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A CONCISE BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF WILLIAM PENN.
PHILADELPHIA:
FOR SALE AT FRIENDS' BOOK-STORE,
No 304 ARCH STREET.
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF WILLIAM PENN.
The following is a brief sketch of the life of one who, though perhaps
more widely known as the Proprietor and Founder of Pennsylvania, was
also eminent as a minister of the gospel in the Society of Friends, and
distinguished for his superior intellectual abilities, his varied
culture, and, above all, for his devoted Christian character,
exemplified both in adversity and prosperity. It is taken principally
from a work entitled "Friends in the Seventeenth Century."
He was the son of William Penn, who, trained to nautical life, had by
his genius and courage risen rapidly in the navy, until at the age of
twenty-nine he became "Vice-Admiral of the Straits." From the account of
his life and public career, given by Granville Penn, a descendant, he
appears to have been a man who made self-interest a leading principle of
conduct, but who, while eagerly coveting wealth and honor, was never
accused of being corrupt as a public servant. His son William was born
in London, in 1644, and resided with his mother at Wanstead, in Essex,
while his father was absent with the fleet over which he had command.
Owing to information received by Cromwell, through some of the spies
kept by him in attendance upon the exiled Charles and his court, that,
notwithstanding he had sanctioned the promotion of Admiral Penn, and
largely rewarded him by an estate in Ireland, for some losses he had
sustained there, he was secretly making overtures to bring the squadron
he commanded into the service of the Royalists, he lost favor with the
Protector. On his return from an unsuccessful expedition against the
Spanish West India Islands, he was deprived of his command and thrown
into prison, whence Cromwell generously liberated him at his own humble
petition. He then took his family over to Ireland, where he continued to
reside for some years, on the estate which Cromwell had had bestowed
upon him, and which was near Cork.
In a manuscript written by Thomas Harvey, reciting an account given to
him by William Penn, of some of the circumstances of his early life, and
which was first published in "The Penns and Peningtons," by M. Webb, it
is stated, "That while he was but a child living at Cork with his
father, Thomas Loe came thither. When it was rumored a Quaker was come
from England, his father proposed to some others to be like the noble
Bereans, and hear him before they judged him. He accordingly sent to
Thomas Loe to come to his house; where he had a meeting in the family.
Though William was very young, he observed what effect T. Loe's
preaching had on the hearers. A black servant of his father could not
restrain himself from weeping aloud; and little William looking on his
father, saw the tears running down his cheeks also. He then thought
within himself, 'What if they would all be Quakers!'" This opportunity
he never quite forgot; the remembrance of it still recurring at times.
William Penn was then about eleven years of age, and was being educated
by a private tutor.
On the retirement of Richard Cromwell from the position for which he
had been appointed by his father, Admiral Penn declared for Charles
Stuart, and lost no time in going over to the Continent to pay court to
him whom he had no doubt would soon be recalled to the throne. Charles
employed him in secret service, and rewarded him by the honors of
knighthood, and by becoming his debtor for one hundred pounds.
When a little over fifteen years of age, William Penn entered as a
"gentleman commoner," at Oxford, where he remained three years,
distinguishing himself as a hard and successful student. After the
Restoration, the Court set to work to remodel the University, by
displacing those who held Puritanical opinions, or who had found favor
during the Commonwealth, and installing others, friendly to the
re-established church and the lax moral principles then prevailing. Dr.
Owen, conspicuous as a scholar and a strict religionist, was ejected to
make room for a royalist partisan, and the students became divided into
parties, applauding or denouncing the changes made.
There is reason to believe, from observations made by William Penn
himself, that throughout his youth he was repeatedly visited by the
Day-Spring from on high, convicting him of that which was evil in his
ways, and bringing him into serious thoughtfulness. While at college,
his associates appear to have been those of a religious cast of
character like himself, and who, with him, were greatly influenced by
the teaching and advice of Dr. Owen. It so happened that, while much
controversy was going on among the scholars relative to religious
opinions and practices, Thomas Loe came to Oxford, and held several
meetings. To these meetings William Penn and his associates went, and a
deep impression was made upon their minds by the powerful preaching of
this devoted servant of Christ. They declined being present at what were
now the regular "services" of the college, and did not refrain from
speaking depreciatingly of what they designated as the "Popish doctrines
and usages" re-introduced among them. For this they were lectured and
fined. With the ardor and indiscretion of youth, this supposed indignity
was highly resented by them. They not only held private meetings for
worship and religious exhortation and prayer, but some of them refused
to wear the student's gown and cap, and in some instances tore them off
of those they met. How far William Penn was implicated in the latter
wrong-doing is not known; but his positive refusal to wear the usual
garb, his bold denunciation of the doctrine and practices he believed to
be wrong, and his courageous defence of the gospel truths he had heard
from Thomas Loe, brought upon him the enmity of the Masters in power,
and he was expelled the University.
