'A brisk young man with a ready tongue' was the verdict passed upon
Edward Burrough, the hero of this story, by a certain Mr. Thomas
Ellwood when he met him first in the year 1659.
Ellwood himself, who thus described his new acquaintance, was a young
man too at that time, of good education and scholarly tastes. He
became later the friend of a certain Mr. John Milton, who thought
sufficiently well of his judgment to allow him to read his poetry
before it was published, and to ask him what he thought of it; even,
occasionally, to act upon his suggestions. Ellwood, therefore, was
clearly the possessor of a sober judgment, and not a likely person to
be carried away by the glib words of a wandering preacher. Yet that
'brisk young man,' Edward Burrough, did not only 'reach him' with his
'ready tongue,' he also completely 'convinced' him, and altered his
whole life: Ellwood returned to his family ready to suffer hardship if
need be on behalf of his newly-found faith.
Ellwood's own adventures, however, do not concern us here, but those
of the young man who convinced him.
Edward Burrough was one of the best loved and most valiant of all
those 'Valiant Sixty' ministers who went forth throughout the length
and breadth of England, in 1654, on their new, wonderful enterprise of
'Publishing Truth.' If Edward Burrough was still 'young and brisk'
when Ellwood first came across him, he must have been yet younger and
brisker on that summer's day, five years earlier, when he left his
home in Westmorland in order to 'conquer London.' This was an
ambitious undertaking truly for any man, however brisk and ready of
tongue.
It is true that the London of those long-ago days of the Commonwealth,
before the Great Fire, was a much more compact city than the gigantic,
overgrown London of to-day. Instead of 'sprawling over five or six
counties,'[21] and containing six or seven million inhabitants, London
was then a comparatively small place, its population, though rapidly
increasing, did not yet number one million.
'An old map of the year 1610 shows us that London and Westminster were
then two neighbouring cities surrounded by meadows. "Totten Court" was
an outlying country village. Oxford Street is marked on this map as
"The way to Uxbridge," and runs between meadows and pastures. The
Tower, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's Church, ... and some other
landmarks are indeed there, but it is curious to read the accounts
given by the chronicles of the day of its narrow and dirty streets, in
which carts and coaches jostled one another, and foot passengers found
it difficult to get along at all.... When the King went to Parliament,
faggots were thrown into the ruts in the streets through which he
passed, to make it easier for his state coach to drive over the uneven
roads!'[22]
Nevertheless this gay little countrified town of timbered houses,
surrounded by meadows and orchards, and overlooked by the green
heights of 'Hamsted' and Primrose Hill, was then as now the Capital
City of England. And England under Oliver Cromwell was one of the most
powerful of the States of Europe.
Therefore if a young man barely out of his teens were to succeed in
'conquering London,' and bending it to his will, he would certainly
need all his briskness and readiness of tongue.
Edward Burrough probably entered London alone and on foot, after a
journey extending over several weeks. He had left his native
Westmorland in company with good John Camm, the 'statesman' farmer of
Cammsgill. The first stages of their journey were made on horseback.
Many a quiet talk the two men must have had together as they rode
through the green lanes of England,--that long-ago England of the
Commonwealth, its clear skies unstained by any tall chimneys or
factory smoke. There were but few hedgerows then, 'a single hedge is a
marked feature in the contemporary maps.'[23] The cornfields stretched
away in a broad, unbroken expanse as they do to-day on the Continent
of Europe and in the lands of the New World.
As they rode, Camm would tell Burrough, doubtless, of his first sight
of George Fox, preaching in Sedbergh Churchyard, under the ancient
yew-tree opposite the market cross, on that never-to-be-forgotten day
of the Whitsuntide Fair. The story of the 'Wonderful Fortnight' would
be sure to follow; of the 'Mighty Meeting' on the Fell outside Firbank
Chapel; of the gathering of the Seekers at Preston Patrick; and of yet
another open-air meeting, when hundreds of people assembled one
memorable First Day near his own hillside farm at Cammsgill.
Then it would be the younger man's turn to tell his tale.
'He was born in the barony of Kendal ... of parents who for their
honest and virtuous life were in good repute; he was well educated,
and trained up in such learning as that country did afford.... By his
parents he was trained up in the episcopal worship,'[24] but for a
long time, he says that the only religion that he practised was 'going
to church one day in seven to hear a man preach, to read, and sing,
and rabble over a prayer.' (It is easy to smile at the old-fashioned
word; but let us try to remember it when we ourselves are tempted to
get up too late in the morning and 'rabble over' our own prayers.)
