light. Well, hadst thou more to give up than thy life for the name of Jesus in this world? Nay: and to seal the testimony committed unto thee with thy blood, as thou hast often said in thy day, which shall remain as a crown upon thee for ever and ever. And now thou art freed from the temptations of him who had the power of death; and from thy outward enemies, who hated thee because of the love that dwelt in thee; and remainest at the right hand of God, where there is joy and pleasure for evermore in the everlasting light; which thou hast often testified unto, according to the word of prophecy in thy heart, which was given unto thee by the Holy Ghost; and art at rest in the perfection thereof, in the beauty of holiness; yet thy life and thy spirit I feel as present, and have unity with it, and in it, beyond all created and visible things, which are subject to mutation and change; and thy life shall enter into others, to testify unto the same Truth, which is from everlasting to everlasting; for God hath raised, and will raise up children unto Abraham, of them that have been as dead stones; his power is Almighty, great in his people in the midst of their enemies.’

With these sublime expressions F. Howgill lamented his endeared friend E. Burrough.

* * * * *

In the latter end of this year, William Ames also deceased at Amsterdam, being come from England in a weak condition, for he had suffered so much hardship in Bridewell, London, that his health was much impaired when he came into Holland. In his sickness, which was a lingering disease, he was told, that among the Baptists and Collegians, it was said of him, that he had changed his judgment, and was grieved for having judged them wrongfully. But to this he said, ‘It was not so; but that he still judged their way of worship, especially their disputations and will worship, to be out of the way of the Lord.’ And in this belief he died in peace.

In his youth he was of a cheerful temper, and a lover of such company; but being in that condition often disquieted in his mind, he became a close follower of the priests and teachers, and exercised himself diligently in reading the holy scriptures, which, though good in itself, yet did not bring him to true peace with God; but being of a quick understanding, he could talk much out of them, insomuch, that entering into society with the Baptists, he became a teacher among them. Now, though he was more precise, and endeavoured to avoid the committing of sins, yet he found that root from whence they sprang remained alive in him; for when he met with something that was contrary to his own will, or mind, anger soon prevailed: nevertheless, in that state he would speak of justification, sanctification, and cleansing by the blood of Christ, though he himself was not come to that pure washing. In this state he perceived that he was no true member of Christ, because regeneration was still wanting. Thus he saw that a high profession would not avail, and that something more was required to obtain a happy state; but as yet, he knew not what it was that thus disquieted him; though sometimes, on the committing of any sin, he felt something that struck him with terror. At length it pleased the Lord, that hearing one of the Quakers, so called, preach, that that which convinceth man of sin, was the light of Christ, which enlightens every man coming into the world, this doctrine entered so deep with him, that he embraced it as wholesome; and thus walking with great circumspection and fear before the Lord, he found that by giving diligent heed to that which inwardly reproved and condemned him from evil, he came to be delivered therefrom, and to witness sanctification. And thus advancing in godliness he himself became a zealous preacher of that doctrine, which had struck him so to the heart. He was indeed a zealous man, and though some were ready to think him too zealous, yet he was discreet; and I know that he was condescending in indifferent matters, thinking that there were customs, which though not followed in one country, were yet tolerable in another. He was also generous, and lest he might seem to be burdensome to any, he rather choose to work with his hands.

1663.

Now I return again to the occurrences of G. Fox, whom we left at London, where, having spent some time, he went about the beginning of the year 1663, to Norwich, and from thence to Cambridgeshire, where he heard of E. Burrough’s decease, and, being sensible how great a grief this loss would be to his friends, wrote the following lines to them.

‘Friends,

‘Be still and quiet in your own conditions, and settled in the seed of God, that doth not change; that in that ye may feel dear E. B. among you, in the seed, in which, and by which, he begot you to God, with whom he is; and that in the seed ye may all see and feel him, in which is the unity with him in the life; and to enjoy him in the life that doth not change, which is invisible.

G. F.’

G. Fox afterwards travelling through several places, came again to London, where having visited his friends in their meetings, which were numerous, he travelled with Thomas Briggs into Kent, and coming to Tenterden, they had a meeting there, where many came and were convinced of the Truth that was declared. But when he intended to depart with his companion, he saw a captain, and a company of soldiers, with muskets and lighted matches; and some of these coming to them said, they must come to their captain. And when they were brought before him, he asked, where was G. Fox? which was he? To which G. Fox answered, ‘I am the man.’ The captain being somewhat surprised, said, ‘I will secure you among the soldiers:’ yet he carried himself civilly, and said some time after, ‘You must go along with me to the town.’ Where being come, he brought G. Fox and T. Briggs, with some more of their friends, to an inn, which was the jailer’s house. And after a while the mayor of the town, with the said captain and the lieutenant, who were justices, came and examined G. Fox, asking, why he came thither to make a disturbance? G. Fox told them, he did not come to make a disturbance, neither had he made any there. They then said, there was a law, which was against the Quakers’ meetings, made only against them. G. Fox told them he knew no such law. Then they produced the act which was made against Quakers and others. G. Fox seeing it, told them, that law was against such as were a terror to the king’s subjects, and were enemies, and held principles dangerous to the government; and therefore it was not against his friends, for they held truth, and their principles were not dangerous to the government, and their meetings were peaceable, as was well known. Now it was not without good reason that George said, he knew no such law; since they had said, there was a law made only against the Quakers’ meetings: whereas the act had the appearance of being made against plotters, and enemies to the king, which certainly the Quakers were not. Yet it was said to G. Fox he was an enemy to the King; but this he denied, and told them, how he had once been cast into Derby dungeon, about the time of Worcester fight, because he would not take up arms against the king; and how afterwards he had been sent up to London by colonel Hacker, as a plotter to bring in king Charles, and that he was kept prisoner at London till he was set at liberty by Oliver Cromwell. They asked him then, whether he had been imprisoned in the time of the insurrection? And he said ‘Yes,’ but that he was released by the king’s own command. At length they demanded bond for his appearance at the sessions, and would have had him to promise to come thither no more. But he refused the one as well as the other. Yet they behaved themselves moderately, and told him, and Thomas Briggs, and the others, ‘Ye shall see we are civil to you; for it is the mayor’s pleasure you should all be set at liberty.’ To which G. Fox returned, their civility was noble: and so they parted; and he passed on to many places, where he had singular occurrences, and though wiles were laid for him, yet sometimes he escaped the hands of his persecuting enemies.

Coming into Cornwall he found there one Joseph Hellen, and George Bewly, who though they professed Truth, yet had suffered themselves to be seduced by Blanche Pope, a ranting woman, who had ensnared them chiefly by asking, ‘Who made the devil, did not God?’ This silly question, which Hellen and Bewly were at a loss to answer, they propounded to G. Fox, and he answered it with, ‘No; for,’ said he, ‘all that God made was good, and was blest, but so was not the devil: he was called a serpent, before he was called a devil and an adversary; and afterward he was called a dragon, because he was a destroyer. The devil abode not in the truth, and by departing from the truth he became a devil. Now there is no promise of God to the devil, that ever he shall return into truth again; but to man and woman, who have been deceived by him, the promise of God is, that the seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent’s head, and break his power and strength to pieces.’ With this answer, G. Fox gave satisfaction to his friends; but Hellen was so poisoned, and run out, that they denied him; but Bewly was recovered from his fault by sincere repentance.

G. Fox, having performed his service there, went to Helston near Falmouth, where he had a large meeting, at which many were convinced; for he opened to the auditory, the state of the church in the primitive times, and the state of the church in the wilderness, as also the state of the false church that was got up since: next he showed that the everlasting gospel was now preached again, over the head of the whore, beast, antichrist, and the false prophets, which were got up since the apostles’ days; and that now the everlasting gospel was received and receiving, which brought life and immortality to light. And this sermon was of such effect, that the people generally confessed, it was the everlasting Truth that had been declared there that day.

G. Fox passing on, came at length to the Land’s End, where there was an assembly of his friends, and also a fisherman, call Nicholas Jose, who preached among them, having three years before been convinced there by the ministry of G. Fox.

Whilst in these parts, there happened a very dismal and dreadful case.

One colonel Robinson was, since the king came in, made justice of the peace; and became a cruel persecutor of those called Quakers, of whom he sent many to prison; and hearing that some liberty was allowed them, by the favour of the jailer, to come home sometimes, to visit their wives and children, he made complaint thereof to the judge at the assizes, against the jailer; who thereupon was fined an hundred marks by judge Keeling. Not long after the assizes, Robinson sent to a neighbouring justice, desiring he would go with him a fanatic hunting, (meaning the disturbing of Quakers’ meetings.) On the day that he intended thus to go a hunting, he sent his man about with his horses, and walked himself to a tenement that he had, where his cows and dairy were kept, and where his servants were then milking. Being come there, he asked for his bull, and the maids said, they had shut him into the field, because he was unruly amongst the kine. He then going into the field, and having formerly accustomed himself to play with the bull, he began to fence at him with his staff, as he used to do; but the bull snuffing, went a little back, and then ran fiercely at him, and struck his horn into his thigh, and lifting him upon his horn, threw him over his back, and tore up his thigh to his belly; and when he came to the ground, he broke his leg, and the bull then gored him again with his horns, and roared, and licked up his blood. One of the maid servants hearing her master cry out, came running into the field, and took the bull by the horns to pull him off; but he, without hurting her, gently put her by with his horns, and still fell to goring him, and licking up his blood. Then she ran and got some workmen that were not far off, to come and rescue her master; but they could not at all beat off the bull, till they brought mastiff dogs to set on him; and then the bull fled. His sister having notice of his disaster, came and said, ‘Alack, brother, what a heavy judgment is this!’ And he answered, ‘Ah, sister, it is a heavy judgment indeed: pray let the bull be killed, and the flesh given to the poor.’ So he was taken up, and carried home, but so grievously wounded, that he died soon after; and the bull was become so fierce, that they were forced to kill him by shooting. This was the issue of Robinson’s mischievous intent to go a fanatic hunting. I remember that in my youth I heard with astonishment the relation of this accident from William Caton, who by a letter from England had received intelligence of it; for the thing was so remarkable, that the tidings of it were soon spread afar off.

