'No matter for that, Friend,' said Fox, 'they have no power to harm me, for the Lord's power is over all.' With these words he turned and crossed the crowded market-place again, on his way to leave the town, and not one of the people dared to touch him.

But, as everyone prefers both to be defended himself and to defend others with those weapons in which he himself puts most trust, the soldier very naturally followed Fox, in case 'the Lord's power' might also need the assistance of his trusty sword.

The mob, seeing Fox well protected, turned, like the cowards they were, and fell upon the other 'friendly people' who were standing defenceless in the market-place and beat them instead. Their meanness enraged the soldier. Leaving Fox, he turned and ran upon the mob in his turn, his naked rapier shining in his hand.

'My trusty sword shall teach these cravens a lesson at last,' he thought. Quick as he was, Fox was quicker. He, too, had turned at the noise, and seeing his defender running at the crowd, and the sunshine dancing down the steel blade as it gleamed in the air, he also ran, and dashed up the soldier's weapon before it had time to descend. Then taking firm hold of the man's right hand, sword and all, 'Thou must put up thy sword, Friend,' he commanded, 'if thou wilt come along with me.' Half sulkily, and wholly disappointed, the soldier, in spite of himself, obeyed. But he insisted on accompanying Fox to the outskirts of the town. 'You will be safe now, Sir,' he said, and sweeping his plumed hat respectfully on the ground, as he bowed low to his new friend, the two parted.

Nevertheless, not many days thereafter this very gallant gentleman paid for his chivalrous conduct. No less than seven men fell upon him at once, and beat him cruelly 'for daring to take the Quaker's part.' 'For it was the custom of this country to run twenty or forty people upon one man,' adds the Journal, with quiet scorn. 'And they fell so upon Friends in many places, that they could hardly pass the high ways, stoning and beating and breaking their heads.'

But of the punishment in store for his defender, Fox was happily ignorant that hot afternoon of the riot, as he followed the peaceful brook through its sheltered glen, and so came up again at last, after his rough handling, to friendly Swarthmoor, where young George Fell, escaped from his persecutors and the miry ditch, had arrived before him. 'And there they were, dressing the heads and hands of Friends and friendly people that were broken that day by the professors and hearers of Priest Lampitt,' writes Fox.

'And my body and arms were yellow, black and blue with the blows and bruises I received among them that day.'

FOOTNOTES:

[12] Remember always that by 'priest' George Fox only means a man of any form of religion who was paid for preaching. Lampitt was probably an Independent. 'Professors,' as we have already seen, are the people usually called 'Puritans, who 'professed' or made a great show of being very religious.'



XIII. MAGNANIMITY



'Magnanimity ... includes all that belongs to a great soul. A high and mighty Courage, an invincible Patience, an immovable Grandeur; which is above the reach of Injuries; a high and lofty Spirit allayed with the sweetness of Courtesy and Respect: a deep and stable Resolution founded on Humilitie without any Baseness ... a generous confidence, and a great inclination to Heroical deeds; all these conspire to compleat it, with a severe and mighty expectation of Bliss incomprehensible....

'A magnanimous soul is always awake. The whole globe of the Earth is but a nutshell in comparison with its enjoyments. The Sun is its Lamp, the Sea its Fishpond, the Stars its Jewels, Men, Angels, its attendance, and God alone its sovereign delight and supreme complacency.... Nothing is great if compared with a Magnanimous soul but the Sovereign Lord of all the Worlds.'—REV. THOMAS TRAHERNE (A Contemporary of G. Fox).

'They threw stones upon me that were so great, that I did admire they did not kill us; but so mighty was the power of the Lord, that they were as a nut or a bean to my thinking.'—THOMAS BRIGGS, 1685.



XIII. MAGNANIMITY

Beloved Swarthmoor! Dear home, where kind hearts abode, where gentle faces and tender hands were ever ready to welcome and bind up the wounds, both visible and invisible, of any persecuted guest in those troubled times. Surely, after his terrible experiences on the day of the riot at Ulverston, George Fox would yield to the entreaties of his entertainers, and allow himself to be persuaded to rest in peace under the shadow of the Swarthmoor yew-trees, until the bloodthirsty fury against all who bore the name of Quaker, and against himself in particular, should have somewhat lessened in the neighbourhood? Far from it. To 'Flee from Storms' was never this strong man's way.[13] Gentle reeds and delicate grasses may bow as the storm-wind rushes over them. The sturdy oak-tree, with its tough roots grappling firmly underground, stubbornly faces the blast. George Fox, 'ever Stiff as a Tree,' by the admission even of his enemies, barely waited for his 'yellow, black and blue' bruises to disappear before he came forth again to encounter his foes. Certain priests had however taken advantage of this short enforced absence to 'put about a prophecy' that he had disappeared for good, and 'that within a year all these Quakers would be utterly put down.' Great, therefore, must have been their chagrin to hear, only a short fortnight after the Lecture Day at Ulverston, that the hated 'Man in Leather Breeches' was off once more on his dangerous career.

Fox's companion on this journey was that same James Nayler who had followed him on his first visit to Swarthmoor, a few weeks previously. Nayler was one of the most brilliantly gifted of all those early comrades of George Fox, who were hereafter to earn the name of 'the Valiant Sixty.' Clouds and sorrows were to separate the two friends in years to come, but at this time they were united in heart and soul, both alike given up to the joyful service of 'Publishing Truth.' The object of their journey was to visit another recent convert, James Lancaster by name, in his home on the Island of Walney that lies off the Furness coast.

On the way thither the travellers spent one night at a small town on the mainland called Cockan. Here, as usual, they held a meeting with the inhabitants of the place, in order to proclaim the message that possessed them. Their words had already convinced one of their hearers, and more converts to the Truth might have followed, when suddenly, at a low window of the hall where they were assembled, a man's figure appeared, threatening the audience with a loaded pistol which he carried in his hand. As this pistol was pointed, first at one and then at another of George Fox's listeners, all the terrified people sprang to their feet and rushed through the doors of the hall as fast as their legs could carry them. Their alarm was natural; probably most, if not all of them, had seen fire-arms used in grim earnest before this, for the period of the Civil Wars was too recent to have faded from anyone's memory.

'I am not after you, ye timid sheep,' shouted the man with the pistol as the scared people fled past him. 'It is that Deceiver who is leading you all astray that I have to do with. Come out and meet me, George Fox,' he shouted, 'if you call yourself a Man.'

There was no need to ask twice. 'Here I am, Friend,' answered a quiet voice, as the well-known figure, in its wide white hat, long coat, leather breeches and doublet, and girdle with alchemy buttons, appeared standing in the doorway. Then, passing calmly through it, George Fox drew up scarce three paces from his assailant—his body making a large target at close range that it would be impossible to miss. The frightened people paused in their flight to watch. Were they going to see the Quaker slain? The stranger raised his pistol; he aimed carefully. Not a muscle of Fox's countenance quivered. Not an eyelash moved. The trigger snapped....

Nothing happened! The pistol did not go off. As if by a miracle the Quaker was saved.

Seeing this wonderful escape of their leader, some of the other men's courage returned. They rushed back to assist him. They threw themselves upon his assailant and wrenched the pistol from his hand, vowing he should do no further mischief. Fox, seeing in his adversary, not an enemy who had just sought his life, but a fellow-man with a 'Seed of God' hidden somewhere within him and therefore a possible soul to be won, was 'moved in the Lord's power to speak to him; and he was struck with the Lord's power' (small wonder!) 'so that he went and hid himself in a cellar and trembled for fear.

'And so the Lord's power came over them all, though there was a great rage in the country.'

The Journal continues (but it was written many years later, remember, when the account of what had happened could not bring anyone into trouble): 'And ye next morning I went over in a boat to James Lancaster's, and as soon as I came to land there rushed out about forty men, with staffs, clubs, and fishing-poles, and fell upon me with them, beating, punching, and thrust me backwards into the sea. And when they had thrust me almost into the sea, I stood up and went into the middle of them again, but they all laid on me again and knocked me down and mazed me. And when I was down and came to myself, I looked up and saw James Lancaster's wife throwing stones at my face, and her husband lying over me, to keep the stones and blows off me. For the people had persuaded James's wife that I had bewitched her husband, and had promised her that if she would let them know when I came hither they would be my death.

'So at last I got up in the power of God over them all, and they beat me down into the boat. And so James Lancaster came into the boat to me and so he set me over the water.