Gradually the unseen world grew more real. A beautiful and comforting
message was given to him in his heart, 'Whom God once loves, he loves
for ever.' Now he grew weary of hearing any of the priests, for he saw
they did not possess what they spoke of to others, and sometimes he
began to question his own experiences.
Nevertheless he felt it a grievous trial to give up all his prospects
of earthly advancement and become a Quaker. Yet from the day he
listened to George Fox preaching at Underbarrow there was no other
course open to him; though his own parents were much incensed with him
for daring to join this despised people. They even refused to
acknowledge him any longer as a member of their family. Being rejected
as a son, therefore, he begged to be allowed to stay on in his home
and work as a servant, but this, too, was refused. Thus being, as he
says, 'separated from all the glory of the world, and from all his
acquaintance and kindred,' he betook himself to the company of 'a
poor, despised people called Quakers.'
It must have been a comfort to him, after being cast off by his own
family, to find himself adopted by a still larger family of friends,
and to become one of the 'Valiant Sixty' entrusted with the great
adventure of Publishing Truth.
Riding along with good John Camm, with talk to beguile the way, was
pleasant travelling; but this happy companionship was not to last very
long. For as they journeyed and came near the 'Middle Kingdom,' or
Midlands, they fell in with another of 'Truth's Publishers.'
This was none other than their Westmorland neighbour, John Audland,
'the ruddy-faced linen-draper of Crosslands,' John Camm's own especial
comrade and pair among the 'Sixty.'
It may have been a prearranged plan that they should meet here; anyway
Camm turned aside with Audland and went on with him to Bristol, where
he had already begun to scatter the seed in the west of England, while
Edward Burrough pursued his journey in solitude towards London.[25]
But his days of loneliness were not to last for long. Either just
before or just after his arrival in the great city, two other
Publishers also reached the metropolis, one of whom, Francis Howgill,
was to be his own especial comrade and pair in the task of 'conquering
London.' This was that same Francis Howgill, a considerably older man
than Burrough, and formerly a leader among the Seekers, who had been
preaching that memorable day at Firbank when he thought George Fox
looked into the Chapel and was so much struck that 'you could have
killed him with a crab-apple.' Now that they had come together,
however, it would have taken more than many crab-apples to deter him
and Burrough from their Mission. Together the two friends laid their
plans for the capture of London, and together they proceeded to carry
them out. The success they met with was astonishing. 'By the arm of
the Lord,' writes Howgill, 'all falls before us, according to the word
of the Lord before I came to this City, that all should be as a
plain.'
Amidst their engrossing labours in the capital the two London
'Publishers' did not forget to send news of their work to Friends in
the North. Many letters written at this time remain. Those to Margaret
Fell, especially, give a vivid picture of their progress. These
letters are signed sometimes by Howgill, sometimes by Burrough,
sometimes by both together. But, whatever the signature, the pronouns
'I' and 'we' are used indiscriminately, as if to show that the writers
were not only united in the service of Truth but were also one in
heart.
'We two,' they say in one letter, 'are constrained to stay in this
city; but we are not alone, for the power of our Father is with us,
and it is daily made manifest through weakness, even to the stopping
of the mouths of lions and to the confounding of the serpent's
wisdom; eternal praises to Him for evermore. In this city, iniquity is
grown to the height. We have three meetings or more every week, very
large, more than any place will contain, and which we can conveniently
meet in. Many of all sorts come to us and many of all sorts are
convinced, yea, hundreds do believe....'
Again: 'We get Friends together on the First Days to meet together out
of the rude multitude; and we two go to the great meeting place which
we have, which will hold a thousand people, which is always nearly
filled, there to thresh among the world; and we stay till twelve or
one o'clock and then pass away, the one to the one place and the other
to another place where Friends are met in private; and stay till four
or five o'clock.'
Only a month later yet another 'great place' had to be taken for a
'threshing-floor,' or hall where public meetings could be held. To
these meetings anyone might come and listen to the preachers' message,
which 'threshed them like grain, and sifted the wheat from the "light
chaffy minds" among the hearers.'
How 'chaffy' and frivolous this gay world of London appeared to these
first Publishers, consumed with the burning eagerness of their
mission, the following description shows. It occurs in a letter from
George Fox himself when he, too, came to the metropolis, a few months
later.