Now I return to G. Fox, who from Cornwall travelled to Bristol, and so into Wales, from whence passing through Warwickshire and Derbyshire, he came to York. Here he heard of a plot, which made him write a paper to his friends wherein he admonished them to be cautious, and not at all to meddle with such bustlings. And travelling towards Lancashire, he came to Swarthmore, where they told him, that colonel Kirby had sent his lieutenant thither to search for him, and that he had searched trunks and chests. G. Fox having heard this, the next day went to Kirby-hall, where the said colonel lived; and being come to him, he told him, ‘I am come to visit thee, understanding that thou wouldst have seen me, and now I would fain know what thou hast to say to me, and whether thou hast any thing against me.’ The colonel who did not expect such a visit, and being then to go up to London, to the parliament, said before all the company, ‘as I am a gentleman I have nothing against you: but Mrs. Fell must not keep great meetings at her house; for they meet contrary to the act.’ G. Fox told him, ‘That act does not take hold on us, but on such as meet to plot and contrive, and to raise insurrections against the king; and we are none of those, but are a peaceable people.’ After some words more, the colonel took G. Fox by the hand, and said, he had nothing against him; and others said, he was a deserving man.

Then G. Fox parted, and returned to Swarthmore, and shortly after he heard there had been a private meeting of the justices and deputy lieutenants at Houlker-hall, where justice Preston lived, and that there they had issued a warrant to apprehend him. Now he could have gone away, and got out of their reach; but considering that, there being a noise of a plot in the north, if he should go away, they might fall upon his friends; but if he staid, and was taken, his friends might escape the better; he therefore gave up himself to be taken. Next day an officer came with his sword and pistols to take him. G. Fox told him, ‘I knew thy errand before, and have given up myself to be taken; for if I would have escaped imprisonment, I could have been gone forty miles off; but I am an innocent man, and so matter not what ye can do to me.’ Then the officer asked him, how he heard of it, seeing the order was made privately in a parlour. G. Fox said, it was no matter for that: it was sufficient that he heard of it. Then he asked him to show his order. But he laying his hand on his sword, said, ‘You must go with me before the lieutenants, to answer such questions as they shall propound to you.’ Now though G. Fox insisted to see the order, telling him it was but civil and reasonable to show it, yet the officer would not; and then G. Fox said, ‘I am ready.’ So he went along with him, and Margaret Fell also, to Houlker-hall. Being come thither, there was one justice Rawlinson, Sir George Middleton, justice Preston, and several more whom he knew not. Then they brought one Thomas Atkinson, one of his friends, as a witness against him, for some words which he had told to one Knipe, who had informed against him; and these words were, that he had written against the plotters, and had knocked them down: but from these words little could be made. Then Preston asked him, whether he had an hand in the Battledore? (being a folio book already mentioned,) ‘Yes,’ said G. Fox. He then asked him whether he understood languages? He answered, ‘sufficient for myself.’

Preston having spoken something more on that subject, said, ‘Come, we will examine you of higher matters:’ then said George Middleton, ‘You deny God, and the church, and the faith.’ ‘Nay,’ replied G. Fox, ‘I own God, and the true church, and the true faith:’ ‘But,’ asked he, (having understood Middleton to be a Papist,) ‘what church dost thou own?’ The other, instead of answering this question, said ‘You are a rebel and a traitor.’ G. Fox perceiving this Middleton to be an envious man, asked him whom he spoke to? or whom he called a rebel? The other having been silent a while, said at last, ‘I spoke to you.’ G. Fox then striking his hand on the table, told him, ‘I have suffered more than twenty such as thou, or any that are here; for I have been cast into Derby dungeon for six months together, and have suffered much, because I would not take up arms against this king, before Worcester fight; and I have been sent up prisoner out of my own country by colonel Hacker to O. Cromwell, as a plotter to bring in king Charles. Ye talk of the king, a company of you; but where were ye in Oliver’s days; and what did ye do then for the king? But I have more love to him, for his eternal good and welfare, than any of you have.’ Then they asked him, whether he had heard of the plot? And he said, ‘Yes.’ Hereupon he was asked, how he had heard of it, and whom he knew in it? And he answered, he had heard of it through the high sheriff of Yorkshire, who had told Dr. Hodgson, that there was a plot in the north; but that he never heard any thing of it in the south; and that he knew none of them that were in it. Then they asked him, ‘Why would you write against it, if you did not know some that were in it.’ ‘My reason was,’ answered he, ‘because ye are so forward to mash the innocent and guilty together; therefore I wrote against it to clear the Truth from such things, and to stop all forward foolish spirits from running into such things: and I sent copies of it into Westmoreland, Cumberland, Bishoprick, and Yorkshire, and to you here; and I sent also a copy of it to the king and his council; and it is like it may be in print by this time.’ Then said one of them, ‘O this man hath great power.’ ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I have power to write against plotters.’ ‘But,’ said one of them, ‘you are against the laws of the land.’ ‘Nay,’ said he, ‘for I and my friends direct all the people to the Spirit of God in them, to mortify the deeds of the flesh: this brings them into well doing, and from that which the magistrates’ sword is against; which eases the magistrates, who are for the punishment of evil doers,’ &c.

Middleton now weary, as it seemed, of his speaking, cried, ‘Bring the book, and put the oath of allegiance and supremacy to him.’ But G. Fox knowing him to be a Papist, asked him, whether he who was a swearer, had taken the oath of supremacy; for this oath tending to reject the pope’s power in England, was a kind of test to try people whether they were Papists, or no: ‘But as for us,’ said G. Fox, ‘we cannot swear at all, because Christ and his apostles have forbidden it.’ Now some of these that set there, seeing Middleton was thus pinched, would not have had the oath put to G. Fox; but others would, because this was their last snare, and they had no other way to get him into prison: for all other things had been cleared; but this was like the Papists’ sacrament of the altar, by which they formerly ensnared the martyrs: and in the Low Countries they asked the Baptists, whether they were re-baptized; and if this appeared, then they said, ‘We do not kill you, but the emperor’s decree condemns you.’ So they tendered G. Fox the oath, and he refusing to take it, they consulted together about sending him to jail: but all not agreeing, he was only engaged to appear at the sessions; and so for that time they dismissed him.

Then he went back with Margaret Fell to Swarthmore, where colonel West, who was at that time a justice of the peace, came to see him. And G. Fox asking him, what he thought they would do with him at the sessions, he said, they would tender the oath to him again. The time of the sessions now approaching, G. Fox went to Lancaster, and appeared according to his engagement; where he found upon the bench, justice Flemming, who in Westmoreland had offered five pounds to any man that would apprehend G. Fox. There were also the justices Spencer and Rawlinson, and colonel West; and a great concourse of people in court, and when G. Fox came up to the bar, and stood with his hat on, they looked earnestly upon him. Then proclamation being made for all to keep silence on pain of imprisonment, he said twice, ‘Peace be among you.’ Then Rawlinson, who was chairman, spoke, and asked, if he knew where he was? To which he answered, ‘Yes, I do; but it may be my hat offends you; but that’s a low thing, that’s not the honour I give to magistrates: for the true honour is from above; and I hope it is not the hat which ye look upon to be the honour.’ To which the chairman said, ‘We look for the hat too. Wherein do you show your respect to magistrates, if you do not put off your hat?’ G. Fox replied, ‘In coming when they call me.’ They then bid one take off his hat. After some pause, the chairman asked him, whether he knew of the plot. To which he returned, that he had heard of it in Yorkshire, by a friend that had it of the high-sheriff. The next question was, whether he had declared it to the magistrates; and his answer was, ‘I have sent papers abroad against plots and plotters, and also to you, as soon as I came into the country, to take all jealousies out of your minds concerning me and my friends: for it was, and is our principle to declare against such things.’ Then they asked him, if he knew not of an act against meetings. To which he made answer, that he knew there was an act that took hold of such as met to the terrifying of the king’s subjects, and were enemies to the king, and held dangerous principles. ‘But I hope,’ said he, ‘ye do not look upon us to be such men; for our meetings are not to terrify the king’s subjects, neither are, we enemies to him, or any man.’

