In Springtime the South of England is a Primrose Country. Gay carpets
of primroses are spread in the woods; shy primroses peep out like
stars in sheltered hedgerows; vain primroses are stooping down to look
at their own faces in pools and streams, there are primroses,
primroses everywhere. But in the North of England their 'paly gold'
used to be a much rarer treasure. True, there were always a few
primroses to be found in fortunate spots, if you knew exactly where to
look for them; but they were not scattered broadcast over the country
as they are further South.
Therefore, North Country children never took primroses as a matter of
course, they did not tear them up roughly, just for the fun of
gathering them, drop them heedlessly the next minute and leave them on
the road to die. North Country children used their precious holiday
time to seek out their favourite flowers in their rare hiding-places.
'I've found one!' 'So have I!' 'There they are; two, three,
four,--lots!' 'I see them!' The air would be full of delighted
exclamations as the children scampered off, short legs racing, rosy
cheeks flushing, bright eyes glowing with eagerness, to see who could
take home the largest bunch.
The further north a traveller went, the rarer did primroses become,
till in Northumberland, the most northerly county of all, primroses
used to be very scarce indeed. Until, only a few years ago, a
wonderful thing happened. There were days and weeks and months of
warm sunny weather all through the spring and summer in that
particular year. Old people smiled and nodded to one another as they
said: 'None of us ever remembers a spring like this before!'
The tender leaves and buds and flowers undid their wrappings in a
hurry to be first to catch sight of the sun, whose warm fingers had
awakened them, long before their usual time, from their winter sleep.
All over England the spring flowers had a splendid time of it that
year.
Even the few scattered primroses living in what Southerners call 'the
cold grey North' were obviously enjoying themselves. Their smooth,
pale-yellow faces opened wider, and grew larger and more golden, day
by day: while new, soft, pointed buds came poking up through their
downy green blankets in unexpected places. Moreover, the warm weather
lasted right through the summer. Not only did far more primroses
flower than usual, but also, after they had faded, there was plenty of
warmth to ripen the precious seed packet that each one had carried at
its heart. No wonder the children clapped their hands, that joyous
spring, when their treasures were so plentiful; but they feared that
they would never have such good luck again, even if they lived to be
as old as the old people who had 'never seen such a spring before.'
It was not until a year later that the delighted children discovered
that the long spell of sunshine and the Enchanter Wind had worked a
lasting magic. The ripened seed had been scattered far and wide. The
primroses had come to the North to stay; and new Paradises were
springing up everywhere.
Now this is a primrose parable of many things, and worth remembering.
Among other things it is an illustration of the change that was
wrought all over England by the preaching of George Fox.
Think once again of the long bleak years of his youth, when he was
struggling in a dark world into which it seemed as if no ray of light
could pierce; when he and everyone else seemed to be frozen up in a
wintry religion, without life or warmth. Then think how at length he
felt the sap rising in his own soul, turning his whole being to the
Light, as he found 'there is one, even Christ Jesus, that can speak to
thy condition.' This discovery taught him that in all other men's
hearts too, if they only knew, there was 'that of God.' Henceforward,
to proclaim that Light to others and the seed within their own hearts
that responds to the beams of the Sun of Righteousness, was the
service to which George Fox devoted his whole life. As his own being
blossomed in the spiritual sunshine of his great discovery, he was
able to persuade hundreds and thousands of other frozen hearts to
yield themselves and turn to the Light, and open and blossom also in
that same sunshine. A greater wonder followed. Those other lives, as
they yielded themselves, began to ripen too, in different ways, but
silently and surely, until they in their turn were ready to scatter
the new seed, or, in the language of their day, to 'Publish Truth' up
and down all over the country, until the whole face of England was
changed.
By the time of George Fox's death, more than one out of every hundred
among all the people of England was a Friend. But the Friends never
regarded themselves as a Sect, although Sects were flourishing at
that time. In 1640 it is said that twenty new kinds of Sects blossomed
out in the course of one week. George Fox and his followers believed
that the discovery they had made was meant for everybody, as much as
sunshine is. Other people nicknamed them 'Quakers,' but they always
spoke of themselves by names that the whole world was welcome to
share: 'Children of the Light,' 'Friends of the Truth,' or simply
'Friends.' There was nothing exclusive about such names as these.
There was no such thing as membership in a society then or for more
than fifty years afterwards. Anyone who was convinced by what he had
heard, and lived in the spirit of what he professed, became 'Truth's
Friend' in his turn.
Neither was there anything exclusive in George Fox's message. 'Keep
yourselves in an universal spirit' was what he both preached and
practised. It was in 'an universal spirit' that he and his followers
scattered all over the country. No wonder they earned the name of 'the
Valiant Sixty,' that little band of comrades who in 1654 started out
from the North Country on their mission of convincing all England of
'the Truth.'