Admiral Penn, who had set his heart upon preparing his son for realizing
to the full the ambitious hopes and aims entertained by himself for his
family, appears to have been little qualified to understand his son's
character, or to rightly estimate the principles that actuated him. His
pride was mortified, and, as he thought, his promising schemes were
blasted. He received William with anger, and for a time would hardly
deign to speak to him. Accustomed to command, and to be obeyed without
question, he ordered him to give up his newly-formed views of religious
duty, and to hold no further intercourse with those who had shared in
his rebellious opinions and course. Enraged on finding that his
authority, though seconded by the filial affection of his child, was
powerless for removing his religious convictions, he resorted to the use
of his cane, followed by solitary confinement in his room, and then
banishment from the family.
It was not long, however, before his good sense convinced him that the
object he had in view was not to be obtained by severity. He resolved to
change his mode of attack, and try if what could not be gained by force
might not be brought about by the seductions of a life of gayety and
pleasure. Learning that a number of young men, sons of persons
considered to be of high families, were about to go on to the Continent
and spend some time in study and travelling, he decided to send William
with them. Accordingly, furnished with letters that would introduce him
into what the world considered the best society, he went to Paris; and,
fascinated by the courtly and gay scenes of the company into which he
found himself welcomed as an admired guest, he soon caught the worldly
spirit that presided over their festivities, and his serious,
Quaker-like impressions appeared to pass away, like the morning dew
before the burning rays of the sun. He did not, however, allow pleasure
to wean him from study. He went to Saumur, and placing himself under the
tuition of the learned Moses Amyrault, applied himself to the study of
the language and literature of the country, embracing the philosophic
basis of divinity. Travelling into Italy, he made himself acquainted
with its language, and gratified his taste for the works of the masters
in art.
On the breaking out of the war with the Dutch, the Admiral called his
son William home, where he arrived after an absence of two years. All
trace of the religious seriousness and conscientious restraint that had
marked his conduct and manner when he left was gone, and his father was
delighted to find his son wearing the carriage and displaying the
accomplishments of a self-possessed man of the world. He was at once
introduced at Court, and had the opportunity to become acquainted with
many who stood high in the brilliant but profligate society that filled
the saloons of Whitehall.
William Penn now entered Lincoln's Inn as a student of law, and in 1665,
when twenty-one years of age, there seemed every probability of his
making an accomplished courtier, and a successful competitor for the
honors of this world. Few could enter life with more flattering and
apparently better-grounded prospects of attaining to all that would
gratify a mind with strong intellectual powers, and naturally ambitious
of preferment. His manly form, blooming with health, betokened physical
strength and endurance. His disposition, though lively and active, was
marked by docility and sweetness. He possessed ready wit, and his good
mental abilities had been well developed and trained by careful culture,
and strengthened by extensive and profound literary attainments. Men
high in power and place smiled upon him. His father enjoyed close
intimacy with the Duke of York, heir presumptive to the crown, and
eagerly sought to secure for his son the glory and riches of the world,
which courted his acceptance.
The Admiral having been appointed by the Duke of York to accompany him
in command of the fleet, took William as one of his staff; but after a
short absence the latter was sent home with a dispatch to the King. The
plague was now spreading in London, and soon the whole aspect of the
city was sadly changed. The awful scenes of death that were daily
occurring and struck the stoutest hearts with dismay, brought to the
sensitive mind of the gay young man conviction of the uncertainty of
life, and warning of the necessity to prepare for its sudden
termination. The Holy Spirit again broke up his false rest, showed him
the emptiness of all worldly grandeur, and wooed him to follow Christ
Jesus in the regeneration.
After a cruise of about two months, his father returned, flushed with
success in the sanguinary contest in which he had been engaged. He found
William again serious, and indisposed to continue the course upon which,
but a short time before, he had exultantly entered. The increased honors
and emoluments heaped on the victorious sailor by the royal brothers,
made him still more fearful lest the foolish whimsies, as he thought
them, of his son, would yet disappoint his hopes of the hereditary
honors that might be settled upon him. Large accession to his Irish
estate, derived from royal bounty as a reward for the service rendered,
made it necessary that some one should look after his interest there;
and having experienced the good effect, as he considered it, of placing
his son within the dazzling circle of gay and fashionable life, he
hurried him across the Channel, with letters of introduction to the Duke
of Ormond, then Lord Deputy of Ireland.
William found the vice-regal Court comparatively free from the
dissipation and loose morals of that which surrounded Charles II., and
he soon seemed to enter heartily into the enjoyment it afforded. He
joined an expedition sent, under the command of Lord Airan, to quell an
insurrection that broke out among the garrison at Carrickfergus, and for
a while was so excited by the spirit and enterprise attending active
military life, that he became anxious to adopt it as a profession. But
his father, when consulted on the subject, decidedly objected, and it
was given up.