That which followed hereupon, was the tendering of the oath of allegiance and supremacy to him. To which he told them, that he had never taken any oath in his life: and that he could not take any oath at all, because Christ and his apostles had forbidden it. Then Rawlinson, who was a lawyer, asked him, whether he held it was unlawful to swear? G. Fox presently perceived this question to be put on purpose to ensnare him; for by a certain act 13 and 14 Car. 2. cap. 1, such who said, it was unlawful to swear, were liable to banishment, or to a great fine. Therefore to avoid this snare, he told them, that in the time of the law amongst the Jews, before Christ came, the law commanded them to swear; but Christ who did fulfil the law in the gospel time, commands, not to swear at all; and the apostle James forbids swearing, even to them that were Jews, and had the law of God. Now after much other discourse, the jailer was called, and G. Fox committed to prison. He then having the paper about him which he had written against plots, desired it might be read in the court; but this they would not suffer. Being thus committed for refusing to swear, he said to those on the bench, and all the people, ‘Take notice that I suffer for the doctrine of Christ, and for my obedience to his command.’ Afterwards he understood, the justices said, that they had private instructions from colonel Kirby to prosecute him, notwithstanding his fair carriage, and seeming kindness to him before.

Leaving G. Fox in prison, I am to say that the act already mentioned, whereby a penalty was laid on all such who should say, it was unlawful to take an oath, was that which extended to banishment, being made not long before, and expressly levelled against the Quakers, as plainly appeared by the title. This is that act, by direction whereof the Quakers, so called, were afterwards banished, as may be related in due time and place; and though the king himself was pretty good-natured, yet he suffered himself to be so swayed by the instigations of some envious men, as well among the ecclesiastics, as among the laity, that he gave the royal assent thereto.

Whilst G. Fox was prisoner at Lancaster, many of his friends were also imprisoned, for frequenting religious meetings, refusing to take oaths, and for not paying tithes to the priests; but since he was not brought to his trial till next year, we will leave him still in jail, and in the meanwhile will take a turn to Colchester, where persecution now was exceeding fierce.

In the month of October, William More, mayor of that town, came on a First-day of the week, and broke up the meeting of the Quakers, so called, and committed some of them to prison; the next week he did so again, and a week after he caused a party of the county troop to come to the meeting. These beat some, and did much mischief to the forms, seats, and windows of the meeting-place. And afterwards the mayor employed an old man to stop people from going in at the gate to the meeting-room; who told those that would have entered, that the mayor had set him there to keep them out. Now though they knew he was no officer, nor had any warrant, yet they made no resistance, but continuing in the street, thus kept their meeting in a peaceable manner, being not free for conscience-sake to leave off their public worship of God, though in that time of the year it was cold, and often wet weather; and thus it continued many weeks, though attended with so much difficulty.

In the forepart of December there came about forty of the king’s troopers, on horseback, in their armour, with swords, carbines, and pistols, crying, ‘What a devil do ye here?’ And falling violently upon this harmless company, they beat them, some with swords, and others with carbines, without distinction of male or female, old or young, until many were much bruised, chasing them to and fro in the streets. The next First-day of the week these furious fellows came again, having now got clubs, wherewith, as well as with swords and carbines, they most grievously beat those that were peaceably met together in the street to worship God. This cruel beating was so excessive, that some got above an hundred blows, and were beaten so black and blue, that their limbs lost their natural strength. One there was whom a trooper beat so long, that the blade of his sword fell out of the hilt, which he that was thus beaten seeing, said to the other, ‘I will give it thee up again,’ which he did, with these words, ‘I desire the Lord may not lay this day’s work to thy charge.’

But to avoid prolixity. I shall not mention all the particular misusages which I find to have been committed there. These cruel doings continued yet several weeks, and some were beaten so violently, that their blood was shed in the streets, and they sunk down and fainted away. One Edward Graunt, a man of about threescore and ten years of age, (whose wife and daughters I was well acquainted with,) was so terribly knocked down, that he outlived it but a few days. So hot was this time now, that these religious worshippers, when they went to their meeting, seemed to go to meet death; for they could not promise to themselves to return home either whole or alive. But notwithstanding all this, their zeal for their worship was so lively, that they durst not stay at home, though human reasoning might have advised them thereto. And some of them had been people of note in the world; as, among others one Giles Barnadiston, who having spent six years in the university, in the study of human literature, afterwards came to be a colonel; but in process of time, having heard G. Fox the younger, preach, he was so entirely convinced of the Truth by him declared, that laying down his military command, he entered into the society of those called Quakers, and continuing faithful, he in time became a minister of the gospel among the said people; being a man of a meek spirit, and one whom I knew very well. This Barnadiston did not forbear frequenting meetings, how hot soever the persecution was, being fully given up to hazard his life with his friends.

One Solomon Fromantle, a merchant, with whom I was well acquainted, was so grievously beaten, that he fell down and lost much of his blood in the street; and yet the barbarous troopers did not leave off beating him. His wife, a daughter of the aforesaid Edward Graunt, fearing lest he should be killed, fell down upon him, to cover and protect him from the blows with the hazard of her own body, as she herself told me in the presence of her said husband: a conjugal love and fidelity well worthy to be mentioned, and left upon record. And though she then did not receive very fierce blows; yet there were some women whose lot it was to be sorely beaten with clubs, whereinto iron spikes were driven, as among the rest an aged widow, who received no less than twelve such bloody blows on several parts of her body; and another woman was pierced in her loins with such a spiked club. An ancient man of sixty-five years was followed a great way by three on foot and one on horseback, and so beaten and bruised, that a woman, pitying this old man, spoke to these mischievous fellows to leave off; but this so incensed him that was on horseback, that he gave her a hard blow with his sword on the shoulder, with cursing and railing. This barbarity continued, till the persecutors seemed to be more wearied out than the persecuted, who seemed to grow valiant in these sore tribulations, how grievous soever. A great promoter of this furious violence was captain Turner, who drove on his troopers to act thus; nay, such was his malice, that once at the breaking up of a meeting, he not only gave order to beat the people, but also to spoil the doors, windows, and walls, so that the damage came to five and twenty pounds.

Now I could enter upon a large relation of the trial of many prisoners at Worcester, before the judges Hide and Terril; but since that trial was much after the same manner as that of John Crook, here before-mentioned at large, I will but cursorily make some mention of it. When the prisoners, being brought to the bar, asked, why they had been kept so long in prison; they were answered with the question, whether they would take the oath of allegiance. And endeavours were used to draw some to betray themselves, by asking them, where they had been on such a day. For if they had said, at meeting, then it would have appeared from their own mouth that they had acted contrary to the law; but they answered warily, that they were not bound to accuse themselves. Others by evidence were charged with having been at a meeting; and when they said, that their meetings were not always for public worship; but that they had also meetings to take care for widows, fatherless, and others that were indigent; yet it was said to the jury, that though there was no evidence, that there had been any preaching in the meeting, yet if they did but believe that the prisoners had kept a meeting for religious worship, it was sufficient for them to approve the indictment. And yet such proceedings in other cases would have been thought unwarrantable.

One Edward Bourn being imprisoned for having been at a meeting, and afterwards brought to his trial, the oath was tendered to him. Among other words he spoke in defence of himself, he said, ‘Suppose Christ and his apostles kept a meeting here in this time, would this act against conventicles also take hold of them?’ ‘Yes,’ said the judge, ‘it would.’ But bethinking himself, he said, ‘I won’t answer your questions; ye are no apostles.’ The conclusion was, that Bourn and several of his friends were fined each of them five pounds.

Now since those that were fined thus, did not use to pay the fines, judging that the thing which they were fined for was an indispensable duty they owed to God, and therefore they could not pay any such fine with a good conscience, the consequence thereof generally was imprisonment, and distraining of their goods, whereby some lost twice, and it may be, thrice as much as the fine amounted to. Some of the prisoners made it appear, that they had been somewhere else, and not in the meeting, at the house of one Robert Smith, at such time as the evidence declared by oath; yet because they gave no satisfactory answer to the question, whether they had not been there on that day, they were deemed guilty. The said Robert Smith was premunired: for the oath of allegiance being tendered to him, and he, menaced by the judge with a premunire, asked, for whom that law, for taking the said oath, was made, whether not for Papists. And on suspicion that some of that persuasion sat on the bench, he asked also, whether they, for the satisfaction of the people, there present, ought not also to take the oath. But the judge waived this, telling him, he must take the oath, or else sentence should be pronounced against him. Smith asked then, whether the example of Christ should decide the question; but the judge said, ‘I am not come here to dispute with you concerning the doctrine of Christ, but to inform you concerning the doctrine of the law.’ Then Smith was led away, and afterwards, when an indictment for his refusing the oath was drawn up, he was brought into the court again, and asked, whether he would answer to the indictment, or no; and the reasons he gave not being accepted, the judge said, before Smith had done speaking, ‘This is your sentence, and the judgment of the court, You shall be shut out of the king’s protection, and forfeit your personal estate to the king for ever, and your real estate during life.’ To this Robert said with a composed mind, ‘The Lord hath given, and if he suffers it to be taken away, his will be done.’ Thus Robert Smith suffered, with many more of his friends, there and elsewhere: all which I believe my life-time would not be sufficient to describe circumstantially.

Passing then by the other persecutions of this year, I will relate one remarkable case that happened in this year, 1663, where patience triumphed very eminently over violence. But before I enter upon this narrative, it will not be amiss to go back a little, and mention some singular cases of the chief actor of the fact I am going to describe.