'What a world this is,' he writes ... 'altogether carried with
fooleries and vanities both men and women ... putting on gold, gay
apparel, plaiting the hair, men and women they are powdering it,
making their backs as if they were bags of meal, and they look so
strange that they cannot look at one another. Pride hath puffed up
every one, they are out of the fear of God, men and women, young and
old, one puffs up another, they are not in the fashion of the world
else, they are not in esteem else, they shall not be respected else,
if they have not gold and silver upon their backs, or his hair be not
powdered. If he have a company of ribbons hung about his waist, red or
white, or black or yellow, and about his knees, and gets a Company in
his hat, and powders his hair, then he is a brave man, then he is
accepted, then he is no Quaker.... Likewise the women having their
gold, their spots on their faces, noses, cheeks, foreheads, having
their rings on their fingers, wearing gold, having their cuffs doubled
under and about like a butcher with white sleeves' (how pretty they
must have been!), 'having their ribbons tied about their hands, and
three or four gold laces about their clothes, "this is no Quaker," say
they.... Now are not all these that have got these ribbons hung about
their arms, backs, waists, knees, hats, hands, like unto fiddlers'
boys, and shew that you are gotten into the basest contemptible life
as be in the fashion of the fiddlers' boys and stage-players, and
quite out of the paths and steeps of solid men.... And further to get
a pair of breeches like a coat and hang them about with points up
almost to the middle, and a pair of double cuffs upon his hands, and a
feather in his cap, and to say, "Here's a gentleman, bow before him,
put off your hats, bow, get a company of fiddlers, a set of music and
women to dance, this is a brave fellow, up in the chamber without and
up in the chamber within," are these your fine Christians? "Yea," say
they. "Yea but," say the serious people, "they are not of Christ's
life." And to see such a company as are in the fashions of the world
... get a couple of bowls in their hands or tables [dice] or
shovel-board, or a horse with a Company of ribbons on his head as he
hath on his own, and a ring in his ear; and so go to horse-racing to
spoil the creature. Oh these are gentlemen, these are bred up
gentlemen! these are brave fellows and they must have their
recreation, and pleasures are lawful. These are bad Christians and
shew that they are gluttoned with the creature and then the flesh
rejoiceth!'
No wonder that Edward Burrough wrote to Margaret Fell that 'in this
city iniquity is grown to the height,' and again, in a later letter:
'There are hundreds convinced, but not many great or noble do receive
our testimony ... we are much refreshed, we receive letters from all
quarters, the work goes on fast everywhere.... Richard Hubberthorne is
yet in prison and James Parnell at Cambridge.... Our dear brethren
John Audland and John Camm we hear from, and we write to one another
twice in the week. They are near us, they are precious and the work of
the Lord is great in Bristol.'
Margaret Fell writes back in answer, like a true mother in Israel,
'You are all dear unto me, and all are present with me, and are all
met together in my heart.'
And now, having heard what the 'Valiant Sixty' thought of London, what
did London think of the 'Valiant Sixty'? Many years later a certain
William Spurry wrote of these early days: 'I being in London at the
time of the first Publication of Truth, there was a report spread in
the City that there was a sort of people come there that went by the
name of plain North Country plow men, who did differ in judgment to
all other people in that City, who I was very desirous to see and
converse with. And upon strict enquiry I was informed that they did
meet at one Widow Matthews in White Cross Street, in her garden, where
I repaired, where was our dear friends Edward Burrough and Francis
Howgill, who declared the Lord's everlasting Truth in the
demonstration of the Spirit of Life, where myself and many more were
convinced. A little time after there was a silent meeting appointed
and kept at Sarah Sawyer's in Rainbow Alley.'
Very rural and unlike London these places sound: but meetings were not
only held in secluded spots, such as the garden in White Cross Street,
and the house in Rainbow Alley, they were also held in the tumultuous
centres of Vanity Fair.