But He who watches over the workmanship of his hand, and seeks to save
that which is lost, was not leaving William Penn to wander in the paths
of folly, without the reproofs of instruction, and in mercy, by his
witness in the heart, inclining him to accept those reproofs as the way
to life; and it was not long before he was brought to a stand, and made
to feel that he must then make his election between the life of a votary
of this world and that of a self-denying disciple of a crucified
Saviour.
Shangarry Castle, the newly-acquired estate of the Admiral, was near to
Cork, and when not employed in bringing the place and the affairs
connected with it into order, William was often in the town, where he
had been well acquainted when a boy. Having one day, while there, gone
into the shop of a woman Friend whom he had formerly known, to make a
purchase, and finding she did not recognize him, he introduced himself,
and entered into conversation with her; recalling to her recollection
the meeting held by Thomas Loe at his father's house. Upon her
expressing surprise at his memory of the events, he replied, he thought
he would never forget them, and that, if he knew where that Friend was,
he would go to hear him again, though it was a hundred miles off. She
told him he need not go so far, for that Friend was now in Cork, and
was to have a meeting the next day. Curious again to hear one who had
arrested his attention when a boy, and seriously impressed him by his
ministry, when at Oxford, he went to the meeting; and after a time
Thomas Loe stood up with the expression, "There is a faith that
overcomes the world, and there is a faith that is overcome by the
world." It struck deep into the heart of William Penn, who was then made
to feel keenly that he had been long striving against or slighting his
known duty to his Maker, and allowing the world to overcome the drawing
of his heavenly Father's love, to bring him out from the thraldom of
sin; and as the preacher with fervid eloquence dwelt on the fruits of
such faith, he was thoroughly broken down, and wept much. After the
meeting he went with Thomas Loe to a Friend's house, where they had a
free conversation, and from that time he became a regular attender of
the meetings of Friends. As the Light of Christ shone with more and more
clearness upon his soul, he saw how grievously he had departed from the
right way of the Lord, and was brought under deep repentance therefor.
Convinced of the truth of the doctrines held by Friends, he heartily
embraced them, and firmly resolved to live and die by them, whatever
sacrifices it might cost him.
Being at a meeting in Cork in 1667, he, with others, was arrested by
officers who came to break the meeting up, and was sent to prison:
though the Magistrate, who recognized him as the son of the lord of
Shangarry Castle, offered to set him at liberty if he would give his
word "to keep the peace," which he refused. From the prison he addressed
a letter to the Earl of Ossory, giving an account of the arrest and
imprisonment of himself and friends, showing their innocence, and
pleading the liberty of conscience demanded by the precepts of the
gospel. An order was immediately dispatched by the Earl for his release;
and as it was soon noised abroad that Admiral Penn's son had turned
Quaker, the Earl wrote to his father, communicating the information.
Startled and annoyed by the intelligence, the Admiral ordered William to
come home immediately, which he did. Josiah Cole, a minister in the
Society of Friends, met him at Bristol; accompanied him to London, and
being deeply interested for his stability and preservation, went with
him to his father's house. Fully as William had adopted the principles
of Friends, and many as were the baptisms he had already passed through,
he had not yet adopted the plain dress that distinguished them from
others; and his father observing this, and that his rapier still hung by
his side, hoped that his friend the Earl had been wrongly informed; and
he treated him and his friend during the evening with ordinary courtesy,
without alluding to the report that had reached him.
Observing, on the next day, that William did not uncover his head when
he came into his presence,--in those days men generally wore their hats
in the house,--and that he used thee and thou when addressing him, he
demanded an explanation. William frankly told him that, having been
convinced of the truth of the religion of the Quakers, he was
conscientiously scrupulous against taking off his hat as a token of
respect, using the plural language, or compliments. An angry altercation
on the part of the father, and deeply distressing on the part of the
son, succeeded, and was more than once repeated. Finally, the former,
finding that neither argument nor threats could shake the latter's firm
conviction that to comply with his father's wishes would be to violate
his duty to his Lord and Master, told him he might thee and thou whom he
pleased, and keep on his hat, except in the presence of the King, the
Duke of York, and himself; but to or before these he should not thee or
thou, or stand covered; and the son, moved by his father's distress and
his own filial affection, asked time for consideration before giving a
decisive reply. This was reluctantly granted, though he was forbidden to
see any Friend, and William retired, to pour out his soul in prayer for
right direction and strength to follow it. At their next interview
William told his father that he could not comply with his wishes without
violating his duty to his God, and must therefore decline. Irritated at
what he considered his son's obstinacy, and foolish determination to
sacrifice the worldly honors soliciting his acceptance, for a mere whim,
the Admiral upbraided him in no measured terms, and when convinced that
he would not be changed, turned him out of doors, with the threat that
he would disinherit him. Before leaving his home and family, William
assured his father how deeply he was grieved; not so much because of his
being driven from his paternal roof and brought to poverty, as because
he incurred his displeasure, and was thought by him to be an undutiful
child. He then left the house, resigned to make the sacrifice required,
and "choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than
to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season; esteeming the reproach of
Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt; for he had respect
unto the recompense of reward." Friends who knew the circumstances under
which William Penn was placed, received him gladly; and his mother, who
yearned over the son of her love, and greatly mourned the course pursued
towards him, took means to have him supplied with money sufficient to
obtain food and raiment, and so managed as to have an occasional
interview with him. It was not long after, that, laying aside his rapier
and all ornamentation of dress, he appeared in the plain garb of a
Quaker.