His name was Thomas Lurting, who formerly had been boatswain’s mate in a man of war, and often had been preserved in imminent dangers: as once being at the Canary islands, under admiral Blake commander in this expedition, they ruined the admiral and vice-admiral of the Spanish galleons, and this being done, he with seven men was sent with a pinnace to set on fire three galleons in the bay; which order he executed, by setting one of them on fire, which burnt the other two. But returning, and passing by a breast-work, they received a volley of small shot, by which two men, close to one of which Thomas sat, were killed, and a third was shot in his back, but Thomas received no harm. And going out of the bay, they came within about four ships length of the castle, which had forty guns; and when they came directly over against the castle, the guns were fired, and a shot cut the bolt-rope a little above Thomas’s head, without hurting him. In more dangers he was eminently preserved, but that I may not be too prolix, I will now relate, how from a fighting sailor he became a harmless Christian.

About the year 1654, it happened that among the soldiers which were in the ship he was in, there was one that had been at a meeting of those called Quakers in Scotland, and there were two young men in the ship who had some converse with him; but he was soon taken away from the ship. Yet these two young men seemed to be under some convincement; for about six months after, they scrupled to go and hear the priest, and to put off their hats to the captain; by which they came to be called Quakers. These two met often together in silence, which being seen by others of the ship, their number increased; but this troubled the captain exceedingly, and the priest grew not a little angry, and said to our boatswain, ‘O Thomas, an honest man and a good Christian; here is a dangerous people on board, viz. the Quakers, a blasphemous people, denying the ordinances and word of God.’ This made Thomas so furious, that in a bigotted zeal he fell to beating and abusing these men, when religiously met together. But this was not the way to have a quiet and sedate mind; for the remembrance of his former deliverances stuck so close upon him, that he could no more beat any of the said people; and then he came to a further sight, insomuch that he clearly saw what a fellow the priest was: for when Thomas could no longer abuse the said people, then he was not accounted by him either an honest man or a good Christian. Now being under condemnation because of his outgoings, he made many promises to the Lord; but these being made in his own will, were of little effect. Yet by the grace of God it was showed him, that since he did not perform these promises, he could not be benefited thereby, which caused him much trouble.

Among those in the ship called Quakers, was one Roger Dennis, whom he entirely loved, and therefore never struck him; for this man had a check on Thomas, to that degree, that looking only upon him, he durst not touch any of those whom he intended to have abused. In this state, feeling no peace in his mind, after some time he much desired to be alone, the more freely to pour out his heart before the Lord; and though he then felt himself inwardly condemned, yet judgments became pleasant to him, because thereby his heart was tendered and broken: in which state he could not forbear sometimes to cry out, O Lord! But this, being observed by the ship’s crew, made some say, he was mad, and others, he was distracted; and of this some wrote home to England. Now it fell to his share to be mocked and ridiculed; but he endeavoured to be fully given up, if he might but have peace in his conscience with God.

And being one evening alone, he was very earnest with the Lord, to know what people he should join himself to; and then it was plainly showed him, the Quakers. But this so startled him at that time, that he desired of the Lord, rather to die than to live: for to join with a people whom he so often had been beating and abusing, seemed to be harder to him than death itself; and by the subtilty of Satan he was often assaulted by various thoughts, to keep him off from the said people. But when the Lord made him mindful of his manifold preservations and deliverances, it mollified his heart, so that at length he came to this resolution, whether Quaker or no Quaker, I am for peace with God. Yet it cost him many a bitter sigh, and many a sorrowful tear, before he could come to a full resignation. But the inward reproofs of the Lord, attended with judgments, followed him so close, that he could no longer forbear, but gave up. And then he took opportunity to discover his heart to his friend Roger Dennis, who spoke so to the purpose, that he had great satisfaction. But not long after temptations assaulted him again in this manner, ‘What, to join thyself to such a foolish people!’ And the very thoughts of this were so grievous to him, that he grew even weary of his life; for thus to expose himself to scorn, seemed to him an intolerable cross; but this struggling was not the way to get peace with God. The First-day of the week being come, he resolved to go to the small meeting, which was now of six in number; but it being reported that he was among the Quakers, many of the company left their worship to see him; and they made a great noise. When the worship was over, the captain asked the reason of that noise; and it was told him, that Thomas was amongst the Quakers; on which he sent for him, there being several officers also present; but the first that spoke was the priest, saying, ‘Thomas, I took you for a very honest man, and a good Christian, but am sorry you should be so deluded.’--And the captain endeavoured to prove from the bible, the Quakers were no Christians. Thomas in the meanwhile was still and quiet; and the others seeing they could not prevail upon him that way, took another course, and said, that the Quakers sometimes came to him saying, ‘Do such and such a thing.’ But because he knew this to be altogether false, and saw how they would bear him down with lies, he was the more strengthened; so that going to his friends, he said to them, ‘When I went to the captain, I was scarce half a Quaker; but by their lies and false reports they have made me almost a whole Quaker; or at least I hope to be one.’

He continuing to meet with his friends for the performing of worship, some more came to be joined to them, so that in less than six months after, they were twelve men, and two boys, one of which was the priest’s. Now, there was none aboard that would abuse the Quakers, though much tried by the captain; for he got some men out of other ships on purpose to vex them: but how fiercely soever these behaved themselves, a higher power limited them. At length, there was a sickness on board the ship, which swept away above forty in a short time; and most of them called Quakers, had the distemper also, but none died of it, though some were brought very low. They took great care of one another when sick, and whatever one had was free for all; which care being seen by others, made some of them cry upon their death-bed, ‘O carry me to the Quakers, for they take great care of one another, and they will take some care of me also.’ This visitation in the ship, changed the captain so much, that he was very kind to Thomas, and often sent him part of what he had. Thomas seeing him in such a good humour, desired of him to have the cabin he lay in before his change, which request was granted; for none were willing to lie therein, because they told one another it was troubled with an evil spirit; since three or four had died therein within a short space of time. This cabin he made use of also for a meeting-place; and the captain was now so well pleased with him, that when something was to be done, he would often say, ‘Thomas, take thy friends, and do such or such a thing: for as yet they were not against fighting, and therefore no complete Quakers. And thus when Thomas and his friends were sent out on some expedition, they did their work beyond his expectation. But though they were not brought off from fighting, yet when, with others, they annoyed their enemies, they would take none of the plunder; and in all desperate attempts they received no hurt, though several others were killed and wounded; and they behaved themselves so valiantly, that their captain would say to other captains, that he cared not if all his men were Quakers, for they were the hardiest men in his ship. But though this was a time of liberty, yet Thomas looked upon it as a forerunner of further exercise; for he saw what was done in pretended friendship, was but to serve their own ends; and therefore he expected a time of trial would come, and so it did.

For being come to Leghorn, they were ordered to go to Barcelona, to take or burn a Spanish man of war. Their station was to lie against a castle, and batter it; which they did; and one corner of the castle playing some shot into their ship, Thomas was for beating down that part: and those called Quakers, fought with as much courage as any. He himself being stripped to his waistcoat, and going into the forecastle, he levelled the guns, but said, ’Fire not, till I go out to see where the shot lights, that we may level higher or lower;’ he being yet as great a fighter as any; but as he was coming out of the forecastle door to see where the shot fell, suddenly it run through him, ‘What if now thou killest a man?’ This struck him as a thunderbolt, and he that can turn men’s hearts, at his pleasure, changed his in a minute’s time to that degree, that whereas, just before, he bent all his strength to kill men, he now found in himself no will thereto, though it were to gain the world; for he presently perceived it was from the Lord; and then putting on his clothes, he walked on the deck, as if he had not seen a gun fired; and being under great exercise of mind, some asked him, if he was hurt. He answered, ‘No; but under some scruples of conscience on the account of fighting,’ though then he knew not that the Quakers refused to fight.

When night came, they went out of the reach of the castle shot, and he took occasion to speak with two of his friends in the ship, and inquired their judgment concerning fighting; but they gave little answer to it, but said however, if the Lord sent them well home, they would never go to it again. To which he returned, that if he stood honest to that of God in his own conscience, and they came to it to-morrow, with the Lord’s assistance, he would bear his testimony against it; for he clearly saw, that forasmuch as they had been such great actors in fighting, they now must bear their testimony against it, and wait what would be the issue; saying with themselves, ‘The will of the Lord be done.’ The next day they heard that several were killed on shore, which grieved Thomas not a little. Some time after, one of Thomas’s friends went to the captain to be cleared; and he asking why? His answer was, that he could fight no longer. To which the captain said, ‘He that denies to fight in time of engagement, I will put my sword in his guts.’ ‘Then,’ said the other, ‘thou wilt be a manslayer, and guilty of shedding blood:’ for which the captain, (who was a Baptist preacher,) beat him sorely with his fist and cane; and he that had been their friend, was now become their open enemy.

Some time after, (about the year 1665,) being at Leghorn, they were ordered to go a cruising; and one morning spied a great ship bearing down upon them, which they supposed to be a Spanish man of war. Presently orders were given to clear the ship for fight. Thomas then being upon the deck, saw plainly that a time of trial was now come, and he prayed to the Lord very earnestly for strength: and that which seemed most expedient to him, was to meet with his friends, which, after notice given, was done accordingly. Being all met, he told them how it was with him, and that things seemed very dark and cloudy, yet his hopes were, that the Lord would deliver him, and all such as were of his faith; to which he added, ‘I lay not this as an injunction upon any one, but leave you all to the Lord:’ moreover he said, ‘I must tell you, that the captain puts great confidence in you; therefore let us be careful that we give no just occasion; and all that are of my mind, let us meet in the most public place upon the deck, in the full view of the captain, that he may not say we deceived him, in not telling him that we would not fight, so that he might have put others in our room.’