They were nearly all young men, their leader Fox himself still only
thirty at this time. Francis Howgill and John Camm were two of the
very few elders in the company. They usually travelled in couples,
dear friends naturally going together; for is not the best work always
done with the right companion? George Fox, who was leader, not by any
outward signs of authority but by fervour of inward power and zeal,
occasionally travelled alone. More often he took with him a comrade,
such as Richard Farnsworth (of whom we have heard at Pendle), or James
Nayler, or Leonard Fell, or many another, of whom there are other
stories yet to tell.
Never was George Fox happier than when he was sowing the seed in a new
place. All over England there are memories of him, even as far away as
the Land's End.
When, in 1656, he reached the rocky peninsula of granite at the
extreme south-west of England, he wrote in his journal: 'At Land's End
we had a precious meeting. Here was a fisherman, Nicholas Jose,
convinced, that became a faithful minister. He spoke in meetings and
declared truth to the people, so that I told Friends he was "like
Peter." I was glad the Lord raised up His standard in those dark parts
of the nation, where since there is a fine meeting of honest-hearted
Friends, and a great people the Lord will have in that country.'
Unluckily, some of the other Cornish fisherfolk were not at all 'like
Peter.' They were wreckers, and used to entice ships on to the rocks
by means of false lights in order to enrich themselves with the spoils
washed up on their coasts. This is why George Fox spoke of them as a
'dark people,' and was moved to put forth a paper 'warning them
against such wicked practices.'
There are memories of him also in the town which was then called
Smethwick, and is now called Falmouth, as well as at grim old
Pendennis Castle: one of the twin castles that had been built by King
Henry the Eighth to guard the mouth of Falmouth harbour. Here George
Fox was confined. From hence he was carried to Launceston, where he
lay for many weeks in prison in the awful den of Doomsdale, under
conditions so dreadful that it is impossible to describe them here.
When, at length, he was set at liberty he found a refuge at the
hospitable farmhouse of Tregangeeves near St. Austell--the Swarthmoor
of the West of England--with its warm-hearted mistress, Loveday
Hambley. At Exeter he stayed at an inn, at the foot of the bridge,
named 'the Seven Stars.' In our own day some of his followers have
found another 'Inn of Shining Stars' at Exeter also, when their turn
has come to be lodged within the grim walls of the Gaol for conscience
sake.
* * * * *
Now let us borrow the Giant's Seven-Leagued boots, and fancy ourselves
in the far North of England, in 1657, just leaving Cumberland and
crossing the Scottish border. Again the same square-set figure in the
plain, soft, wide hat is riding ahead. But on this journey George Fox
has several others with him: one is our old acquaintance, James
Lancaster: Alexander Parker is the name of another of his companions:
the third, Robert Widders, Fox himself described as 'a thundering
man.' With them rides a certain Colonel William Osborne, 'one of the
earliest Quaker preachers north of the Tweed, who came into Cumberland
at this time on purpose to guide the party.'[14] Colonel Osborne, who
had been present with the other travellers at a meeting at Pardshaw
Crag shortly before, 'said that he never saw such a glorious meeting
in his life.'
'Fox says that as soon as his horse set foot across the Border, the
infinite sparks of life sparkled about him, and as he rode along he
saw that the seed of the seedsman Christ was sown, but abundance of
clods of foul and filthy earth was above it.'[15]
A high-born Scottish lady, named Lady Margaret Hamilton, was convinced
on this journey. She afterwards went in her turn to warn Oliver
Cromwell of the Day of the Lord that was coming upon him. Various
other distinguished people seem also to have been convinced at this
time. The names of Fox's new disciples sound unusually imposing:
'Judge Swinton of Swinton; Sir Gideon Scott of Highchester; Walter
Scott of Raeburn, Sir Gideon's brother; Charles Ormiston, merchant,
Kelso; Anthony Haig of Bemersyde and William his brother'; but
Quakerism never took firm root in the Northern Kingdom, as it did
among the dalesmen and townsfolk farther South.
Fox journeyed on, right into the Highlands, but he got no welcome
there. 'We went among the clans,' he says, 'and they were devilish,
and like to have spoiled us and our horses, and run with pitchforks at
us, but through the Lord's power we escaped them.' At Perth, the
Baptists were very bitter, and persuaded the Governor to drive the
party from the town, whereupon 'James Lancaster was moved to sound and
sing in the power of God, and I was moved to sound the Day of the
Lord, the glorious everlasting Gospel; and all the streets were up and
filled with people: and the soldiers were so ashamed that they cried,
and said they had rather have gone to Jamaica[16] than to guard us so,
and then they set us in a boat and set us over the water.'