'And James Nayler we saw afterwards that they were beating of him. For while they were beating of me, he walked up into a field, and they never minded him till I was gone, and then they fell upon him, and all their cry was "Kill him!" "Kill him!" When I was come over to the town again, on the other side of the water, the townsmen rose up with pitchforks, flails, and staves to keep me out of the town, crying, "Kill him! knock him on the head! bring the cart and carry him to the churchyard." And so they abused me and guarded me with all those weapons a pretty way out of the town, and there at last, the Lord's power being over them all, they left me. Then James Lancaster went back again to look for James Nayler. So I was alone and came to a ditch of water and washed me, for they had all dirted me, and wet and mired my clothes, my hands and my face.

'I walked a matter of three miles to Thomas Hutton's, where Thomas Lawson the priest lodged, who was convinced. And I could hardly speak to them when I came in I was so bruised. And so I told them where I had left James Nayler, and they went and took each of them a horse, and brought him thither that night. And I went to bed, but I was so weak with bruises that I was not able to turn me. And the next day, they hearing of it at Swarthmoor, they sent a horse for me. And as I was riding the horse knocked his foot against a stone and stumbled, so that it shook me so and pained me, as it seemed worse to me than all the blows, my body was so tortured. So I came to Swarthmoor, and my body was exceedingly bruised.'

Even within the sheltering walls of Swarthmoor, this time persecution followed. Justice Sawrey had not yet forgiven the Quaker for his behaviour on the day of the riot. He must have further punishment. So right up to Swarthmoor itself came constables with a warrant signed by two Justices (Sawrey of course being one of them), that a certain man named George Fox was to be apprehended as a disturber of the peace. And clapped into gaol George Fox would have been, wounded and bruised as he was, in spite of all that his gentle hostesses could do to prevent it, had it not happened that, just as the constables arrived to execute this order, the master of the house, good Judge Fell himself, must needs return once more, in the very nick of time, home to Swarthmoor. His mere presence was a defence.

He had been away again on circuit all this time that George Fox had been so cruelly treated in the neighbourhood, and had therefore known nothing of the rioting during his absence. Now that he was back at home again, straightway everything went well. The roof seemed to grow all at once more sheltering, the walls of the old hall to become thicker and more able to protect its inmates, when once the master of the house was safely at home once more.

The six girls ran up and down stairs more lightly, smiling with relief whenever they met each other in the rooms and passages. Long afterwards, in the troubled years that were to follow, when there was no indulgent father to protect them and their mother and their friends from the bitter blast of persecution, many a time did the maidens of Swarthmoor recall that day. They remembered how, weeping, they had run down to the high arched gate of the orchard to meet their father, and to tell him what was a-doing up at the Hall. Thus they drew near the house, the Judge's dark figure half hidden among his muslined maidens, even as the dark old yews are hidden in spring by the snowy-blossomed apple-trees. When they saw the Judge himself coming towards them, the constables drawn up in the courtyard began to look mighty foolish. They approached with gestures of respect, giving a short account of what had happened at Walney, and holding out the warrant, signed by two justices, as an apology for their presence at Judge Fell's own Hall during his absence.

All their excuses availed them little. Judge Fell could look stern enough when he chose, and now his eyes flashed at this invasion of his home.

'What brings you here, men? A warrant for the apprehension of George Fox, MY GUEST? Are my brother Justices not aware then that I am a Justice too, and Vice-Chancellor of the county to boot? Under this roof a man is safe, were he fifty times a Quaker. But, since ye are here' (this with a nod and a wink, as the constables followed the Judge up the flagged path and by a side door into his oak-panelled study), 'since ye are here, men, I will give you other warrants a-plenty to execute instead. Those riotous folk at Walney Island are well known to me of old. It is high time they were punished. Take this, and see that the ringleaders who assaulted my guest are themselves clapped into Lancaster Gaol forthwith.'

Well pleased to get off with nothing but a reprimand, the constables departed, and carried out their new mission with right good will. The rioters were apprehended, and some of them were forced to flee from the country. In time James Lancaster's wife came to understand better the nature of the 'witchcraft' that George Fox had used upon her husband. She too was 'convinced of Truth.' Later on, after she had herself become a Friend, she must often have looked back with remorse to the sad day when her husband had been forced to defend his loved and revered teacher with his own body from her blows and stones.

Meanwhile at Swarthmoor there had been great rejoicing over the discomfiture of the constables. No sooner had they departed down the flagged path than back flitted the bevy of girls again into the study, until the small room was full to overflowing. It was like seeing a company of fat bumble-bees, their portly bodies resplendent in black and gold, buzz heavily out of a room, and a gay flight of pale-blue and lemon butterflies flit back in their places. All the daughters fell upon their father, Margaret, Bridget, Isabel, Sarah, Mary, and Susanna; there they all were! tugging off his heavy riding-boots and gaiters, putting away the whip on the whip-rack, while little Mary perched herself proudly on his knee and put up her face for a kiss; and, all the time, such a talk went on as never was about Friend George Fox and the sufferings he had undergone, each girl telling the story over and over again.

'Now, now, maids!' said the kind father at last, 'I have heard enough of your chatter. It is time for you to depart and send Mr. Fox hither to me himself. 'Tis a stirring tale, even told by maidens' lips; I would fain hear it at greater length from the man himself. He shall tell me, in his own words, all that he hath suffered, and the vile usage he hath met with at the hands of his enemies.'

A few minutes later, a steady step was heard crossing the hall and ascending the two shallow stairs that led to the Justice's private sanctum. As George Fox entered the room Judge Fell rose from his seat at the writing-table to receive his guest, and clasped his hand with a hearty greeting.

The study at Swarthmoor is only a small room; but when those two strong men were both in it together, facing each other with level brows and glances of unclouded trust, the small room seemed suddenly to grow larger and more spacious. It was swept through by the wide free airs of heaven, where full-grown spirits can meet and recognise one another unhindered. They disagreed often, these two determined, powerful men. They owned different loyalties and held different opinions; but from the day they first met to the day they parted they respected and trusted one another wholly, and for this each man in his heart gave thanks to God.

George Fox began by asking his host how his affairs had prospered; but when, these enquiries answered, the Judge in his turn questioned his guest of the rough usage he had met with both at Ulverston and in the Island of Walney, to his surprise no details were forthcoming. Had the Judge not had full particulars from his daughters as well as from the constables, he would have thought that nothing of much moment had occurred. George Fox apparently took no interest in the subject; the most he would say, in answer to his host's repeated enquiries, was that 'the people could do no other, in the spirit in which they were. They did but show the fruits of their priest's ministry and their profession and religion to be wrong.'

'I' faith, Margaret, thy friend is a right generous man,' the good Judge remarked to his wife, that same night, a few hours later, when they were at length alone together in their chamber. The festoons of interlaced roses and lilies, carved in high relief on the high black oak fireplace, shone out clearly in the glow of two tall candles above their heads.

'In truth, dear Heart,' he continued, taking his wife's hand in his, and drawing her fondly to him, 'in truth, though I said not so to him, the Quaker doth manifest the fruits of his religion to be right, by his behaviour to his foes. All stiff and bruised though he was, he made nothing of his injuries. When I would have enquired after his hurts, he would only say the Power of the Lord had surely healed him. FOR THE REST, HE MADE NOTHING OF IT, AND SPOKE AS A MAN WHO HAD NOT BEEN CONCERNED.'

FOOTNOTES:

[13] 'Flee from Storms' is a motto in the note-book of Leonardo da Vinci.



XIV. MILES HALHEAD AND THE HAUGHTY LADY



'Many a notable occurrence Miles Halhead had in his life.... But his going thus often from home was a great cross to his wife, who in the first year of his change, not being of his persuasion, was often much troubled in her mind, and would often say from discontent, "Would to God I had married a drunkard, then I might have found him at the alehouse; but now I cannot tell where to find my husband."'—SEWEL.

To Friends—To take care of such as suffer for owning the Truth.

'And that if any friends be oppressed any manner of way, others may take care to help them: and that all may be as one family, building up one another and helping one another.'

'And, friends, go not into the aggravating part to strive with it, lest you do hurt to your souls, and run into the same nature; for PATIENCE MUST GET THE VICTORY, and it answers to that of God in everyone and will bring everyone from the contrary. So let your temperance and moderation and patience be known to all.'—GEORGE FOX.

'Non tristabit justum quidquid si accederit.'

'Whatever happens to the righteous man it shall not heavy him.'—RICHARD ROLLE. 1349.