Some years after, when writing respecting the trials that befell him
about this time, he speaks of "the bitter mockings and scornings that
fell upon me, the displeasure of my parents, the cruelty and invective
of the priests, the strangeness of all my companions, and what a sign
and wonder they made of me; but above all, that great cross of resisting
and watching against my own vain affections and thoughts."
As he was given up to endure the baptisms necessary for his purification
and refinement, his Divine Master brought him up out of the horrible
pit, set his feet upon Himself, the Rock of Ages, and made him a
partaker of the powers of the world to come; and having thus prepared
him for the work, bestowed on him a gift in the ministry of the gospel
of life and salvation. He first came forth in this service in 1668,
about two years after his convincement under the ministry of Thomas Loe,
and in the twenty-fourth year of his age. His uniformly consistent
conduct, and careful maintenance of affectionate filial respect toward
his exasperated parent, finally won upon him so far that he permitted
him to take up his abode in his house; though it was long after he had
been so living, before he would have much intercourse with him. But
when, sharing in the persecution which Friends were then suffering, his
son was cast into prison, it was said he secretly used his influence to
obtain his liberty.
In 1668 Thomas Loe was called away from the church militant to enter
upon his reward in the church triumphant. When on his death-bed, he said
to William Penn, who, with other Friends, was waiting on him, "Bear thy
cross and stand faithful to God; then He will give thee an everlasting
crown of glory, that shall not be taken from thee. There is no other way
which shall prosper than that which the holy men of old walked in. God
hath brought immortality to light, and life immortal is felt. Glory!
glory! to Him, for He is worthy of it. His love overcomes my heart; nay,
my cup runs over; glory be to His Name forever." To George Whitehead he
remarked, "The Lord is good to me; this day He hath covered me with
glory," and as life was leaving his body, he sang, "Glory, glory to Thee
forever!" and so sank to sleep in Jesus.
In 1668 William Penn was imprisoned on account of one of his
publications, "The Sandy Foundation Shaken." It resulted from himself
and George Whitehead having been unfairly prevented from orally replying
to a Calvinistic preacher who had assailed the doctrines of Friends. In
this tract he was not so guarded in the language he used, but that he
was misunderstood by many, and supposed to be unsound on the fundamental
doctrines of the proper divinity and meritorious death and atonement of
Christ. The publication attracted general attention, and gave deep
offence to some of the Prelates, who either thought it beneath their
dignity to enter into argument with a polemic so young, and as they
might think, so unskilled in divinity, or, being more in accordance with
their practice and the spirit of the times, and more likely to silence
their opponent, they applied to the Secretary of State, and induced him
to issue a warrant for his arrest; which William Penn hearing of, went
and voluntarily gave himself up, and was committed to the Tower. It was
evident that William Penn had some bitter enemies, for a letter was
picked up near where he had been standing when he surrendered himself,
which contained matter of so treasonable a character, that Lord
Arlington, the Secretary of State, on receiving and reading it, went
immediately to the Tower and had an interview with him, in which he soon
satisfied himself that William Penn knew nothing of the note, and was
innocent of any conspiracy.
There had been no indictment, no trial, conviction, nor sentence passed
upon the prisoner, and yet he was kept in solitary confinement for about
eight months; during which time most of his family and friends were
forbidden access to him, and the "Bishop of London" sent him word he
should either make a public recantation or die in prison. But though
thus closely immured as to his body, his spirit was free, and the word
of the Lord was not bound. He prepared himself to weary out the malice
of his enemies by patience and meekness, and to be resigned to lay down
his life within the walls of the Tower, if the sacrifice was called for,
rather than violate his conscience.
To occupy his time profitably, and, as far as he had ability, promote
the cause of truth and righteousness, he employed his pen; and his
thoughts, probably taking their direction and coloring from the
afflictive circumstances under which he and many other members of the
Society to which he was joined were then placed, he wrote the work,
since become so celebrated, "No Cross, No Crown." This treatise is
admitted to be of extraordinary merit; not only in a literary point of
view, considering the short time and the circumstances under which it
was produced, but in the clear and cogent manner in which it presents
the sinful indulgences of the great body of the professors of
Christianity, and enforces the self-denying requisitions of the religion
of Christ.