'Edward Burrough,' says Sewel the historian, 'though he was a very
young man when he first came forth, yet grew in wisdom and valour so
that he feared not the face of man.' 'At London there is a custom in
summer time, when the evening approaches and tradesmen leave off
working, that many lusty fellows meet in the fields, to try their
skill and strength at wrestling, where generally a multitude of people
stand gazing in a round. Now it so fell out, that Edward Burrough
passed by the place where they were wrestling, and standing still
among the spectators, saw how a strong and dexterous fellow had
already thrown three others, and was now waiting for a fourth
champion, if any durst venture to enter the lists. At length none
being bold enough to try, E. Burrough stepped into the ring (commonly
made up of all sorts of people), and having looked upon the wrestler
with a serious countenance, the man was not a little surprised,
instead of an airy antagonist, to meet with a grave and awful young
man; and all stood amazed at this sight, eagerly expecting what would
be the issue of this combat. But it was quite another fight Edward
Burrough aimed at. For having already fought against spiritual
wickedness, that had once prevailed in him and having overcome it in
measure, by the grace of God, he now endeavoured also to fight against
it in others, and to turn them from the evil of their ways. With this
intention he began very seriously to speak to the standers by, and
that with such a heart-piercing power, that he was heard by this mixed
multitude with no less attention than admiration; for his speech
tended to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of
Satan to God.
'Thus he preached zealously; and though many might look upon this as a
novelty, yet it was of such effect that many were convinced of the
truth.... And indeed he was one of those valiants, whose bow never
turned back ... nay he was such an excellent instrument in the hand of
God that even some mighty and eminent men were touched to the heart by
the power of the word of life which he preached' ... 'using few words
but preaching after a new fashion so that he was called a "son of
thunder and also of consolation."'
'Now I come also to the glorious exit of E. Burrough, that valiant
hero. For several years he had been very much in London, and had there
preached the gospel with piercing and powerful declarations. And that
city was so near to him, that oftentimes, when persecution grew hot,
he said to Francis Howgill, his bosom friend, "I can go freely to the
city of London, and lay down my life for a testimony of that truth,
which I have declared through the power and spirit of God." Being in
this year [1662] at Bristol, and thereabouts, and moved to return to
London, he said to many of his friends, when he took leave of them,
that he did not know he should see their faces any more; and therefore
he exhorted them to faithfulness and steadfastness, in that wherein
they had found rest for their souls. And to some he said, "I am now
going up to the city of London again, to lay down my life for the
gospel, and suffer among friends in that place."'[26]
Thus it befell that Edward Burrough was called to a more deadly
wrestling match than any in the pleasant London fields. He was thrown
into prison, and there he had to face a mortal foe in the gaol-fever
that was then raging in that noisome den. This was to wrestle in grim
earnest, with Death himself for an adversary; and in this wrestling
match Death was the conqueror.
Charles the Second was now on the throne. He knew and respected Edward
Burrough, and did his best to rescue him. Knowing the pestilential and
overcrowded state of Newgate at that time, the Merry Monarch, to his
lasting credit, sent a royal warrant for the release of Edward
Burrough and some of the other prisoners, when he heard of the danger
they were in from the foul state of the prison. But this order a
certain cruel and persecuting Alderman, named Richard Brown, and some
magistrates of the City of London contrived to thwart. The prisoners
remained in the gaol. Edward Burrough caught the fever, and grew
rapidly worse. On his death-bed he said, 'Lord, forgive Richard Brown,
who imprisoned me, if he may be forgiven.' Later on he said, 'I have
served my God in my generation, and that Spirit, which has lived and
ruled in me shall yet break forth in thousands.' 'The morning before
he departed his life ... he said, "Now my soul and spirit is centred
into its own being with God; and this form of person must return from
whence it was taken...."' A few moments later, in crowded Newgate, he
peacefully fell asleep. 'This was the exit of E. Burrough, who in his
flourishing youth, about the age of eight and twenty, in an unmarried
state, changed this mortal life for an incorruptible, and whose
youthful summer flower was cut down in the winter season, after he had
very zealously preached the gospel about ten years.'[27]
Francis Howgill, now left desolate and alone, poured forth a touching
lament for his vanished 'yoke-fellow.'
'It was my lot,' he writes, 'to be his companion and fellow-labourer
in the work of the gospel where-unto we were called, for many years
together. And oh! when I consider, my heart is broken; how sweetly we
walked together for many months and years in which we had perfect
knowledge of one another's hearts and perfect unity of spirit. Not so
much as one cross word or one hard thought of discontent ever rose (I
believe) in either of our hearts for ten years together.'
George Fox, no mean fighter himself, adds this comment: 'Edward
Burrough never turned his back on the Truth, nor his back from any out
of the Truth. A valiant warrior, more than a conqueror, who hath got
the crown through death and sufferings; who is dead, but yet liveth
amongst us, and amongst us is alive.'
But it is from Francis Howgill, who knew him best and loved him most
of all, that we learn the inmost secret of the life of this mighty
wrestler, when he says:
'HIS VERY STRENGTH WAS BENDED AFTER GOD.'
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