Then Thomas went upon the deck, and set his back against the geer capstan, and a little after turning his head, he saw his friends behind him; at which though he rejoiced, yet his bowels rolled within him for them, who stood there as sheep ready for the slaughter. Within a little time came the lieutenant, and said to one of them, ‘Go down to thy quarters;’ to which he returned, ‘I can fight no more.’ The lieutenant then going to the captain, made the worst of it, saying, ‘Yonder the Quakers are all together; and I do not know but they will mutiny; and one says he cannot fight.’ The captain having asked his name, came down to him, flung his hat overboard, and taking hold of his collar, beat him with a great cane, and dragged him down to his quarters. Then he went upon the half deck again, and called for his sword, which his man having brought him, he drew with great fury. No sooner was this done, but the word of the Lord, (as Thomas took it,) run through him, saying, ‘The sword of the Lord is over him; and if he will have a sacrifice, proffer it him.’ And this word was so powerful in him, that he quivered and shook, though he endeavoured to stop it, fearing they should think he was afraid, which he was not; for turning his head over his shoulder, he said to his friend Roger, ‘I must go to the captain.’ To which he returned, ‘Be well satisfied in what thou doest.’ And Thomas replied, there was a necessity upon him. Then seeing the captain coming on with his drawn sword, he fixed his eye with great seriousness upon him, and stepped towards him, keeping his eyes upon him, (in much dread of the Lord,) being carried above his furious looks. At which the captain’s countenance changed pale, and he, turning himself about, called to his man to take away his sword, and so he went off. Not long after, the ship they expected to fight withal, proved to be a Genoese, their friend; and before night, the captain sent the priest to Thomas, to excuse his anger, it having been in his passion. To which Thomas’s answer was, that he had nothing but good will to him; and he bade the priest tell the captain, that he must have a care of such passions; for if he killed a man in his passion, he might seek for repentance, and perhaps not find it. Thus Thomas overcame this storm, and at length got safe home.

Now leaving men of war, he afterwards went to sea in a merchantman, or trading ship: but then it fell to be his lot several times to be pressed into the king’s service, and being carried into a man of war, he suffered very much. Once he fasted five days, taking only at times a draught of water; for he could easily guess, that if he had eaten of their victuals, it would have gone the harder with him; since he scrupled to do any ship-work, though it did not belong to fighting; for he judged all this to be assistance to those whose business it was to fight; and that therefore in such a ship he could do nothing, whatever it was, but it was being helpful and assisting.

In this condition he met with several rude occurrences for some years together. Being once at Harwich, hard at work in a ship, heaving out corn in a lighter, he was pressed; but one of the men saying, that he was a Quaker, the captain, who with his boat was come aboard, said in a scoffing manner to him, ‘Thou art no Quaker, for if thou wast a Quaker, thou shouldst be waiting upon the Lord, and let his ravens feed thee, and not be toiling thy body.’ For Thomas being stripped to his shirt and drawers, his shirt was wet with sweat; and being a little time silent, said at length to the captain, ‘I perceive thou hast read some part of the scriptures. Didst thou never read, that he is worse than an infidel that will not provide for his family? I have often heard the Quakers blamed for not working, but thou art the first that ever I heard blame them for working.’ At this the captain said, ‘Turn him away, he is a Quaker.’ But a little after he cried, ‘Pull him again, he is no Quaker;’ and said to Thomas, ‘Thou art no Quaker; for here thou bringest corn, and of it is made bread, and by the strength of that bread we kill the Dutch; and therefore no Quaker. Or art not thou as accessary to their deaths as we? Answer me.’ Thomas not presently answering, was much scoffed and jeered by the seamen; but at length he said to the captain, ‘I am a man that can feed my enemies, and well may I you, who pretend to be my friends.’ To which the captain replied, ‘Turn him away, he is a Quaker:’ and thus that storm ceased.

But a few days after he was pressed again out of the same vessel, and carried on board a man of war; there he was ordered to go into the cabin, where the captain and several officers were; and being entered, the captain began to curse the Quakers, and swore, that if he did not hang Thomas, he would carry him to the duke of York, and he would. But Thomas said very little, and felt himself kept by the Lord from fear. And when the captain had tired himself with scolding and railing, he said more mildly, ‘What, dost thou say nothing for thyself?’ To which Thomas answered, ‘Thou sayest enough for thee and me too:’ and he found it most safe to say little. This was indeed the best way; for generally no reasons, how good soever, avail with passionate men; who often think it a disparagement to them, when they hearken to what is said by one they look upon to be their inferior. But such sometimes find they reckon amiss; as this captain did, who, notwithstanding his haughtiness, was soon struck by a superior power; for the next night a sudden cry was heard, ‘Where is the Quaker? Where is the Quaker?’ Thomas hearing this, said, ‘Here I am: what lack you at this time of the night?’ To which it was told him, ‘You must come to the captain presently.’ He then coming to the cabin door, the captain said, ‘Is the Quaker there?’ To which Thomas having answered, ‘Yes,’ the captain said, ‘I cannot sleep, thou must go on shore.’ Thomas replied, ‘I am in thy hand, and thou mayest do with me as thou pleasest.’ So with the boat he was put on shore at Harwich, by order of the captain, who in his fury had said, that hanging was too good for him. But now, because his mind was disquieted, he could not sleep, though Thomas, who lay on the hard boards, slept very well.

Having said thus much of this seaman: let us now take a view, and behold how, and in what an industrious manner, he, without passing the bounds of a peaceable disposition, retook a ship that was taken by a pirate; which happened in the year 1663, after this manner:

A master of a ship, whose name was George Pattison, one of the society of those called Quakers, about the month of October, being with his ship in the Mediterranean, coming from Venice, near the island of Majorca, was chased by a pirate of Algiers, and their vessel sailing well, they endeavoured to escape; but, by carrying over-much sail, some of their materials gave way, by which means the Turks came up with them, and commanded the master on board, who accordingly, with four men more, went in his boat, leaving only his mate, (the before-mentioned Thomas Lurting,) with three men and a boy on board his vessel, as soon as those came on board the pirate, the Turks put thirteen or fourteen of their men into the boat, to go towards the English ship. In the meanwhile the mate was under great exercise of mind, the rather because the master, with four of his men, were then with the Turks, and those that were left, were somewhat unruly. In this concern, however, he believed it was told him inwardly by the Lord, ‘Be not afraid, for thou shalt not go to Algiers:’ for having had formerly great experience of the Lord’s deliverances, as hath been said above, he had already learned to trust in God, almost against hope. On the consideration of this, all fear was removed from him; and going to the ship’s side to see the Turks come in, he received them as if they were his friends, and they also behaved themselves civilly: then he showed them all the parts of the vessel, and what she was laden with. Afterwards he said to the men that were with him, ‘Be not afraid, for all this we shall not go to Algiers: but let me desire you, as ye have been willing to obey me, to be as willing now to obey the Turks.’ This they promised him, and by so doing, he soon perceived they gained upon the Turks; for they seeing the seamen’s diligence, grew the more careless and favourable to them. And having taken some small matter of the lading, some went again to their own ship, and eight Turks staid with the English.

Then the mate began to think of the master, and the other four that were in the Turk’s ship; as for himself, and the others with him, he had no fear at all; nay, he was so far from it, that he said to one of his men, ‘Were but the master on board, and the rest of our men, if there were twice as many Turks, I should not fear them.’ By this he encouraged the seamen, who not being of his persuasion, thought much otherwise than he, and would have been ready enough to have killed the Turks, if they had seen opportunity. In the meanwhile the mate’s earnest desire to the Lord was, that he would put it into the heart of the Turks, to send the master and the four others back. And his desire was answered; for soon after the master and those men were sent on board.

Then all manner of fear concerning going to Algiers was taken away from him; which made some say to him, he was a strange man, since he was afraid before he was taken, but now he was not. For before they were taken, he having heard there were many Turks at sea, endeavoured to persuade the master to have gone to Leghorn, and there to stay for a convoy, and so long they would have no wages. But to this the master would not agree. Now the mate, to answer the seamen, who blamed his behaviour, said to them, ‘I now believe I shall not go to Algiers: and if ye will be ruled by me, I will act for your delivery, as well as my own.’ However, though he spoke thus boldly, yet he saw no way for it; for the Turks were all armed, and the English without arms. Now these being altogether, except the master, he said to them, ‘What if we should overcome the Turks, and go to Majorca.’ At which they very much rejoiced, and one said, ‘I will kill one or two;’ ‘And I,’ said another, ‘will cut as many of their throats as you will have me.’ But at these sayings the mate was much troubled, for he intended not to hurt any, and therefore told the men, ‘If I knew that any of you would touch a Turk at that rate, I would tell it the Turks myself. But,’ said he, ‘if ye will be ruled, I will act for you; if not, I will be still.’ They seeing that he would not suffer them to take their own course, agreed to do what he would have them. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘if the Turks bid you do any thing, do it without grumbling, and with as much diligence and quickness as ye can, for that pleases them, and will cause them to let us be together.’ To this the men all agreed; and then he went to the master, and told him their intention. But his answer was, ‘If we offer to rise, and they overcome us, we had as good be burnt alive.’ The mate knew very well the master was in the right, viz. that if they failed in the attempt, they were like to meet with the most cruel treatment from the Turks that could be thought of. Now the reason why the master, though a very bold spirited man, did not readily consent to the proposal, was, because he feared they would shed blood, but his mate told him, they were resolved, and he questioned not but to do it, without shedding one drop of blood; and besides, he would rather have gone to Algiers, than to kill one Turk. Speaking thus, he so swayed the master, that at last he agreed to let him do what he would, provided they killed none.