Finding that some parts of his "Sandy Foundation Shaken" had been
misunderstood or misrepresented, so as to give currency to the charge of
his being unsound in relation to the divinity and atonement of Christ,
William Penn at once wrote an explanation of what had been
misrepresented, and in exposition of his views on these cardinal points
of Christian faith. This was entitled, "Innocency with her Open Face."
In this work he says, "Let all know, that I pretend to know no other
name by which remission, atonement, and salvation can be obtained, but
Jesus Christ the Saviour, who is the power and wisdom of God." Asserting
his full belief in the divinity of Christ, he observes, "He that is the
everlasting Wisdom, the divine Power, the true Light, the only Saviour,
the creating Word of all things, whether visible or invisible, and their
Upholder by his own power, is without contradiction, God; but all these
qualifications and divine properties are, by the concurrent testimony of
Scripture, ascribed to the Lord Jesus Christ, therefore without
scruple, I call and believe him really to be the mighty God."
In replying to Dr. John Collenges, some years after the publication of
"The Sandy Foundation Shaken," who had at that time brought forward
exceptions to its doctrines, William Perm again explicitly asserts his
full belief in the proper divinity of, and atonement made by, Christ:
and in the doctrine of justification as held by Friends at that time and
ever since. "I do _heartily believe_ that Jesus Christ is the only true
and everlasting God, by whom all things were made that are made, in the
heavens above or the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth: that
He is as omnipotent, so omniscient and omnipresent, therefore God." And
in regard to the atonement and justification, he thus writes, "He that
would not have me mistaken, on purpose to render his charge against me
just, whether it be so or no, may see in _my apology_ for 'The Sandy
Foundation Shaken,' that I otherwise meant than I am charactered. In
short, I say, both as to this and the other point of justification, that
Jesus Christ was a _sacrifice for sin_; that He was set forth to be _a
propitiation for the sins of the whole world_; to declare God's
righteousness, _for the remission of sins that are passed_, etc.; to all
that repented and had faith in His Son. Therein the love of God
appeared, that He declared His good-will _thereby_ to be reconciled;
Christ bearing away the sins that are passed, as the scape-goat did of
old; not excluding inward work; for till that is begun, none can be
benefitted; though it is not the work, but God's free love, that remits
and blots out; of which the death of Christ and His sacrificing himself
was a most certain declaration and confirmation. In short, _that_
declared remission to all who believe and obey, for the sins that are
past; which is the _first part_ of Christ's work (as it is a king's to
pardon a traitor before he advanceth him), and hitherto the acquittance
imputes a righteousness--inasmuch as men, _on true repentance_, are
imputed as clean of guilt as if they had never sinned--and thus far are
justified; but the _completion_ of this by the working out of sin
inherent, must be by the Power and Spirit of Christ in the heart,
destroying the old man and his deeds, and bringing in the new and
everlasting righteousness. So that which I wrote against, is such
doctrine as extended Christ's death and obedience, _not to the first_,
but to the second part of justification; not the pacifying of conscience
as to past sin; but to complete salvation without cleansing and purging
from all filthiness of flesh and spirit, by the internal operation of
his holy power and Spirit."
Notwithstanding William Penn is thus clear and explicit in correcting
the misunderstanding of his Christian faith, to which some of his
expressions in "The Sandy Foundation Shaken" had given rise, and in his
full avowal of his belief in the Deity of Christ, and the atonement made
by Him for the sins of mankind; as also in the doctrine of justification
by faith in Him; yet those who are anxious to represent Friends as
Socinians, or as denying the atonement of Christ, are still so unjust to
his unequivocal and widely-published opinions on these points, and so
ungenerous to his character and memory, as well as untruthful in their
representation of Friends, as to claim him as authority for their
disbelief in these fundamental doctrines.