XIV. MILES HALHEAD AND THE HAUGHTY LADY

A Plain, simple man was Miles Halhead, the husbandman of Mountjoy. Ten years older than Fox was he, and wise withal, so that men wondered to see him forsake his home and leave wife and child at the call of the Quaker's preaching, and go forth instead to become a preacher of the Gospel.

Yet, truth to tell, the change was natural and easily explained. All his life Miles had had to do with seeds buried in the ground. Therefore when he heard George Fox preach at his home near Underbarrow in Westmorland, telling all men to consider 'that as the fallow ground in their fields must be ploughed up before it would bear seed to them, so must the fallow ground of their hearts be ploughed up before they could bear seed to God,' Miles' own past experience as a husbandman bore witness to the truth of this doctrine. His whole nature sprang forward to receive it; and thus, in a short while, he was mightily convinced.

Now at that time there were, as we know, many companies of Seekers scattered up and down the pleasant Westmorland dales. Miles himself had been one of such a group, but now, having found that which he had aforetime been a-seeking, nought was of any value to him, but that his old companions should likewise cease to be Seekers, and become also in their turn Finders. Yet Miles wondered often how such an one as he should be able to convince them. For he was neither skilful nor ready of tongue, nor of a commanding presence like Friend George Fox, but only a simple husbandman. Still he was wary in his discourse, from his long watching of the faces of Earth and Sky—full also he was of a most convincing silence; and, though as yet he had proved it not, staunch to suffer for his faith. It was said of him that 'his Testimony was plaine and powerful, he being a plain simple man.'

Thus Miles Halhead began to preach the Gospel, at first only in the hamlets and valleys round his home at Underbarrow near to Kendal. But one day when the daffodils were all abloom, and blowing their golden trumpets silently beside the sheltered streams, it came to him that he must take a further journey, and must follow the golden paths of the daffodils over hill and vale, until at the end of this street of gold he should come to Swarthmoor Hall; that there he might assist his friends at their Meeting, and with them be strengthened and have his soul refreshed.

A walk of seventeen miles or so lay before him, and an easy journey it should prove in this gay springtime, though in winter, when the snow lay drifted on the uplands, it would have been another matter. He could have travelled by the sheltered road that runs through the valley. It being springtime, however, and a sunny day when Miles set out from his home, he chose for pure pleasure to go by the fells. First, he travelled across the Westmorland country till he came to the lower end of Lake Winandermere, where the hills lie gently round like giants' children, being not yet full grown into giants themselves with brows that touch the sky, as they are at the upper end of that same shining lake. Then, leaving Winandermere, across the Furness fells he came, keeping ever on his right hand the Old Man of Coniston, who, with his head for the most part wrapped in clouds, standeth yet, as he hath stood for ages, the Guardian of all that region.

Thus at length, as Miles journeyed, he came within sight of the promontory of Furness, that lies encircled by the sea, even as a babe's head lies in the crook of a woman's elbow. Seeing this, Miles' heart rejoiced, for he knew that his journey's end was in sight, and he tramped along blithely and without fear.

Suddenly, on the path at some distance ahead of him, he saw a patch of brilliant green and purple coming towards him—a gay figure more likely to be met with in the streets of London than on those lonely fells. Miles thought to himself as it drew nearer, ''Tis a woman!' then, 'Nay, it is surely a great Thistle coming towards me; no woman would wear garments such as those in this lonely place.' As he shaded his eyes the better to see what might be approaching, his mind ran back to the first sermon he had ever heard George Fox preach, on his first visit to Underbarrow, when he said, 'That all people in the Fall were gone from the image of God, righteousness and holiness, and were degenerated into the nature of beasts, of serpents, of tall cedars, of oaks, of bulls and of heifers.' ... 'Some were in the nature of dogs and swine, biting and rending; some in the nature of briars, thistles and thorns; some like the owls and dragons in the night; some like the wild asses and horses snuffing up the wind; and some like the mountains and rocks, and crooked and rough ways.' 'I was not certain of his meaning when I first heard him utter these words,' simple Miles thought to himself, 'but now that I see this fine Thistle coming towards me, I begin to understand him. Haply it is but a Thistle in outer seeming, and carries within the nature of a Lily or a Rose.'

Even as he thought of this, the Thistle came yet nearer, and when he could see it more plainly he feared that neither Lily nor Rose was there, but a Thistle full of prickles in very truth. It was indeed a woman, but clad in more gorgeous raiment than Miles had ever seen. Green satin was her robe, slashed with pale yellow silk, marvellous to behold. But it was the hat that drew Miles' gaze, for though newly come to be a Quaker preacher, he had been a husbandman long enough to be swift to notice the garb of all growing, living things, whether they were flowers or dames. Truly the hat was marvellous, of a bright purple satin, and crowned with such a tuft of tall feathers that the wearer's face could scarcely be seen beneath its shade. Dressed all in gaudy style was this fine Madam; and, as she passed Miles, she tilted up her head and drew her skirts disdainfully together, lest they should be soiled by his approach. Although the lady appeared to see him not, but to be gazing at the sky, she was in truth well aware of his presence, and awaited even hungrily a lowly obeisance from him, that should assure her in her own sight of her own importance. For of no high-born lineage was this flaunting dame, no earl's or duke's daughter, else perhaps she had been too well aware of her own dignity and worth to insist upon others acknowledging it. She was but the young wife of the old Justice, Thomas Preston, and a plain Mistress, like Miles' own simple wife at home, in spite of her gay garments and flaunting airs. But the fact that she had newly come to live at Holker Hall, the finest mansion in all that country-side, had uplifted her in her own sight, and puffed her out with pride, sending her forth at all hours into unseasonable places to show off her fine new London clothes.

Therefore she paused a little as she passed Miles, waiting for him to doff his hat and bend his knee, and declare himself in all lowliness her servant. But Miles had never a thought of doing this. Though he was but newly turned Quaker, right well he remembered hearing George Fox say—

'Moreover, when the Lord sent me forth into the world, He forbade me to put off my hat to any—high or low—and I was required to "thee" and "thou" all men and women, without any respect to rich or poor, great or small. And as I travelled up and down, I was not to bid people "Good-morrow," or "Good-evening," neither might I bow or scrape with the leg to anyone, and this made the sects and the professors to rage.'

Miles, too, having learnt this lesson and made it his own, passed by the lady in all soberness and quietness, taking no more notice of her than if she had been one of those dames painted on canvas by the late King's painter, Sir Anthony Van Dyck, which, truth to tell, she mightily resembled. The haughty fair one seeing this, as soon as he had fully passed and she could no longer delude herself with the hope that the longed-for salute was coming, was vastly and mightily incensed. It was not her hat alone that was thistle colour then: her face, her forehead, her neck all blazed and burned in one purple flush of rage. Only her cheeks stayed a changeless crimson, and that for a very excellent reason, easy to guess. Violently she turned herself to a serving-man who was following in her train, following so humbly, and being so much hidden by Madam's fallals and furbelows, that until that moment Miles had not even seen that he was there.

'Back, sirrah!' she said in a loud, angry voice, speaking to the man as if he had been a dog or a horse, 'back with thy staff and beat that unmannerly knave till thou hast taught him 'twere well he should learn to salute his betters.'

The servant was tired of following his lady like a lap-dog, and attending to all her whims and whimsies. Scenting sport more nearly to his liking, he obeyed, nothing loath. He fell upon Miles and beat him lustily and stoutly, expecting every moment that he would resist or beg for mercy.

Mistress Preston meanwhile, having turned full round, watched the thwacking blows, and counted each one as it fell, with a smile of pleasure. But her smile speedily became an angry frown, for Miles, well knowing to whom his chastisement was due, paid no heed to the serving-man, let him lay on never so soundly, but turned himself round under the blows, and cried out in a loud voice to her: 'Oh, thou Jezebel, thou proud Jezebel, canst thou not permit and suffer the servant of the Lord to pass by thee quietly?'