Now since two Turks lay in the cabin with the master, it was agreed that he should continue to lie there, lest they should mistrust any thing. In the meanwhile it began to be bad weather, so that they lost the company of the Turkish man of war, which was the thing the mate much desired; and the Turks seeing the diligence of the English sailors, grew careless concerning them, which was what the mate aimed at. The second night after, the captain of the Turks, and one of his company, being gone to sleep in the cabin with the master, the mate persuaded one to lie in his cabin, and about an hour after another in another cabin; and at last it raining very much, he persuaded them all to lie down and sleep: and when they were all asleep, he coming to them, fairly got their arms into his possession. This being done, he told his men, ‘Now we have the Turks at our command, no man shall hurt any of them; for if ye do, I will be against you: but this we will do, now they are under deck, we will keep them so, and go for Majorca.’ And having ordered some to keep the doors, they steered their course to Majorca, and they had such a strong gale, that in the morning they were near it. Then he ordered his men, if any offered to come out, not to let above one or two at a time; and when one came out, expecting to have seen his own country, he was not a little astonished instead thereof to see Majorca. Then the mate said to his men, ‘Be careful of the door, for when he goes in we shall see what they will do. But have a care not to spill blood.’ The Turk being gone down, and telling his comrades what he had seen, and how they were going to Majorca, they, instead of rising, all fell a crying, for their courage was quite sunk; and they begged that they might not be sold. This the mate promised, and said, they should not. And when he had appeased them, he went into the cabin to the master, who knew nothing of what was done, and gave him an account of the sudden change, and how they had overcome the Turks. Which when he understood, he told their captain, that the vessel was now no more in their possession, but in his again; and that they were going for Majorca. At this unexpected news the captain wept, and desired the master not to sell him; which he promised he would not. Then they told him also, they would make a place to hide them in, that the Spaniards coming aboard should not find them. And so they did accordingly, at which the Turks were very glad.

Being come into the port of Majorca, the master, with four men, went ashore, and left the mate on board with ten Turks. The master having done his business, returned on board, not taking licence, lest the Spaniards should come and see the Turks: but another English master, being an acquaintance, lying there also with his ship, came at night on board; and after some discourse, they told him what they had done, under promise of silence, lest the Spaniards should come and take away the Turks. But he broke his promise, and would have had two or three of the Turks, to have brought them to England. His design then being seen, his demand was denied; and seeing he could not prevail, he said to Pattison and his mate, that they were fools, because they would not sell the Turks, which were each worth two or three hundred pieces of eight. But they told him, that if they would give many thousands, they should not have one, for they hoped to send them home again; and to sell them, the mate said, he would not have done for the whole island. The other master then coming ashore, told the Spaniards what he knew of this, who then threatened to take away the Turks. But Pattison and his mate having heard this, called out the Turks, and said to them, ‘Ye must help us or the Spaniards will take you from us.’ To this the Turks, as one may easily guess, were very ready, and so they quickly got out to sea: and the English, to save the Turks, put themselves to the hazard of being overcome again; for they continued hovering several days, because they would not put into any port of Spain, for fear of losing the Turks: to whom they gave liberty for four or five days, until they made an attempt to rise; which the mate perceiving, he prevented, without hurting any of them, though he once laid hold of one; yet generally he was so kind to them, that some of his men grumbled, and said he had more care for the Turks than for them. To which his answer was, they were strangers, and therefore he must treat them well. At length, after several occurrences, the mate told the master, that he thought it best to go to the coasts of Barbary, because they were then like to miss their men of war. To this the master consented. However, to deceive the Turks, they sailed to and fro for several days; for in the day-time they were for going to Algiers, but when night came they steered the contrary way, and went back again, by which means they kept the Turks in ignorance, so as to be quiet.

But on the 9th day, being all upon deck, when none of the English were there but the master, his mate, and the man at the helm, they began to be so untoward and haughty, that it rose in the mate’s mind, what if they should lay hold on the master, and cast him overboard: for they were ten lusty men, and he but a little man. This thought struck him with terror; but recollecting himself, and taking heart, he stamped with his foot and the men coming up, one asked for the crow, and another for the axe, to fall on the Turks; but the mate bade them not to hurt the Turks, and said, ‘I will lay hold on their captain:’ which he did, for having heard them threaten the master, he stept forward, and laying hold of the captain, said, he must go down, which he did very quietly, all the rest following him. Two days after, being come on the coast of Barbary, they were, according to what the Turks said, about fifty miles from Algiers, and six from land; and in the afternoon it fell calm. But how to set the Turks on shore was yet not resolved upon. The mate saw well enough, that he being the man who had begun this business, it would be his lot also to bring it to an end. He then acquainted the master that he was willing to carry the Turks on shore; but how to do this safely, he as yet knew not certainly; for to give them the boat was too dangerous, for then they might get men and arms, and so come and retake the ship with its own boat; and to carry them on shore with two or three of the ship’s men, was also a great hazard, because the Turks were ten in number: and to put one half on shore was no less dangerous; for then they might raise the country, and so surprise the English when they came with the other half. In this great strait the mate said to the master, if he would let him have the boat and three men to go with him, he would venture to put the Turks on shore. The master, relying perhaps on his mate’s conduct, consented to the proposal, though not without some tears dropt on both sides. Yet the mate taking courage, said to the master, ‘I believe the Lord will preserve me, for I have nothing but good-will in venturing my life, and I have not the least fear upon me; but trust that all will do well.’

The master having consented, the mate called up the Turks, and going with two men and a boy in the boat, took in these ten Turks, all loose and unbound. Perhaps somebody will think this to be a very inconsiderate act of the mate, and that it would have been more prudent to have tied the Turks’ hands, the rather because he had made the men promise, that they should do nothing to the Turks, until he said, he could do no more; for then he gave them liberty to act for their lives so as they judged convenient. Now since he knew not how near he should bring the Turks ashore, and whether they should not have been necessitated to swim a little, it seemed not prudent, to do any thing which might have exasperated them; for if it had fallen out so that they must have swam, then of necessity they must have been untied; which would have been dangerous. Yet the mate did not omit to be as careful as possible he could. For calling in the captain of the Turks, he placed him first in the boat’s stern; then calling for another, he placed him in his lap, and one on each side, and two more in their laps, until he had placed them all; which he did to prevent a sudden rising. He himself sat with a boat-hook in his hand on the bow of the boat, having next to him one of the shipmen, and two that rowed, having one a carpenter’s adze, and the other a cooper’s heading-knife. These were all their arms, besides what belonged to the Turks, which they had at their command. Thus the boat went off, and stood for the shore. But as they came near it, the men growing afraid, one of them cried out of a sudden, ‘Lord have mercy on us, there are Turks in the bushes on shore.’ The Turks in the boat perceiving the English to be afraid, all rose at once. But the mate, who in this great strait continued to be hearty, showed himself now to be a man of courage, and bid the men to take up such arms as they had; but do nothing with them until he gave them leave. And then seeing that there were no men in the bushes, and that it was only an imagination, all fear was taken away from him, and his courage increasing, he thought with himself, ‘It is better to strike a man, than to cleave a man’s head; and turning the boat-hook in his hand, he struck the captain a smart blow, and bid him set down: which he did instantly, and so did all the rest. After the boat was come so near the shore, that they could easily wade, the mate bid the Turks jump out, and so they did; and because they said they were about four miles from a town, he gave them some loaves, and other necessaries.

They would fain have persuaded the English to go with them ashore to a town, promising to treat them with wine, and other good things; but though the mate trusted in Divine Providence, yet he was not so careless as freely to enter into an apparent danger, without being necessitated thereto: for though he had some thoughts that the Turks would not have done him any evil, yet it was too hazardous thus to have yielded to the mercy of those that lived there; and therefore he very prudently rejected their invitation, well knowing that the Scripture saith, “Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.” The Turks seeing they could not persuade him, took their leave with signs of great kindness, and so went on shore. The English then putting the boat closer in, threw all their arms on shore, being unwilling to keep any thing of theirs. And when the Turks got up the hill, they waved their caps at the English, and so joyfully took their last farewell. And as soon as the boat came again on board, they had a fair wind, which they had not all the while the Turks were on board. Thus Thomas Lurting saved the ship and its men; which being thus wonderfully preserved, returned to England with a prosperous wind.