Though he had addressed a communication to Lord Arlington, Secretary of
State, on whose warrant he was committed to the Tower, in which he
denied the charges brought against him, so far as he had been able to
ascertain them; declaring they were the result of ignorance and malice,
and requesting that he might have an audience with the King, in order to
hear the accusation of his enemies, and have an opportunity to defend
himself; or if he could not have access to the King, then to be brought,
with his accusers, face to face before him, the Secretary of State, it
was disregarded, nor was the rigor of his confinement abated. "Innocency
with her Open Face" had, however, produced a change of public feeling
towards him; and his father, who could not but respect the consistent
firmness and Christian endurance of his son, and who had himself been
passing through a severe ordeal from the machinations of his enemies in
the House of Commons, visited him in his dungeon, and began to use the
influence he continued to hold with the Duke of York and the King, on
his behalf. Whether at his instance or not is not known, but Arlington,
though declining to give audience to William Penn himself, sent the
King's Chaplain, Stillingfleet, to have an interview with him, and
ascertain what concessions he would be willing to make to the offended
hierarchy. Their conversation appears to have been conducted in a
friendly spirit and manner: the Chaplain holding up the brilliant future
that would be realized by Penn if he would recant some of his opinions,
and dwelling on the favorable disposition of the Duke of York and King
towards him. William told him, "The Tower is the worst argument in the
world," and that nothing could induce him to violate his conscientious
convictions, so there seemed nothing gained. But suddenly and
unexpectedly an order came from the King for his release, and he left
the gloomy confines of his prison-house without making any concession or
accepting a pardon. The discharge was believed to have been the work of
the Duke of York, and William ever cherished a grateful feeling towards
him for this generous act.
In the year 1670, Friends in England underwent great persecution and
suffering on account of their religious principles. The law against
Dissenters, that had just expired, had failed in its object, and it was
therefore determined to try another method, which enlisted the cupidity
of the depraved class as informers, and used the almost unrestrained
functions of officials clothed with absolute power to impoverish and
harass those who met together for Divine worship in a way differing from
the "Church of England," in the hope of rendering such unable to live in
their native country. Accordingly a third "Act to prevent and suppress
seditious conventicles" was passed by Parliament, and received the royal
assent in the Fourth month, 1670.
Persecution now ran riot; and the power being by design placed in the
hands of the most profligate and debased, rapine, havoc, and
impoverishment were spread over the nation by the graceless informers,
abetted by a venal magistracy, eager to share in the plunder.
But the storm, biting and incessant as it was, was no more effective in
deterring Friends from assembling for the purpose of worshipping their
Almighty Father in Heaven, than that which had been raised under the
former "Conventicle Act." Grievously spoiled and cruelly abused as they
were, they knew their enemies could truthfully allege nothing against
them but that which concerned the law of their God; and in the sincerity
of their hearts they made their appeal unto Him, with full confidence
that He would extend his fatherly, protecting care over them; would
cause the wrath of man to bring Him praise, and when He saw it was
enough, would restrain the remainder of wrath, and limit the rage and
cruelty of their merciless tormentors. Deprived of the use of their
meeting-houses, they assembled as near to them as they could get; and
beaten, bruised, imprisoned, and fined, as many of each company were
almost sure to be, the next meeting-day found others at the same place,
engaged in the performance of the same indispensable duty; ready to
encounter, with meekness and patience, the wrath of their persecutors,
and to suffer for the maintenance of their rights as men and their
obligation as Christians.
Their treatment in London, bad as it was, was thought to be less severe
than in many other parts of the Kingdom. Yet in that city, it was a
common occurrence for those who attended their meetings for worship, to
be beaten with the muskets of the foot-soldiers, and the sabres of the
dragoons, until the blood ran down upon the ground; women, sometimes
young maidens, were maltreated in the most shameful manner.
On the fourteenth of the Eighth month, 1670, William Penn and William
Mead were taken from the meeting held in the street, as near to
Grace-church meeting-house as they could get; the former being engaged
in ministry at the time. They were brought to trial on the first of the
Ninth month, before the Mayor, Samuel Starling; the Recorder, John
Howell; several Aldermen, and the Sheriffs. William Mead had formerly
been a captain in the Commonwealth's army, but having embraced the
truths of the Gospel as held by Friends, he of course gave up all
connection with military life, and is mentioned in the indictment as a
linen-draper, in London; though it is probable he resided most of his
time in Essex, where he had a considerable landed estate. He afterwards
married a daughter of Margaret Fell.
The indictment charged that they, with other persons, to the number of
three hundred, with force and arms, unlawfully and tumultuously
assembled together, on the fifteenth day of August, 1670, and the said
William Penn, by agreement made beforehand with William Mead, preached
and spoke to the assembly; by reason whereof, a great concourse and
tumult of people continued a long time in the street, in contempt of the
King and his law, to the great disturbance of his peace, and to the
terror of many of his liege people and subjects.
The character of the trial might be judged by the first incident that
occurred. Being brought before the Court on the third of the Ninth
month, an officer took off their hats on their entrance; whereupon the
Mayor angrily ordered him to put them on again; which being done, the
Recorder fined them forty marks apiece, for alleged contempt of Court,
by appearing before it with their hats on. This trial has become
celebrated, not only on account of the ability with which William
Penn--then in his twenty-sixth year--defended his cause, and sustained
the inalienable rights of Englishmen, but for the inflexible firmness
of the jury in maintaining their own rights, and adhering to their
conscientious convictions; notwithstanding the iniquitous determination
of the Court, to enforce its own will, to convict and punish the
prisoners at the bar, and to oblige the jury to become their tools for
that purpose.