Now at that word 'Jezebel,' Mistress Preston's anger was yet more mightily inflamed against Miles, for she knew that he had discovered the reason why her cheeks had remained pink, and flushed not thistle purple like the rest of her countenance. Even the serving-man smiled to himself, a mocking smile, and hummed in a low voice, as he continued to lay the blows thickly on Miles, a ditty having this refrain—

'Jezebel, the proud Queen, Painted her face,'

He did not suppose that his mistress would recognise the tune; but recognise it she did, and it increased her anger yet more, if that were possible. She flung out both hands in a fury, as if she would herself have struck at Miles, then, thinking him not fit for her touch, she changed her mind, and spat full in his face. Oh, what a savage Thistle was that woman, and worse far than any Thistle in her behaviour! Loudly, too, she exclaimed, 'I scorn to fall down at thy words!' Her meaning in saying this is not fully clear, but it may be, as Miles had called her Jezebel, she meant that no one should ever cast her down from her high estate, as Jezebel was cast down from the window in the Palace, whence she mocked at Jehu. This made Miles testify yet once more—'Thou proud Jezebel,' said he, 'thou that hardenest thine heart and brazenest thy face against the Lord and His servant, the Lord will plead with thee in His own time and set in order before thee the things thou hast this day done to His servant.'

By this time the lady's lackey had at length stopped his beating, not out of mercy to Miles, but simply because his arm was weary. Yet he still kept humming under his breath another verse of the same ditty, ending—

'Jezebel, the proud Queen, 'Tired her hair!'

Miles, therefore, being loosed from his hands, parted from both mistress and man, and left them standing without more words and himself passed on, bruised and buffeted, to continue his journey in sore discomfort of body until he came to Swarthmoor.

Arrived at that gracious home, his friends comforted him and bound up his aching limbs, as indeed they were well accustomed to do in those days, when the guests who arrived at Swarthmoor had too often been sorely mishandled. Even to this day, in all the lanes around, may be seen the walls composed of sharp, grey, jagged stones, over which is creeping a covering of soft golden moss. So in those old days of which I write, men, aye and women too, often came to Swarthmoor torn and bleeding, perhaps sometimes with anger in their hearts (though Miles Halhead was not of these), and all alike found their inward and outward wounds staunched and assuaged by the never-failing sympathy of kindly hearts, and hands more soft than the softest golden moss.

Thus Miles Halhead was comforted of his friends at Swarthmoor, and inwardly refreshed. Yet the matter of his encounter with the haughty lady, and of her prickly thistle nature, rested on his mind, and he could not be content without giving her yet one more chance to doff her prickles and become a sweet and fragrant flower in the garden of the Lord. Therefore, three months later, being continually urged thereunto by 'the true Teacher which is within,' he determined to take yet another journey and come himself to Holker Hall, and ask to speak with its mistress and endeavour to bring her to a better mind. Thither then in due course he came. Now a mansion surpassing grand is Holker Hall, the goodliest in all that country-side. And a plain man and a simple, as has been said, was Miles Halhead the husbandman of Mountjoy, even among the Quakers—who were none of them gay gallants. Nevertheless, being full of a great courage though small in stature, all weary and travel-stained as he was, to Holker Hall Miles Halhead came. He would not go to any back door or side door, seeing that his errand was to the mistress of the stately building. He walked therefore right up the broad avenue till he came to the front entrance, with its grand portico, where a king had been welcomed before now.

As luck would have it, the door stood open as the Quaker approached, and the mistress of Holker Hall herself happened to be passing through the hall behind. She paused a moment to look through the open door, intending most likely to mock at the odd figure she saw approaching. But on that instant she recognised Miles as the man who had called her Jezebel. Now Miles at first sight did not recognise her, and was doubtful if this could be the haughty Thistle lady he sought, or if it were not a Lily in very truth. For Mistress Preston was clad this hot day in a lily-like frock of white clear muslin, all open at the neck and short enough to show her ankles and little feet, and tied with a blue ribbon round the waist, a garb most innocent to look upon, and more suited to a girl in her teens than to the Justice's wife, the buxom mistress of Holker Hall.

Therefore Miles, not recognising her, did ask her if she were in truth the woman of the house. To which she, seeing his uncertainty, answered lyingly: 'No, that I am not, but if you would speak with Mistress Preston, I will entreat her to come to you.'

Even as the words left her lips, Miles was sensible that she was speaking falsely, seeing how, even under the paint, her cheeks took on a deeper hue. And she, ever mindful that it was that same man who had called her Jezebel, went into the house and returning presently with another woman, declared that here was Mistress Preston, and demanded what was his will with her. No sooner had she spoken a second time than it was manifested to Miles with perfect clearness that she herself and none other was the woman he sought. Wherefore, in spite of her different dress and girlish mien, he said to her, 'Woman, how darest thou lie before the Lord and His servant?'

And she, being silent, not speaking a word, he proceeded, 'Woman, hear thou what the Lord's servant hath to say unto thee,—O woman, harden not thy heart against the Lord, for if thou dost, He will cut thee off in His sore displeasure; therefore take warning in time, and fear the Lord God of Heaven and Earth, that thou mayest end thy days in peace.' Having thus spoken he went his way; she, how proud soever, not seeking to stay him nor doing him any harm, but standing there silent and dumb under the tall pillars of the door, being withheld and stilled by something, she knew not what.

Yet her thistle nature was not changed, though, for that time, her prickles were blunted. It chanced that several years later, when George Fox was a prisoner at Lancaster, this same gay madam came to him and 'belched out many railing words,' saying among the rest that 'his tongue should be cut off, and he be hanged.' Instead of which, it was she herself that was cut off and died not long after in a miserable condition.

Thus did Mistress Preston of Holker Hall refuse to bow her haughty spirit, yet the matter betwixt her and Miles ended not altogether there. For it happened that another April day, some three springs after Miles Halhead had encountered her the first time, as he was again riding from Swarthmoor towards his home near Underbarrow, and again being come near to Holker Hall, he met a man unknown to him by sight. This person, as Miles was crossing a meadow full of daffodils that grew beside a stream, would not let him pass, as he intended, but stopped and accosted him. 'Friend,' said he to Miles, 'I have something to say to you which hath lain upon me this long time. I am the man that about three years ago, at the command of my mistress, did beat you very sore; for which I have been very troubled, more than for anything which ever I did in all my life: for truly night and day it hath been in my heart that I did not well in beating an innocent man that never did me any hurt or harm. I pray you forgive me and desire the Lord to forgive me, that I may be at peace and rest in my mind.'

To whom Miles answered, 'Truly, friend, from that time to this day I have never had anything in my heart towards either thee or thy mistress but love. May God forgive you both. As for me, I desire that it may not be laid to your charge, for you knew not what you did.' Here Miles stopped and gave the man his hand and forthwith went on his way; and the serving-man went on his way; both of them with a glow of brotherhood and fellowship within their hearts. While the daffodils beside the stream looked up with sunlit faces to the sun, as they blew on their golden trumpets a blast of silent music, for joy that ancient injury was ended, and that in its stead goodwill had come.



XV. SCATTERING THE SEED



'As early as 1654 sixty-three ministers, with their headquarters at Swarthmoor, and undoubtedly under central control, were travelling the country upon "Truth's ponies"'—JOHN WILHELM ROWNTREE.

'It is interesting to note and profitable to remember, how large a part these sturdy shepherds and husbandmen, from under the shade of the great mountains, had in preaching the doctrines of the Inward Light and of God's revelation of Himself to every seeking soul, in the softer and more settled countries of the South.'—THOMAS HODGKIN.

'Some speak to the conscience; some plough and break the clods; some weed out, and some sow; some wait that fowls devour not the seed. But wait all for the gathering of the simple-hearted ones.'... 1651.

'Friends, spread yourselves abroad, that you may be serviceable for the Lord and His Truth.' 1654.

'Love the Truth more than all, and go on in the mighty power of God, as good soldiers of Christ, well-fixed in His glorious gospel, and in His word and power; that you may know Him, the life and salvation and bring up others into it.'—G. FOX.

'Go! Set the whole world on fire and in flames!'—IGNATIUS LOYOLA. (To one whom he sent on a distant mission.)



XV. SCATTERING THE SEED

In Springtime the South of England is a Primrose Country. Gay carpets of primroses are spread in the woods; shy primroses peep out like stars in sheltered hedgerows; vain primroses are stooping down to look at their own faces in pools and streams, there are primroses, primroses everywhere. But in the North of England their 'paly gold' used to be a much rarer treasure. True, there were always a few primroses to be found in fortunate spots, if you knew exactly where to look for them; but they were not scattered broadcast over the country as they are further South.

Therefore, North Country children never took primroses as a matter of course, they did not tear them up roughly, just for the fun of gathering them, drop them heedlessly the next minute and leave them on the road to die. North Country children used their precious holiday time to seek out their favourite flowers in their rare hiding-places.