At Leith many officers of the army and their wives came to see Fox.
Among these latter was a certain Mrs. Billing, who lived alone, having
quarrelled with her husband. She brought a handful of coral ornaments
with her, and threw them on the table ostentatiously, in order to see
if Fox would preach a sermon against such gewgaws, since the Quakers
were well known to disapprove of jewellery and other vanities.
'I took no notice of it,' says Fox, 'but declared Truth to her, and
she was reached.' What a picture it makes! The fine lady, with her
chains and brooches and rings of smooth, rose-coloured coral heaped up
on the table before her, her eyes cast down as she pretended to let
the pretty trifles slip idly through her fingers, yet glancing up now
and then, under her eyelashes, to see if she had managed to attract
the great preacher's attention; and Fox, noticing the baubles well
enough, but paying no attention to them. Fixing his piercing eyes not
on the coral but on its owner, he spoke to Mrs. Billing with such
power that her whole life was changed. Once more Fox had found 'that
of God' within this seemingly frivolous woman.
Before he left Scotland he had the happiness of persuading Mrs.
Billing to send for her husband, and of helping to make up the quarrel
between them. They agreed eventually to live in unity together once
more as man and wife.
Fox journeyed on, in this way, year after year, always sowing the seed
wherever he went, and sometimes having the joy of seeing it spring up
above the clods and bring forth fruit an hundredfold. Even during the
long weary intervals of captivity this service still continued.
'Indeed, Fox and his fellow-sufferers never looked upon prison as an
interruption in their life service, but used the new surroundings in a
fresh campaign.'[17] Thus, the historian tells us: 'Though George Fox
found good entertainment, yet he did not settle there but kept in a
continual motion, going from one place to another, to beget souls unto
God.'[18]
The rest of the 'Valiant Sixty,' meanwhile, were likewise busy, going
up and down the country, working in different places and with
different methods, but all intent on the one enterprise of 'Publishing
Truth.' 'And so when the churches were settled in the North,' says the
Journal, 'and the Lord had raised up many and sent forth many into His
Vineyard to preach His everlasting Gospel, as Francis Howgill and
Edward Burrough to London, John Camm and John Audland to Bristol
through the countries, Richard Hubberthorne and George Whitehead
towards Norwich, and Thomas Holme unto Wales, that a matter of sixty
ministers did the Lord raise up and send abroad out of the North
Countries.'
There were far fewer big towns in England in those days than there are
now. Probably at least two-thirds of the people lived in the country,
and only the remaining third were townsfolk: nowadays the proportions
are more than reversed. There was then no thickly populated 'Black
Country'; there were then no humming mills in the woollen districts of
Yorkshire, no iron and steel works soiling the pure rivers of Tees and
Wear and Tyne. Most of the chief towns and industries at that time
were in the South.
'London had a population of half a million. Bristol, the principal
seaport, had about thirty thousand; Norwich, with a similar number of
inhabitants, was still the largest manufacturing city. The publishers
of Truth would now make these three places their chief fields of
service, showing something of the same concentration of effort at
strategic centres which marked the extension of Christianity through
the Roman Empire, under the leadership of Paul.'[19]
A certain impetuous lad named James Parnell, already a noted Minister
though still in his teens, was hard at work in the counties of East
Anglia. In the next story we shall hear how Howgill and Burrough fared
in their mission 'to conquer London.'
Splendid tidings came from the two Johns, John Audland and John Camm,
of their progress in Bristol and the West: 'The mighty power of God is
that way; that is a precious city and a gallant people: their net is
like to break with fishes, they have caught so much there and all the
coast thereabout.' The memory of the enthusiasm of those early days
lingered long in the West, in the memory of those who had shared in
them. 'Ah! those great meetings in the Orchard at Bristol I may not
forget,' wrote John Audland many years later, 'I would so gladly have
spread my net over all and have gathered all, that I forgot myself,
never considering the inability of my body,--but it's well, my reward
is with me, and I am content to give up and be with the Lord, for that
my soul values above all things.'
Women also were among the first Publishers of Truth and helped to
spread the message. Even before Burrough and Howgill reached London,
two women had been there, gently scattering the new seed. It is
recorded that one of them, named Isabella Buttery, 'sometimes spoke a
few words in this small meeting.'