The indictment was incorrect, even in the statement of the time when the
offence was said to have taken place; as it was on the fourteenth of the
month, and not on the fifteenth, and therefore it ought to have been
quashed by the Court, and the prisoners discharged. The evidence of the
three witnesses examined was altogether inconclusive, but William Penn
boldly said to the Court, "We confess ourselves to be so far from
recanting or declining to vindicate the assembling of ourselves, to
preach, pray, or worship the eternal, holy, just God, that we declare to
all the world, that we do believe it to be our indispensable duty to
meet incessantly on so good an account; nor shall all the powers upon
earth be able to divert us from reverencing and adoring the God who made
us." He then asked the Court to tell him upon what law the indictment
and proceedings were founded. The Recorder answering, the common law,
Penn requested him to tell him what law that was; for if it was common,
it must be easy to define it. But the Recorder refused to tell him,
saying it was _lex non scripta_, and it was not to be expected that he
could say at once what it was, for some had been thirty or forty years
studying it. Penn observed that Lord Coke had declared that common law
was common right, and common right the great chartered privileges
confirmed by former Kings. The Recorder, greatly excited, told him he
was a troublesome fellow, and it was not to the honor of the Court to
suffer him to go on; but Penn calmly insisted that the Court was bound
to explain to the prisoners at their bar the law they had violated, and
upon which they were being tried; and he told them plainly that, unless
they did so, they were violating the chartered rights of Englishmen, and
acting upon an arbitrary determination to sacrifice those rights to
their own illegal designs. Whereupon the Mayor and Recorder ordered him
to be turned into the bail-dock. William Penn,--"These are but so many
vain exclamations; is this justice or true judgment? Must I, therefore,
be taken away because I plead for the fundamental laws of England?"
Then, addressing himself to the jury, he said: "However, this I leave
upon your consciences who are of the jury, and my sole judges, that if
these ancient fundamental laws which relate to liberty and property, and
are not limited to particular persuasions in matters of religion, must
not be indispensably maintained and observed, who can say he hath a
right to the coat upon his back. Certainly our liberties are openly to
be invaded, our children enslaved, our families ruined, and our estates
led away in triumph, by every sturdy beggar and malicious informer, as
their trophies, but our pretended forfeits for conscience' sake. The
Lord of heaven and earth will be judge between us in this matter." The
hearing of this emphatic speech was so troublesome to the Recorder, that
he cried, "Be silent there!" At which William Penn returned, "I am not
to be silent in a cause wherein I am so much concerned, and not only
myself, but many ten thousand families besides."
Penn being thrust into the bail-dock, William Mead was called up, and
was asked if he was present at the meeting. Which question he refused to
answer, on the ground that he could not be required to accuse himself.
He then told the jury that the indictment was false in many particulars,
and that William Penn was right in demanding the law upon which it was
based. It charged him with assembling by force and arms, tumultuously
and illegally, which was untrue; and he informed them of Lord Coke's
definition of a rout or riot, or unlawful assembly. Here the Recorder
interrupted him, and endeavored to cast ridicule on what he had said, by
taking off his hat and saying, "I thank you for telling us what the law
is." On Mead replying sharply to a taunting speech of Richard Brown, the
old and inveterate enemy of Friends, the Mayor told him "he deserved to
have his tongue cut out." He, too, was put into the bail-dock, and the
Court proceeded to charge the jury. Whereupon William Penn cried out
with a loud voice to the jury, to take notice, that it was illegal to
charge the jury in the prisoners' absence, and without giving them
opportunity to plead their cause. The Recorder ordered him to be put
down. William Mead then remonstrating against such "barbarous and unjust
proceedings," the Court ordered them both to be put into a filthy,
stinking place, called "the hole." After an absence of an hour and a
half, eight of the jury came down agreed, but four staid up and would
not assent. The Court sent for the four, and menaced them for
dissenting. When the jury was all together, the prisoners were brought
to the bar, and the verdict demanded. The Foreman said William Penn was
guilty of speaking in Grace-church Street. The Court endeavored to
extort something more, but the Foreman declared he was not authorized to
say anything but what he had given in. The Recorder, highly displeased,
told them they might as well say nothing, and they were sent back. They
soon returned with a written verdict, signed by all of them, that they
found William Penn guilty of speaking or preaching in Grace-church
Street, and William Mead not guilty. This so incensed the Court, that
they told them they _would_ have a verdict they would accept, and that
"they should be locked up without meat, drink, fire, or tobacco: you
shall not think thus to abuse the Court. We will have a verdict, by the
help of God, or you shall starve for it." Against this outrageous
infraction of justice and right, William Penn remonstrated, saying: "My
jury, who are my judges, ought not to be thus menaced; their verdict
should be free, and not compelled; the Bench ought to wait upon them,
but not forestall them. I do desire that justice may be done me, and
that the arbitrary resolves of the Bench may not be made the measure of
my jury's verdict." The Recorder cried out, "Stop that prating fellow's
mouth, or put him out of Court." Penn insisted that the agreement of the
twelve men was a verdict, and that the Clerk of the Court should record
it; and, addressing the jury, he said: "You are Englishmen; mind your
privileges; give not away your right!" To which some of them replied,
"Nor will we ever do it."