'I've found one!' 'So have I!' 'There they are; two, three, four,—lots!' 'I see them!' The air would be full of delighted exclamations as the children scampered off, short legs racing, rosy cheeks flushing, bright eyes glowing with eagerness, to see who could take home the largest bunch.

The further north a traveller went, the rarer did primroses become, till in Northumberland, the most northerly county of all, primroses used to be very scarce indeed. Until, only a few years ago, a wonderful thing happened. There were days and weeks and months of warm sunny weather all through the spring and summer in that particular year. Old people smiled and nodded to one another as they said: 'None of us ever remembers a spring like this before!'

The tender leaves and buds and flowers undid their wrappings in a hurry to be first to catch sight of the sun, whose warm fingers had awakened them, long before their usual time, from their winter sleep. All over England the spring flowers had a splendid time of it that year.

Even the few scattered primroses living in what Southerners call 'the cold grey North' were obviously enjoying themselves. Their smooth, pale-yellow faces opened wider, and grew larger and more golden, day by day: while new, soft, pointed buds came poking up through their downy green blankets in unexpected places. Moreover, the warm weather lasted right through the summer. Not only did far more primroses flower than usual, but also, after they had faded, there was plenty of warmth to ripen the precious seed packet that each one had carried at its heart. No wonder the children clapped their hands, that joyous spring, when their treasures were so plentiful; but they feared that they would never have such good luck again, even if they lived to be as old as the old people who had 'never seen such a spring before.'

It was not until a year later that the delighted children discovered that the long spell of sunshine and the Enchanter Wind had worked a lasting magic. The ripened seed had been scattered far and wide. The primroses had come to the North to stay; and new Paradises were springing up everywhere.

Now this is a primrose parable of many things, and worth remembering. Among other things it is an illustration of the change that was wrought all over England by the preaching of George Fox.

Think once again of the long bleak years of his youth, when he was struggling in a dark world into which it seemed as if no ray of light could pierce; when he and everyone else seemed to be frozen up in a wintry religion, without life or warmth. Then think how at length he felt the sap rising in his own soul, turning his whole being to the Light, as he found 'there is one, even Christ Jesus, that can speak to thy condition.' This discovery taught him that in all other men's hearts too, if they only knew, there was 'that of God.' Henceforward, to proclaim that Light to others and the seed within their own hearts that responds to the beams of the Sun of Righteousness, was the service to which George Fox devoted his whole life. As his own being blossomed in the spiritual sunshine of his great discovery, he was able to persuade hundreds and thousands of other frozen hearts to yield themselves and turn to the Light, and open and blossom also in that same sunshine. A greater wonder followed. Those other lives, as they yielded themselves, began to ripen too, in different ways, but silently and surely, until they in their turn were ready to scatter the new seed, or, in the language of their day, to 'Publish Truth' up and down all over the country, until the whole face of England was changed.

By the time of George Fox's death, more than one out of every hundred among all the people of England was a Friend. But the Friends never regarded themselves as a Sect, although Sects were flourishing at that time. In 1640 it is said that twenty new kinds of Sects blossomed out in the course of one week. George Fox and his followers believed that the discovery they had made was meant for everybody, as much as sunshine is. Other people nicknamed them 'Quakers,' but they always spoke of themselves by names that the whole world was welcome to share: 'Children of the Light,' 'Friends of the Truth,' or simply 'Friends.' There was nothing exclusive about such names as these. There was no such thing as membership in a society then or for more than fifty years afterwards. Anyone who was convinced by what he had heard, and lived in the spirit of what he professed, became 'Truth's Friend' in his turn.

Neither was there anything exclusive in George Fox's message. 'Keep yourselves in an universal spirit' was what he both preached and practised. It was in 'an universal spirit' that he and his followers scattered all over the country. No wonder they earned the name of 'the Valiant Sixty,' that little band of comrades who in 1654 started out from the North Country on their mission of convincing all England of 'the Truth.'

They were nearly all young men, their leader Fox himself still only thirty at this time. Francis Howgill and John Camm were two of the very few elders in the company. They usually travelled in couples, dear friends naturally going together; for is not the best work always done with the right companion? George Fox, who was leader, not by any outward signs of authority but by fervour of inward power and zeal, occasionally travelled alone. More often he took with him a comrade, such as Richard Farnsworth (of whom we have heard at Pendle), or James Nayler, or Leonard Fell, or many another, of whom there are other stories yet to tell.

Never was George Fox happier than when he was sowing the seed in a new place. All over England there are memories of him, even as far away as the Land's End.

When, in 1656, he reached the rocky peninsula of granite at the extreme south-west of England, he wrote in his journal: 'At Land's End we had a precious meeting. Here was a fisherman, Nicholas Jose, convinced, that became a faithful minister. He spoke in meetings and declared truth to the people, so that I told Friends he was "like Peter." I was glad the Lord raised up His standard in those dark parts of the nation, where since there is a fine meeting of honest-hearted Friends, and a great people the Lord will have in that country.'

Unluckily, some of the other Cornish fisherfolk were not at all 'like Peter.' They were wreckers, and used to entice ships on to the rocks by means of false lights in order to enrich themselves with the spoils washed up on their coasts. This is why George Fox spoke of them as a 'dark people,' and was moved to put forth a paper 'warning them against such wicked practices.'

There are memories of him also in the town which was then called Smethwick, and is now called Falmouth, as well as at grim old Pendennis Castle: one of the twin castles that had been built by King Henry the Eighth to guard the mouth of Falmouth harbour. Here George Fox was confined. From hence he was carried to Launceston, where he lay for many weeks in prison in the awful den of Doomsdale, under conditions so dreadful that it is impossible to describe them here. When, at length, he was set at liberty he found a refuge at the hospitable farmhouse of Tregangeeves near St. Austell—the Swarthmoor of the West of England—with its warm-hearted mistress, Loveday Hambley. At Exeter he stayed at an inn, at the foot of the bridge, named 'the Seven Stars.' In our own day some of his followers have found another 'Inn of Shining Stars' at Exeter also, when their turn has come to be lodged within the grim walls of the Gaol for conscience sake.

* * * * *

Now let us borrow the Giant's Seven-Leagued boots, and fancy ourselves in the far North of England, in 1657, just leaving Cumberland and crossing the Scottish border. Again the same square-set figure in the plain, soft, wide hat is riding ahead. But on this journey George Fox has several others with him: one is our old acquaintance, James Lancaster: Alexander Parker is the name of another of his companions: the third, Robert Widders, Fox himself described as 'a thundering man.' With them rides a certain Colonel William Osborne, 'one of the earliest Quaker preachers north of the Tweed, who came into Cumberland at this time on purpose to guide the party.'[14] Colonel Osborne, who had been present with the other travellers at a meeting at Pardshaw Crag shortly before, 'said that he never saw such a glorious meeting in his life.'

'Fox says that as soon as his horse set foot across the Border, the infinite sparks of life sparkled about him, and as he rode along he saw that the seed of the seedsman Christ was sown, but abundance of clods of foul and filthy earth was above it.'[15]

A high-born Scottish lady, named Lady Margaret Hamilton, was convinced on this journey. She afterwards went in her turn to warn Oliver Cromwell of the Day of the Lord that was coming upon him. Various other distinguished people seem also to have been convinced at this time. The names of Fox's new disciples sound unusually imposing: 'Judge Swinton of Swinton; Sir Gideon Scott of Highchester; Walter Scott of Raeburn, Sir Gideon's brother; Charles Ormiston, merchant, Kelso; Anthony Haig of Bemersyde and William his brother'; but Quakerism never took firm root in the Northern Kingdom, as it did among the dalesmen and townsfolk farther South.

Fox journeyed on, right into the Highlands, but he got no welcome there. 'We went among the clans,' he says, 'and they were devilish, and like to have spoiled us and our horses, and run with pitchforks at us, but through the Lord's power we escaped them.' At Perth, the Baptists were very bitter, and persuaded the Governor to drive the party from the town, whereupon 'James Lancaster was moved to sound and sing in the power of God, and I was moved to sound the Day of the Lord, the glorious everlasting Gospel; and all the streets were up and filled with people: and the soldiers were so ashamed that they cried, and said they had rather have gone to Jamaica[16] than to guard us so, and then they set us in a boat and set us over the water.'

At Leith many officers of the army and their wives came to see Fox. Among these latter was a certain Mrs. Billing, who lived alone, having quarrelled with her husband. She brought a handful of coral ornaments with her, and threw them on the table ostentatiously, in order to see if Fox would preach a sermon against such gewgaws, since the Quakers were well known to disapprove of jewellery and other vanities.