Two Quaker girls from Kendal, Elizabeth Leavens and 'little Elizabeth
Fletcher,' were the first to preach in Oxford, and a terrible time
they had of it. 'Little Elizabeth Fletcher' was then only seventeen,
'a modest, grave, young woman.' Jane Waugh, one of the 'convinced'
serving-maids at Cammsgill, was a friend of hers; but Jane Waugh's
turn for suffering had not yet come. She was still in the North when
the two Elizabeths reached Oxford. This is the account of what befell
them there: 'The 20th day of the 4th month [June] 1654 came to this
city two maids, who went through the streets and into the Colleges,
steeple and tower houses, preaching repentance and declaring the word
of the Lord to the people.... On the 25th day of the same month they
were moved to go to Martin's Mass House (_alias_) Carefox, where one
of those maids, after the priest had done, spake something in answer
to what the priest had before spoken in exhortation to the people, and
presently were by two Justices sent to prison.' The Mayor of Oxford
seems to have been pleased with the behaviour of the two girls and
caused them to be set at liberty again. But the Vice-Chancellor and
the Justices would not agree to this, and 'earnestly enquired from
whence they came, and their business to Oxford. They answered, "they
were commanded of the Lord to come"; and it being demanded "what to
do," they answered, to "declare against Sin and Ungodliness, which
they lived in." And at this answer the Vice-Chancellor and the
Justices ordered their punishment, to be whipped out of town, and
demanding of the Mayor to agree to the same, and for refusing, said
they would do it of themselves, and signing a paper, the contents
whereof was this: To be severely whipped, and sent out of Town as
Vagrants. And forthwith, because of the tumult, they were put into the
Cage, a place common for the worst of people; and accordingly the next
morning, they were whipped, and sent away, and on the backside of the
City, meeting some scholars, they were moved to speak to them, who
fell on them very violently, and drew them into John's College, where
they tied them back to back and pumped water on them, until they were
almost stifled; and they being met at another time as they passed
through a Graveyard, where a corpse was to be buried, Elizabeth Holme
spake something to the Priest and people, and one Ann Andrews thrust
her over a grave stone, which hurt she felt near to her dying day.'
Two other women, Elizabeth Williams and a certain Mary Fisher (who was
hereafter to go on a Mission to no less a person than the Grand Turk),
were also cruelly flogged at Cambridge for daring to 'publish Truth'
there. 'The Mayor ... issued his warrant to the Constable to whip them
at the Market Cross till the blood ran down their bodies; and ordered
three of his sergeants to see that sentence, equally cruel and
lawless, severely executed. The poor women kneeling down, in Christian
meekness besought the Lord to forgive him, for that he knew not what
he did: so they were led to the Market Cross, calling upon God to
strengthen their Faith. The Executioner commanded them to put off
their clothes, which they refused. Then he stripped them naked to the
waist, put their arms into the whipping-post, and executed the Mayor's
warrant far more cruelly than is usually done to the worst of
malefactors, so that their flesh was miserably cut and torn. The
constancy and patience which they expressed under this barbarous usage
was astonishing to the beholders, for they endured the cruel torture
without the least change of countenance or appearance of uneasiness,
and in the midst of their punishment sang and rejoiced, saying, "The
Lord be blessed, the Lord be praised, who hath thus honoured us and
strengthened us to suffer for his Name's sake." ... As they were led
back into the town they exhorted the people to fear God, not man,
telling them "this was but the beginning of the sufferings of the
people of God."'[20]
These two women were the first Friends to be publicly whipped in
England. But their prophecy that 'this was but the beginning' was only
too literally fulfilled.
Not only had bodily sufferings to be undergone by these brave 'First
Publishers.' Malicious reports were also spread against them, which
must have been almost harder to bear.
William Prynne, the same William Prynne who had had his own ears
cropped in earlier days by order of the Star Chamber, but who had not,
apparently, learned charity to others through his own sufferings,
published a pamphlet that was spread abroad throughout England. It
was called 'The Quakers unmasked, and clearly detected to be but the
Spawn of Romish Frogs, Jesuits and Franciscan Friars, sent from Rome
to seduce the intoxicated giddy-headed English Nation.' George Fox
called the pamphlet in which he answered this charge by an almost
equally uncharitable title: 'The Unmasking and Discovery of
Antichrist, with all the false Prophets, by the true Light which comes
from Christ Jesus.'
The seventeenth century has truly been called 'a very ill-mannered
century.' Certainly these were not pretty names for pamphlets that
were so widely read that, to quote the graphic expression of an
earlier writer, 'they walked up and down England at deer rates.'
Yet, still, in spite of bodily ill-usage and imprisonment, through
good report and through evil report, through fair weather and foul,
the work of scattering the seed continued steadily, day after day,
month after month, year after year. The messengers went on, undaunted;
the Message spread and took root throughout the land; the trials of
the work were swallowed up in the triumphant joy of service and of
'Publishing Truth.'