The jury were sent to their room, and the prisoners to jail, the former
being deprived of food, drink, and every accommodation. The same verdict
was returned the next morning; calling from the Bench upbraiding and
threats, similar to those so lavishly bestowed on the jury before: the
Recorder, in his passion, going so far as to say, "Till now, I never
understood the reason of the policy and prudence of the Spaniards in
suffering the Inquisition among them; and certainly, it will never be
well with us till something like the Spanish Inquisition be in England."
Again the jury was sent back to their room, and the prisoners returned
to Newgate; both being so kept for another twenty-four hours; the jury
without victuals, drink, or other accommodations. The next morning they
were again brought into Court, and the usual question respecting their
verdict being put, the Foreman first replied, "You have our written
verdict already." The Recorder refusing to allow it to be read, the
Clerk repeated the query, "How say you, is William Penn guilty or not
guilty?" The Foreman answered: "Not guilty." The same verdict was given
in the case of William Mead. The jury being separately questioned, they
all made the same reply. The Recorder, exasperated at their decision and
firmness, after pouring out his invectives upon them, said: "The Court
fines you forty marks a man, and imprisonment till paid."
William Penn now demanded his liberty; but the Mayor said, "No, you are
in for your fines." "Fines! for what?" replied Penn. "For contempt of
Court," was the answer. Penn then declared that, according to the laws,
no man could be fined without a trial by jury; but the Mayor ordered him
and Mead first to the bail-dock, and then to the jail; where the jury
was likewise consigned.
But this noble stand of the jury for law and right was not allowed to
terminate in the punishment of these upright men, and the continued
gratification of the revenge of the unjust Judges. After ineffectually
demanding of the Court their release two or three times, a writ of
_habeas corpus_ was granted by Judge Vaughan; who, upon hearing the
case, decided their fine and imprisonment illegal, and set them free.
The usage of the Courts had not before been reduced to a legal and
positive form. It had been the occasional practice of the Bench to
impose fines on "inconvenient juries," and had long remained practically
an unsettled question, whether a jury had a right so far to exercise its
own discretion as to bring in a verdict contrary to the sense of the
Court. This important point was now decided; the Judges--there were
others associated with Vaughan--adopting the views that it was the
special function of the jury to judge of the evidence, and that the
Bench, though at liberty to offer suggestions for the consideration of
the jurymen, might not lawfully coerce them.
William Penn, anxious to have the cases of himself and his friend
reviewed by a Superior Court, wrote to his father, affectionately
desiring him not to interfere to have him released. But the old man, who
was fast declining, and anxious to have the company and attentions of
his son, to whom he was not only reconciled, but on whose filial
affection and care he had learned to lean for comfort and support, was
not willing to wait the tardy process of law; and therefore paid the
fines of both the Friends, and had them set free. The Admiral survived
but a few days the liberation of his son; in which time he sent one of
his friends to the King and Duke of York, to make his dying request,
that, so far as they could, they would hereafter befriend his loved
son; which both promised to do. Addressing his son shortly before his
death, he said: "Son William, if you and your friends keep to your plain
way of preaching, and your plain way of living, you will make an end of
the priests to the end of the world." Again--sensible, it is probable,
of the wrong he had before committed in his course towards his son--he
said, emphatically: "Let nothing in the world tempt you to wrong your
conscience. I charge you, do nothing against your conscience; so you
will keep peace at home, which will be a feast to you in the day of
trouble."
Near the close of this year, William Penn was again arrested at Wheeler
Street meeting, by some of the officers of Robinson, Lieutenant of the
Tower, who had sent them there for the purpose, and he was taken before
him. His examination, as published, shows his Christian courage and
firmness, as he exposed the duplicity of Robinson in his profession of
friendship for him; and asserted his innocence of the charges made
against him. He was sent to Newgate for six months; during which time he
drew up an account of the memorable trial at the Old Bailey; also
several dissertations which were afterwards published as tracts: one of
these was, "The great Case of Liberty of Conscience, once more briefly
Debated, and Defended by authority of Scripture, Reason, and Antiquity."
Soon after his release he married Gulielma Maria Springett, daughter of
Sir William Springett. She was a pious young woman, of well-educated and
amiable manners. After his marriage he settled in Hertfordshire.