'I took no notice of it,' says Fox, 'but declared Truth to her, and she was reached.' What a picture it makes! The fine lady, with her chains and brooches and rings of smooth, rose-coloured coral heaped up on the table before her, her eyes cast down as she pretended to let the pretty trifles slip idly through her fingers, yet glancing up now and then, under her eyelashes, to see if she had managed to attract the great preacher's attention; and Fox, noticing the baubles well enough, but paying no attention to them. Fixing his piercing eyes not on the coral but on its owner, he spoke to Mrs. Billing with such power that her whole life was changed. Once more Fox had found 'that of God' within this seemingly frivolous woman.

Before he left Scotland he had the happiness of persuading Mrs. Billing to send for her husband, and of helping to make up the quarrel between them. They agreed eventually to live in unity together once more as man and wife.

Fox journeyed on, in this way, year after year, always sowing the seed wherever he went, and sometimes having the joy of seeing it spring up above the clods and bring forth fruit an hundredfold. Even during the long weary intervals of captivity this service still continued. 'Indeed, Fox and his fellow-sufferers never looked upon prison as an interruption in their life service, but used the new surroundings in a fresh campaign.'[17] Thus, the historian tells us: 'Though George Fox found good entertainment, yet he did not settle there but kept in a continual motion, going from one place to another, to beget souls unto God.'[18]

The rest of the 'Valiant Sixty,' meanwhile, were likewise busy, going up and down the country, working in different places and with different methods, but all intent on the one enterprise of 'Publishing Truth.' 'And so when the churches were settled in the North,' says the Journal, 'and the Lord had raised up many and sent forth many into His Vineyard to preach His everlasting Gospel, as Francis Howgill and Edward Burrough to London, John Camm and John Audland to Bristol through the countries, Richard Hubberthorne and George Whitehead towards Norwich, and Thomas Holme unto Wales, that a matter of sixty ministers did the Lord raise up and send abroad out of the North Countries.'

There were far fewer big towns in England in those days than there are now. Probably at least two-thirds of the people lived in the country, and only the remaining third were townsfolk: nowadays the proportions are more than reversed. There was then no thickly populated 'Black Country'; there were then no humming mills in the woollen districts of Yorkshire, no iron and steel works soiling the pure rivers of Tees and Wear and Tyne. Most of the chief towns and industries at that time were in the South.

'London had a population of half a million. Bristol, the principal seaport, had about thirty thousand; Norwich, with a similar number of inhabitants, was still the largest manufacturing city. The publishers of Truth would now make these three places their chief fields of service, showing something of the same concentration of effort at strategic centres which marked the extension of Christianity through the Roman Empire, under the leadership of Paul.'[19]

A certain impetuous lad named James Parnell, already a noted Minister though still in his teens, was hard at work in the counties of East Anglia. In the next story we shall hear how Howgill and Burrough fared in their mission 'to conquer London.'

Splendid tidings came from the two Johns, John Audland and John Camm, of their progress in Bristol and the West: 'The mighty power of God is that way; that is a precious city and a gallant people: their net is like to break with fishes, they have caught so much there and all the coast thereabout.' The memory of the enthusiasm of those early days lingered long in the West, in the memory of those who had shared in them. 'Ah! those great meetings in the Orchard at Bristol I may not forget,' wrote John Audland many years later, 'I would so gladly have spread my net over all and have gathered all, that I forgot myself, never considering the inability of my body,—but it's well, my reward is with me, and I am content to give up and be with the Lord, for that my soul values above all things.'

Women also were among the first Publishers of Truth and helped to spread the message. Even before Burrough and Howgill reached London, two women had been there, gently scattering the new seed. It is recorded that one of them, named Isabella Buttery, 'sometimes spoke a few words in this small meeting.'

Two Quaker girls from Kendal, Elizabeth Leavens and 'little Elizabeth Fletcher,' were the first to preach in Oxford, and a terrible time they had of it. 'Little Elizabeth Fletcher' was then only seventeen, 'a modest, grave, young woman.' Jane Waugh, one of the 'convinced' serving-maids at Cammsgill, was a friend of hers; but Jane Waugh's turn for suffering had not yet come. She was still in the North when the two Elizabeths reached Oxford. This is the account of what befell them there: 'The 20th day of the 4th month [June] 1654 came to this city two maids, who went through the streets and into the Colleges, steeple and tower houses, preaching repentance and declaring the word of the Lord to the people.... On the 25th day of the same month they were moved to go to Martin's Mass House (alias) Carefox, where one of those maids, after the priest had done, spake something in answer to what the priest had before spoken in exhortation to the people, and presently were by two Justices sent to prison.' The Mayor of Oxford seems to have been pleased with the behaviour of the two girls and caused them to be set at liberty again. But the Vice-Chancellor and the Justices would not agree to this, and 'earnestly enquired from whence they came, and their business to Oxford. They answered, "they were commanded of the Lord to come"; and it being demanded "what to do," they answered, to "declare against Sin and Ungodliness, which they lived in." And at this answer the Vice-Chancellor and the Justices ordered their punishment, to be whipped out of town, and demanding of the Mayor to agree to the same, and for refusing, said they would do it of themselves, and signing a paper, the contents whereof was this: To be severely whipped, and sent out of Town as Vagrants. And forthwith, because of the tumult, they were put into the Cage, a place common for the worst of people; and accordingly the next morning, they were whipped, and sent away, and on the backside of the City, meeting some scholars, they were moved to speak to them, who fell on them very violently, and drew them into John's College, where they tied them back to back and pumped water on them, until they were almost stifled; and they being met at another time as they passed through a Graveyard, where a corpse was to be buried, Elizabeth Holme spake something to the Priest and people, and one Ann Andrews thrust her over a grave stone, which hurt she felt near to her dying day.'

Two other women, Elizabeth Williams and a certain Mary Fisher (who was hereafter to go on a Mission to no less a person than the Grand Turk), were also cruelly flogged at Cambridge for daring to 'publish Truth' there. 'The Mayor ... issued his warrant to the Constable to whip them at the Market Cross till the blood ran down their bodies; and ordered three of his sergeants to see that sentence, equally cruel and lawless, severely executed. The poor women kneeling down, in Christian meekness besought the Lord to forgive him, for that he knew not what he did: so they were led to the Market Cross, calling upon God to strengthen their Faith. The Executioner commanded them to put off their clothes, which they refused. Then he stripped them naked to the waist, put their arms into the whipping-post, and executed the Mayor's warrant far more cruelly than is usually done to the worst of malefactors, so that their flesh was miserably cut and torn. The constancy and patience which they expressed under this barbarous usage was astonishing to the beholders, for they endured the cruel torture without the least change of countenance or appearance of uneasiness, and in the midst of their punishment sang and rejoiced, saying, "The Lord be blessed, the Lord be praised, who hath thus honoured us and strengthened us to suffer for his Name's sake." ... As they were led back into the town they exhorted the people to fear God, not man, telling them "this was but the beginning of the sufferings of the people of God."'[20]

These two women were the first Friends to be publicly whipped in England. But their prophecy that 'this was but the beginning' was only too literally fulfilled.

Not only had bodily sufferings to be undergone by these brave 'First Publishers.' Malicious reports were also spread against them, which must have been almost harder to bear.

William Prynne, the same William Prynne who had had his own ears cropped in earlier days by order of the Star Chamber, but who had not, apparently, learned charity to others through his own sufferings, published a pamphlet that was spread abroad throughout England. It was called 'The Quakers unmasked, and clearly detected to be but the Spawn of Romish Frogs, Jesuits and Franciscan Friars, sent from Rome to seduce the intoxicated giddy-headed English Nation.' George Fox called the pamphlet in which he answered this charge by an almost equally uncharitable title: 'The Unmasking and Discovery of Antichrist, with all the false Prophets, by the true Light which comes from Christ Jesus.'

The seventeenth century has truly been called 'a very ill-mannered century.' Certainly these were not pretty names for pamphlets that were so widely read that, to quote the graphic expression of an earlier writer, 'they walked up and down England at deer rates.'

Yet, still, in spite of bodily ill-usage and imprisonment, through good report and through evil report, through fair weather and foul, the work of scattering the seed continued steadily, day after day, month after month, year after year. The messengers went on, undaunted; the Message spread and took root throughout the land; the trials of the work were swallowed up in the triumphant joy of service and of 'Publishing Truth.'

FOOTNOTES:

[14] W.C. Braithwaite, Beginnings of Quakerism.