Now before the vessel arrived at London, the news of this extraordinary case was come thither; and when she was coming up the Thames, the king, with the duke of York, and several lords, being at Greenwich, it was told him, there was a Quaker’s ketch coming up the river, that had been taken by the Turks, and redeemed themselves without fighting. The king hearing this, came with his barge to the ship’s side, and holding the entering rope in his hand, he understood from the mate’s own mouth, how the thing had happened. But when he heard him say, how they had let the Turks go free, he said to the master, ’You have done like a fool, for you might have had good gain for them:’ and to the mate he said, ‘You should have brought the Turks to me.’ But the mate answered, ‘I thought it better for them to be in their own country.’ At which the king and others smiled, and so went away, thinking that the master had done foolishly; but he and his mate were of another opinion, and they made it appear that they did approve the lesson of our Saviour, “Love your enemies, and do good to those that hate you,” not only with their mouths, but that they had also put it into practice.

Though I have described this fact from a printed relation, yet I have added some circumstances from the mouth of the said mate, with whom I had some acquaintance.

Several years afterwards, when some seamen of the people called Quakers, were in slavery at Algiers, G. Fox wrote a book to the grand sultan, and the king at Algiers, wherein he laid before them their indecent behaviour, and unreasonable dealings, showing them from their alcoran that this displeased God, and that Mahomet had given them other directions. To this he added a succinct narrative of what hath been related here of G. Pattison’s ship being taken and retaken, and how the Turks were set at liberty, without being made slaves: by which the Mahometans might see what kind of Christians the Quakers were, viz. such as showed effectually that they loved their enemies, according to the doctrine of their supreme lawgiver, Christ. Now concerning those Quakers at Algiers, of whom mention hath been made that they were slaves there, it was a pretty long time before opportunity was found to redeem them; but in the meanwhile they so faithfully served their masters, that they were suffered to go loose through the town, without being chained or fettered; and liberty was also allowed them to meet at set times for religious worship: and their patrons themselves would sometimes come and see what they did there; and finding no images or prints, as Papist slaves in the exercise of their worship made use of, but hearing from their slaves that they reverently adored and worshipped the living God, Creator of Heaven and Earth, they commended them for it, and said it was very good, and that they might freely do so. And since one of them was raised to speak by way of edification to his friends, some other English slaves frequenting that meeting, came to be united with them. In the meanwhile the Quakers’ name came to be known at Algiers, as a people that might be trusted beyond others.

It was in this year that William Caton went to England with his wife from Holland, (where he was married,) and two friends more, one of which was Judith Zinspenning, my mother, who was moved to speak at the meeting at Kingston, where W. Caton interpreted for her. At another time being in a meeting at London, and he not present, and feeling herself stirred up to declare of the loving-kindness of the Lord to those that feared him, she desired one Peter Sybrands to be her interpreter; but he, though an honest man, yet not very fit for that service, one or more friends told her, they were so sensible of the power by which she spoke, that though they did not understand her words, yet they were edified by the life and power that accompanied her speech; and therefore they little mattered the want of interpretation; and so she went on without any interpreter. She had indeed a very good talent, and left such repute behind her, that I coming several years after into England, kindness was showed me in several places on her account. After a stay of some weeks at London, and thereabouts, she went to Colchester, in order to return with W. Caton’s wife to Holland; but making some stay in that town, she there wrote a book of proverbs, which, W. Caton having translated into English, was printed at London. After her departure, he staying behind, travelled through Essex, Warwickshire, Staffordshire, Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, and Yorkshire; and coming into Lancashire, he repaired to Swarthmore, and found there not only his ancient mistress, Margaret Fell, who received him very kindly, but also G. Fox, not long before he was taken prisoner.

From thence Caton went to Sunderland, and so to Scarborough, where meeting with a vessel bound for Holland, he embarked, and went off with a fair wind: but it was not long before the wind changed; and being about ten leagues from the land, the sky began to look tempestuous; which made Caton advise the master to return; but he thinking the weather would soon change, was unwilling to do so; yet it fell out otherwise, for a violent storm arose, by which the ship was so exceedingly tossed, that she grew leaky, and took so much water, that the pumps continually must be kept going. But this so wearied the seamen, that Caton also fell to pumping; for though he found himself prepared to meet death, if it had been the will of the Lord, yet he knew it to be the duty of a man to preserve his life by lawful means, as long as possible; besides, he pitied the poor seamen, and so was made willing to help them as much as lay in his power. But at length they lost the use of the rudder, and were near the sands and shallows, by which the danger was greatly increased, and death seemed to approach.

Now Caton, though given up in the will of the Lord, and prepared to have found his grave in the deep, yet did not omit to call upon the Lord, and to pray to the Most High for deliverance, if it were consistent with his holy will; and when the storm was at the highest, his supplication was heard, and the tempest on a sudden began to cease, and the wind to abate; which gave him occasion to praise the Almighty for the great mercy showed to him and the mariners. Yet the wind being contrary, the master resolved to enter Yarmouth, where Caton met with another storm: for on the First-day of the week, being at a meeting of his friends, he with seven more were apprehended, and carried to the main guard. The next day they were brought before the bailiffs of the town, who tendered them the oath of allegiance; which they refusing to take, were sent to prison, where he was kept above six months, so that it was not till the next year that he returned into Holland.

Whilst he was in jail, Stephen Crisp came the first time into Holland, to visit his friends there, and to edify them with his gift. It would not be amiss here to say a little of his qualifications. He was a man of notable natural abilities, and had been zealous for religion before ever he entered into fellowship with those called Quakers. But when the report of this people spread itself in the place where he lived, he made inquiry after them and their doctrine, and though he heard nothing but evil spoken of them, it nevertheless made some impression upon his mind, when he considered how they were derided, hated, slandered, and persecuted; because this generally had been the lot of those that truly feared God. But having heard that one of their tenets was, that sin might be overcome in this life, this seemed to him a great error. And therefore, when James Parnel came to Colchester, he armed himself with arguments, to oppose him earnestly: for looking upon him as one that was but a youth, he thought he should be able to prevail upon him. He himself was then about seven and twenty years of age, being not only well versed in sacred writ, but also in the writings of many of the ancient philosophers. After he had heard Parnel preach very powerfully, and found his words more piercing than he had imagined, he ventured to oppose him with some queries; but he soon found that this young man was endued with sound judgment; and with all his wisdom and knowledge he was not able to resist him, but was forced to submit to the truth he held forth. Now he thought himself so enriched, that for a month or two he made it his business, by the strength of his reason, to defend the Truth he had embraced. But he soon found that this was not sufficient; for self was not subdued under the cross, and he was not yet come to an experimental knowledge of what he asserted and defended with words. In this condition he saw that he must truly become poor in spirit, if God ever should enrich him with heavenly wisdom. This brought him to mourning and sorrow, by which he came more and more to be weaned from his natural knowledge, wherein he used to delight. And continuing faithful in this way of self-denial, he at length began to enjoy peace in his mind, and so advanced in virtue and real knowledge, that in time he became an eminent minister of the gospel, and travelling to and fro, many were converted by his ministry.

About this time appeared in England, one Lodowick Muggleton, who pretended that he and one John Reeves were the two witnesses which are spoken of, Rev. xi. 3. And though it was not long before Reeves died, yet Muggleton continued in his wild imaginations, which grew to that degree, that he gave forth a paper, in which he said, ‘That he was the chief judge in the world, and in passing the sentence of eternal death and damnation upon the souls and bodies of men. That in obedience to his commission, he had already cursed and damned many hundreds of people both body and soul, from the presence of God, elect men, and angels, to eternity. That he went by as certain a rule in so doing, as the judges of the land do, when they give judgment according to law. And that no infinite Spirit of Christ, nor any god, could, or should be able to deliver from his sentence and curse,’ &c. These abominable blasphemies he gave forth in public.

Richard Farnsworth, a zealous and intelligent minister, among those called Quakers, answered this blasphemer in writing, and discovered the horribleness of his profane and cursed doctrine and positions; and he said, among the rest, in a book he published in print, ‘Consider the nature of thy offence, how far it extends itself; and that is, to pass the sentence of eternal death and damnation, both upon the bodies and souls of men and women, and that to eternity. Consider that thy injustice, done by colour of office, deserves to have a punishment proportionable to the offence; and can the offence in the eye of the Lord be any less than sin against the Holy Ghost, because thou hast pretended to do it in the name of the Holy Ghost, and so wouldest make the Holy Ghost the author of thy offence, which it is not? And seeing thou art guilty of sin against the Holy Ghost, there is a punishment already proportioned for such an offence; and also thou art punishable by the law of the land, for presuming, under pretence of a commission, and as a judge, to pass the sentence of death upon the bodies of men and women, and pretending to go by a certain rule in so doing, as the judges of the land do, &c.’ Thus continued Farnsworth to answer Muggleton at large, and showed him how his judgment was not only contrary to truth, but also against the law of the land. But he was daring enough to give a reply to this serious answer, and said in it, that he should commend Farnsworth, first, for setting his name to it; and, secondly, for setting down his words so truly and punctually, that it made his commission and authority to shine the more bright and clear. And that he was as true an ambassador of God, and judge of all men’s spiritual estate, as any ever was since the creation of the world, ‘And if you Quakers, and others, (thus continued he,) can satisfy yourselves, that there never was any man commissioned of God to bless and curse, then you shall all escape that curse I have pronounced upon so many hundreds: and I only shall suffer for cursing others, without a commission from God. But my commission is no pretended thing, but as true as Moses’s, the prophets’, and the apostles’ commission was.

