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.