[15] W.C. Braithwaite, Beginnings of Quakerism.

[16] Jamaica, with its deadly climate, had lately been taken by England from Spain, and was at this time proving the grave of hundreds of English soldiers.

[17] Cameos from the Life of George Fox, by E.E. Taylor.

[18] Sewel's History of the Quakers.

[19] W.C. Braithwaite, Beginnings of Quakerism.

[20] Besse, Sufferings of the Quakers.



XVI. WRESTLING FOR GOD



'Being but a boy, Edward Burrough had the spirit of a man. Reviling, slandering, buffetting and caning were oft his lot. Nothing could make this hero shrink.'—SEWEL.

'His natural disposition was bold and manly, what he took in hand he did with his might; loving, courteous, merciful and easy to be entreated; he delighted in conference and reading of the holy scriptures.'—'Piety Promoted.'

'Dear Brother, mind the Lord and stand in His will and counsel. And dwell in the pure measure of God in thee, and there thou wilt see the Lord God present with thee. For the bringing forth many out of prison art thou there set; behold the word of the Lord cannot be bound. The Lord God of Power give thee wisdom, courage, manhood, and boldness, to thresh down all deceit. Dear Heart, be valiant, and mind the pure Spirit of God in thee, to guide thee up into God, to thunder down all deceit within and without. So farewell, and God Almighty keep you.'—GEORGE FOX, to a friend in the ministry.

'So, all dear and tender hearts, abide in the counsel of God, and let not the world overcome your minds but wait for a daily victory over it.'—E. BURROUGH.

'Give me the strength to surrender my strength to Thee in Love.'—RABINDRANATH TAGORE.



XVI. WRESTLING FOR GOD

'A brisk young man with a ready tongue' was the verdict passed upon Edward Burrough, the hero of this story, by a certain Mr. Thomas Ellwood when he met him first in the year 1659.

Ellwood himself, who thus described his new acquaintance, was a young man too at that time, of good education and scholarly tastes. He became later the friend of a certain Mr. John Milton, who thought sufficiently well of his judgment to allow him to read his poetry before it was published, and to ask him what he thought of it; even, occasionally, to act upon his suggestions. Ellwood, therefore, was clearly the possessor of a sober judgment, and not a likely person to be carried away by the glib words of a wandering preacher. Yet that 'brisk young man,' Edward Burrough, did not only 'reach him' with his 'ready tongue,' he also completely 'convinced' him, and altered his whole life: Ellwood returned to his family ready to suffer hardship if need be on behalf of his newly-found faith.

Ellwood's own adventures, however, do not concern us here, but those of the young man who convinced him.

Edward Burrough was one of the best loved and most valiant of all those 'Valiant Sixty' ministers who went forth throughout the length and breadth of England, in 1654, on their new, wonderful enterprise of 'Publishing Truth.' If Edward Burrough was still 'young and brisk' when Ellwood first came across him, he must have been yet younger and brisker on that summer's day, five years earlier, when he left his home in Westmorland in order to 'conquer London.' This was an ambitious undertaking truly for any man, however brisk and ready of tongue.

It is true that the London of those long-ago days of the Commonwealth, before the Great Fire, was a much more compact city than the gigantic, overgrown London of to-day. Instead of 'sprawling over five or six counties,'[21] and containing six or seven million inhabitants, London was then a comparatively small place, its population, though rapidly increasing, did not yet number one million.

'An old map of the year 1610 shows us that London and Westminster were then two neighbouring cities surrounded by meadows. "Totten Court" was an outlying country village. Oxford Street is marked on this map as "The way to Uxbridge," and runs between meadows and pastures. The Tower, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's Church, ... and some other landmarks are indeed there, but it is curious to read the accounts given by the chronicles of the day of its narrow and dirty streets, in which carts and coaches jostled one another, and foot passengers found it difficult to get along at all.... When the King went to Parliament, faggots were thrown into the ruts in the streets through which he passed, to make it easier for his state coach to drive over the uneven roads!'[22]

Nevertheless this gay little countrified town of timbered houses, surrounded by meadows and orchards, and overlooked by the green heights of 'Hamsted' and Primrose Hill, was then as now the Capital City of England. And England under Oliver Cromwell was one of the most powerful of the States of Europe.

Therefore if a young man barely out of his teens were to succeed in 'conquering London,' and bending it to his will, he would certainly need all his briskness and readiness of tongue.

Edward Burrough probably entered London alone and on foot, after a journey extending over several weeks. He had left his native Westmorland in company with good John Camm, the 'statesman' farmer of Cammsgill. The first stages of their journey were made on horseback. Many a quiet talk the two men must have had together as they rode through the green lanes of England,—that long-ago England of the Commonwealth, its clear skies unstained by any tall chimneys or factory smoke. There were but few hedgerows then, 'a single hedge is a marked feature in the contemporary maps.'[23] The cornfields stretched away in a broad, unbroken expanse as they do to-day on the Continent of Europe and in the lands of the New World.

As they rode, Camm would tell Burrough, doubtless, of his first sight of George Fox, preaching in Sedbergh Churchyard, under the ancient yew-tree opposite the market cross, on that never-to-be-forgotten day of the Whitsuntide Fair. The story of the 'Wonderful Fortnight' would be sure to follow; of the 'Mighty Meeting' on the Fell outside Firbank Chapel; of the gathering of the Seekers at Preston Patrick; and of yet another open-air meeting, when hundreds of people assembled one memorable First Day near his own hillside farm at Cammsgill.

Then it would be the younger man's turn to tell his tale.

'He was born in the barony of Kendal ... of parents who for their honest and virtuous life were in good repute; he was well educated, and trained up in such learning as that country did afford.... By his parents he was trained up in the episcopal worship,'[24] but for a long time, he says that the only religion that he practised was 'going to church one day in seven to hear a man preach, to read, and sing, and rabble over a prayer.' (It is easy to smile at the old-fashioned word; but let us try to remember it when we ourselves are tempted to get up too late in the morning and 'rabble over' our own prayers.)

Gradually the unseen world grew more real. A beautiful and comforting message was given to him in his heart, 'Whom God once loves, he loves for ever.' Now he grew weary of hearing any of the priests, for he saw they did not possess what they spoke of to others, and sometimes he began to question his own experiences.

Nevertheless he felt it a grievous trial to give up all his prospects of earthly advancement and become a Quaker. Yet from the day he listened to George Fox preaching at Underbarrow there was no other course open to him; though his own parents were much incensed with him for daring to join this despised people. They even refused to acknowledge him any longer as a member of their family. Being rejected as a son, therefore, he begged to be allowed to stay on in his home and work as a servant, but this, too, was refused. Thus being, as he says, 'separated from all the glory of the world, and from all his acquaintance and kindred,' he betook himself to the company of 'a poor, despised people called Quakers.'

It must have been a comfort to him, after being cast off by his own family, to find himself adopted by a still larger family of friends, and to become one of the 'Valiant Sixty' entrusted with the great adventure of Publishing Truth.

Riding along with good John Camm, with talk to beguile the way, was pleasant travelling; but this happy companionship was not to last very long. For as they journeyed and came near the 'Middle Kingdom,' or Midlands, they fell in with another of 'Truth's Publishers.'

This was none other than their Westmorland neighbour, John Audland, 'the ruddy-faced linen-draper of Crosslands,' John Camm's own especial comrade and pair among the 'Sixty.'

It may have been a prearranged plan that they should meet here; anyway Camm turned aside with Audland and went on with him to Bristol, where he had already begun to scatter the seed in the west of England, while Edward Burrough pursued his journey in solitude towards London.[25] But his days of loneliness were not to last for long. Either just before or just after his arrival in the great city, two other Publishers also reached the metropolis, one of whom, Francis Howgill, was to be his own especial comrade and pair in the task of 'conquering London.' This was that same Francis Howgill, a considerably older man than Burrough, and formerly a leader among the Seekers, who had been preaching that memorable day at Firbank when he thought George Fox looked into the Chapel and was so much struck that 'you could have killed him with a crab-apple.' Now that they had come together, however, it would have taken more than many crab-apples to deter him and Burrough from their Mission. Together the two friends laid their plans for the capture of London, and together they proceeded to carry them out. The success they met with was astonishing. 'By the arm of the Lord,' writes Howgill, 'all falls before us, according to the word of the Lord before I came to this City, that all should be as a plain.'