A multitude more of abominations this blasphemer belched out, and among the rest, that no man could come to the assurance of the favour of God, but in believing that God gave this power unto John Reeves and himself. That he had power given him over all other gods, and infinite spirits whatsoever: that he, (Muggleton,) had the keys of heaven, and of hell; and that none could get into heaven, except he opened the gates. That he had power to remit their sins who received his doctrine, and to retain and bind their sins more close upon their consciences, for their despising, or not receiving his doctrine. That he was single in doctrine, knowledge, judgment, and power, above all men, either prophets, or apostles, since the beginning of the world, or that should be hereafter whilst the world doth endure. That there was no true minister, messenger, nor ambassador of God in the world, but himself; neither should there be sent any of God after him to the world’s end. That a God without him, spoke to him by voice of words, to the hearing of the ear. That no person condemned by him, could make his appeal unto God, neither by himself, nor by any other; because God was not in the world at all. ‘This power to condemn, (saith he,) hath God given unto me, and in this regard I am the only and alone judge, what shall become of men and women after death; neither shall those that are damned by me, see any other god or judge but me.’--I am loth to transcribe more of those most horrible blasphemies; and we have cause to wonder at the long forbearance of God, that he thus bore the disdainful affront offered by this inhuman monster, in defiance of his almightiness.

This Muggleton said also to Farnsworth, that because he was not under the sentence of his commission by verbal words, or writing, he should give answer to his letter. ‘For, (said he,) I never give answer in writing to any one that is under the sentence of my commission.’ This shuffle, not to be bound to answer, when he had shut up any one under his pretended damnation, seemed comical and facetious. Yet Farnsworth did not omit to answer his blasphemous positions publicly, and to show the absurdity of Muggleton, and John Reeve’s being the two witnesses.

Hereafter I shall have occasion again to make mention of this Muggleton, for he lived yet several years: and do not find that any punishment was inflicted on him by the magistrates, other than the pillory, and half a year’s imprisonment; though many think, (not without good reason,) that such blasphemers ought to be secluded from conversation with men.

Francis Howgill, in the latter part of this year, being in the market at Kendal, in Westmoreland, about his business, was summoned by the high constable to appear before the justices of the peace at a tavern. For being a zealous preacher among those called Quakers, occasion was watched to imprison him under some colour of justice, how unjust soever. Being come to the place appointed, the oath of allegiance was tendered him; and because for conscience-sake he refused to swear, they committed him to prison till the assizes at Appleby. Then appearing at Appleby, the same oath was tendered him in court by the judges; for not taking of which he was indicted, only he had liberty to answer to the indictment at the next assizes. In the meantime there being a jail delivery at Appleby, he was required to enter into bond for his good behaviour: but well knowing this was only a snare to bring him into further bonds, he refused, and so was recommitted to prison. And not being tried till next year, we shall leave him there.

About this time happened a singular case, which I cannot well pass by unmentioned. One Oliver Atherton, a man of a weak constitution, having refused to pay tithes to the countess of Derby, who laid claim to the ecclesiastical revenues of the parish of Ormskirk, where he lived, was by her prosecution imprisoned at Derby, in a moist and unwholesome hole, which so weakened him, that after having lain there two years and a half, he grew sick; and a letter was wrote in his name to the countess, in which was laid before her not only the cause why he had refused the payment of tithes, viz. for conscience-sake, but also that his life was in danger, if he staid longer in that unwholesome prison: and that therefore she ought to show compassion, lest she drew the guilt of innocent blood upon her.

Now though Oliver’s son, who brought this letter, met with rough treatment for not uncovering his head, yet the letter was delivered into her own hands: but the countess continued hard-hearted. Godfrey, the son, returned to his father in prison, and told him, (who was now on his death bed,) that the countess would not allow him any liberty. To which he said, ‘She has been the cause of much bloodshed; but this will be the heaviest blood to her that ever she spilt.’ And not long after he died. His friends having got his corpse, carried it to Ormskirk, but at Garstang, Preston, and other towns they past, they fastened to the market cross the following inscription, which also had been put on his coffin.

‘This is Oliver Atherton from the parish of Ormskirk, who by the countess of Derby had been persecuted to death, for keeping a good conscience towards God and Christ, in not paying of tithes to her.’

Now though three more, who with him were imprisoned for the same cause, gave notice of this to the countess, that they might not likewise die in prison, as their fellow prisoner had, yet she would show no pity; and threatened to accuse those at Garstang, to the king and his council, for having suffered the putting up of the said inscription. But by this she opened people’s mouth’s the more, and an omnipotent hand prevented the executing of her threatening; for exactly three weeks after the day Atherton was buried, she died.

This year also in October, Humphrey Smith, a preacher among those called Quakers, having been prisoner a year at Winchester, for his religion, was by death delivered from his bonds. He had a vision in the year 1660, in the month called July, concerning the fire of London, which happened six years after: a relation of which he gave forth in print.

In the year 1662, being about London, he said to some of his friends, that he had a narrow path to pass through; and more than once signified, he saw he should be imprisoned, and that it might cost him his life. And coming not long after to Alton in Hampshire, he was taken from a meeting of his friends, and committed to a stinking close prison at Winchester, where after a whole year’s imprisonment, he fell sick; and in the time of his sickness spoke many excellent words to those about him, signifying, that he was given up to the will of the Lord either in life or death. And lying in great weakness, he said, ‘My heart is filled with the power of God. It is good for a man at such a time as this, to have the Lord to be his friend.’ At another time he was heard to say, ‘Lord, thou hast sent me forth to do thy will, and I have been faithful unto thee in my small measure, which thou hast committed unto me; but if thou wilt yet try me further, thy will be done.’ Also he said, ‘I am the Lord’s, let him do what he will.’ Not long before his departure he prayed very earnestly, saying, ‘O Lord, hear the inward sighs and groans of thine oppressed, and deliver my soul from the oppressor. Hear me, O Lord, uphold and preserve me. I know that my Redeemer liveth. Thou art strong and mighty, O Lord.’ He also prayed to God, that he would deliver his people from their cruel oppressors. And for those that had been convinced by his ministry, that the Lord would be their teacher. He continued quiet and sensible to the last period of his life, dying a prisoner for bearing witness to truth; and thus he stept from this troublesome and transitory life, into one that is everlasting.

END OF VOLUME I.

APPENDIX to VOL. I.

_By referring to page 167 of this Volume, it will be observed that the author, in giving a paper written by James Nayler, has omitted the part that immediately precedes the conclusion of it. This, which it is now thought proper to supply, is as follows_:

‘And this further is given me to say to every particular person, to whom this writing shall come, Whatever is thy condition, wait in the light which lets thee see it; there is thy counsel and thy strength to be received, to stay thee, and to recover thee. Art thou tempted to sin? abide in that which lets thee see it, that there thou mayest come to feed on the right body, and not on the temptation; for if thou mindest the temptation it will overcome thee, but in the light is salvation. Or, having sinned, art thou tempted to despair, or to destroy thyself? mind not the temptation, for it is death that sin hath brought forth; feed not on it, nor mind it, lest thou eatest condemnation; for that is the wrong body. The body of Christ is felt in the light, in which is life from death, grace and truth to feed on, which will overcome for thee, being followed; but if thou followest the temptation, fear and condemnation will swallow thee up. If there appear to thee voices, visions, and revelations, feed not thereon, but abide in the light and feel the body of Christ, and there wilt thou receive faith and power to judge of every appearance and spirit, the good to hold fast and obey, and the bad to resist. Art thou in darkness? mind it not; for if thou dost, it will fill thee more; but stand still and act not, and wait in patience till light arise out of darkness to lead thee. Art thou wounded in conscience? feed not there, but abide in the light, which leads to the grace and truth, which teaches to deny and put off the weight, and removes the cause, and brings saving health to light; yea, this I say to thee in the name of Jesus Christ, that though thou hast made thy grave as deep as the nethermost hell, or were thy afflictions as great as Job’s, and thy darkness as the depth of the sea, yet if thou wilt not run to vain helps, as I have done, but stay upon the Lord, till he give thee light by his word, (who commands light to shine out of darkness,) from thence will he bring thee forth, and his eye shall guide thee, and thou shalt praise his name, as I do this day, glory for evermore! And this word is nigh thee which must give thee light, though darkness comprehends it not. And hadst thou gifts, revelations, knowledge, wisdom, or whatever thou canst read of in the Scriptures of truth, and dost not abide in the light, and feed on the body of Christ, whence the gifts spring, but feed on the gift, thou mayest be up for a while in thy own sight, but certainly thou wilt wither and die to God, and darkness will come upon thee, and thy food will turn to thy condemnation in the sight of God.’

Nayler’s Works, page lv.

THE HISTORY OF THE RISE, INCREASE, AND PROGRESS, OF THE CHRISTIAN PEOPLE CALLED QUAKERS.

INTERMIXED WITH SEVERAL REMARKABLE OCCURRENCES.

WRITTEN ORIGINALLY IN LOW DUTCH, AND ALSO TRANSLATED BY HIMSELF INTO ENGLISH.

BY WILLIAM SEWEL.

A NEW EDITION.

TO WHICH IS APPENDED, AN INTERESTING NARRATIVE OF THE SUFFERINGS OF WILLIAM MOORE, JOHN PHILLY, AND RICHARD SELLER.

IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II.

PHILADELPHIA: URIAH HUNT, No. 19 NORTH THIRD STREET.

1832.

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