Amidst their engrossing labours in the capital the two London 'Publishers' did not forget to send news of their work to Friends in the North. Many letters written at this time remain. Those to Margaret Fell, especially, give a vivid picture of their progress. These letters are signed sometimes by Howgill, sometimes by Burrough, sometimes by both together. But, whatever the signature, the pronouns 'I' and 'we' are used indiscriminately, as if to show that the writers were not only united in the service of Truth but were also one in heart.

'We two,' they say in one letter, 'are constrained to stay in this city; but we are not alone, for the power of our Father is with us, and it is daily made manifest through weakness, even to the stopping of the mouths of lions and to the confounding of the serpent's wisdom; eternal praises to Him for evermore. In this city, iniquity is grown to the height. We have three meetings or more every week, very large, more than any place will contain, and which we can conveniently meet in. Many of all sorts come to us and many of all sorts are convinced, yea, hundreds do believe....'

Again: 'We get Friends together on the First Days to meet together out of the rude multitude; and we two go to the great meeting place which we have, which will hold a thousand people, which is always nearly filled, there to thresh among the world; and we stay till twelve or one o'clock and then pass away, the one to the one place and the other to another place where Friends are met in private; and stay till four or five o'clock.'

Only a month later yet another 'great place' had to be taken for a 'threshing-floor,' or hall where public meetings could be held. To these meetings anyone might come and listen to the preachers' message, which 'threshed them like grain, and sifted the wheat from the "light chaffy minds" among the hearers.'

How 'chaffy' and frivolous this gay world of London appeared to these first Publishers, consumed with the burning eagerness of their mission, the following description shows. It occurs in a letter from George Fox himself when he, too, came to the metropolis, a few months later.

'What a world this is,' he writes ... 'altogether carried with fooleries and vanities both men and women ... putting on gold, gay apparel, plaiting the hair, men and women they are powdering it, making their backs as if they were bags of meal, and they look so strange that they cannot look at one another. Pride hath puffed up every one, they are out of the fear of God, men and women, young and old, one puffs up another, they are not in the fashion of the world else, they are not in esteem else, they shall not be respected else, if they have not gold and silver upon their backs, or his hair be not powdered. If he have a company of ribbons hung about his waist, red or white, or black or yellow, and about his knees, and gets a Company in his hat, and powders his hair, then he is a brave man, then he is accepted, then he is no Quaker.... Likewise the women having their gold, their spots on their faces, noses, cheeks, foreheads, having their rings on their fingers, wearing gold, having their cuffs doubled under and about like a butcher with white sleeves' (how pretty they must have been!), 'having their ribbons tied about their hands, and three or four gold laces about their clothes, "this is no Quaker," say they.... Now are not all these that have got these ribbons hung about their arms, backs, waists, knees, hats, hands, like unto fiddlers' boys, and shew that you are gotten into the basest contemptible life as be in the fashion of the fiddlers' boys and stage-players, and quite out of the paths and steeps of solid men.... And further to get a pair of breeches like a coat and hang them about with points up almost to the middle, and a pair of double cuffs upon his hands, and a feather in his cap, and to say, "Here's a gentleman, bow before him, put off your hats, bow, get a company of fiddlers, a set of music and women to dance, this is a brave fellow, up in the chamber without and up in the chamber within," are these your fine Christians? "Yea," say they. "Yea but," say the serious people, "they are not of Christ's life." And to see such a company as are in the fashions of the world ... get a couple of bowls in their hands or tables [dice] or shovel-board, or a horse with a Company of ribbons on his head as he hath on his own, and a ring in his ear; and so go to horse-racing to spoil the creature. Oh these are gentlemen, these are bred up gentlemen! these are brave fellows and they must have their recreation, and pleasures are lawful. These are bad Christians and shew that they are gluttoned with the creature and then the flesh rejoiceth!'

No wonder that Edward Burrough wrote to Margaret Fell that 'in this city iniquity is grown to the height,' and again, in a later letter: 'There are hundreds convinced, but not many great or noble do receive our testimony ... we are much refreshed, we receive letters from all quarters, the work goes on fast everywhere.... Richard Hubberthorne is yet in prison and James Parnell at Cambridge.... Our dear brethren John Audland and John Camm we hear from, and we write to one another twice in the week. They are near us, they are precious and the work of the Lord is great in Bristol.'

Margaret Fell writes back in answer, like a true mother in Israel, 'You are all dear unto me, and all are present with me, and are all met together in my heart.'

And now, having heard what the 'Valiant Sixty' thought of London, what did London think of the 'Valiant Sixty'? Many years later a certain William Spurry wrote of these early days: 'I being in London at the time of the first Publication of Truth, there was a report spread in the City that there was a sort of people come there that went by the name of plain North Country plow men, who did differ in judgment to all other people in that City, who I was very desirous to see and converse with. And upon strict enquiry I was informed that they did meet at one Widow Matthews in White Cross Street, in her garden, where I repaired, where was our dear friends Edward Burrough and Francis Howgill, who declared the Lord's everlasting Truth in the demonstration of the Spirit of Life, where myself and many more were convinced. A little time after there was a silent meeting appointed and kept at Sarah Sawyer's in Rainbow Alley.'

Very rural and unlike London these places sound: but meetings were not only held in secluded spots, such as the garden in White Cross Street, and the house in Rainbow Alley, they were also held in the tumultuous centres of Vanity Fair.

'Edward Burrough,' says Sewel the historian, 'though he was a very young man when he first came forth, yet grew in wisdom and valour so that he feared not the face of man.' 'At London there is a custom in summer time, when the evening approaches and tradesmen leave off working, that many lusty fellows meet in the fields, to try their skill and strength at wrestling, where generally a multitude of people stand gazing in a round. Now it so fell out, that Edward Burrough passed by the place where they were wrestling, and standing still among the spectators, saw how a strong and dexterous fellow had already thrown three others, and was now waiting for a fourth champion, if any durst venture to enter the lists. At length none being bold enough to try, E. Burrough stepped into the ring (commonly made up of all sorts of people), and having looked upon the wrestler with a serious countenance, the man was not a little surprised, instead of an airy antagonist, to meet with a grave and awful young man; and all stood amazed at this sight, eagerly expecting what would be the issue of this combat. But it was quite another fight Edward Burrough aimed at. For having already fought against spiritual wickedness, that had once prevailed in him and having overcome it in measure, by the grace of God, he now endeavoured also to fight against it in others, and to turn them from the evil of their ways. With this intention he began very seriously to speak to the standers by, and that with such a heart-piercing power, that he was heard by this mixed multitude with no less attention than admiration; for his speech tended to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God.

'Thus he preached zealously; and though many might look upon this as a novelty, yet it was of such effect that many were convinced of the truth.... And indeed he was one of those valiants, whose bow never turned back ... nay he was such an excellent instrument in the hand of God that even some mighty and eminent men were touched to the heart by the power of the word of life which he preached' ... 'using few words but preaching after a new fashion so that he was called a "son of thunder and also of consolation."'

'Now I come also to the glorious exit of E. Burrough, that valiant hero. For several years he had been very much in London, and had 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 go freely to the city of London, and lay down my life for a testimony of that truth, which I have declared through the power and spirit of God." Being in this year [1662] at Bristol, and thereabouts, and moved to return to London, he said to many of his friends, when he took 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 among friends in that place."'[26]

Thus it befell that Edward Burrough was called to a more deadly wrestling match than any in the pleasant London fields. He was thrown into prison, and there he had to face a mortal foe in the gaol-fever that was then raging in that noisome den. This was to wrestle in grim earnest, with Death himself for an adversary; and in this wrestling match Death was the conqueror.

Charles the Second was now on the throne. He knew and respected Edward Burrough, and did his best to rescue him. Knowing the pestilential and overcrowded state of Newgate at that time, the Merry Monarch, to his lasting credit, sent a royal warrant for the release of Edward Burrough and some of the other prisoners, when he heard of the danger they were in from the foul state of the prison. But this order a certain cruel and persecuting Alderman, named Richard Brown, and some magistrates of the City of London contrived to thwart. The prisoners remained in the gaol. Edward Burrough caught the fever, and grew rapidly worse. On his death-bed he said, 'Lord, forgive Richard Brown, who imprisoned me, if he may be forgiven.' Later on he said, 'I have served my God in my generation, and that Spirit, which has lived and ruled in me shall yet break forth in thousands.' 'The morning before he departed his life ... 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...."' A few moments later, in crowded Newgate, he peacefully fell asleep. 'This was the exit of E. Burrough, who in his flourishing youth, 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.'[27]