Whereupon the chief gunner answered, 'If it please your worship, Sir
Edward, we know you are a merciful man, and therefore I entreat you,
in all kindness, to be merciful to this poor man, in whom there
remains something more than flesh and blood; therefore I entreat you,
let us not destroy that which is alive; neither endeavour to do it;
and so God bless you, Sir Edward. I have no more to say to you.' Then
he too went away.
It was all of no use. Richard had been sentenced by the Court Martial
to be hanged next morning, and hanged he must be.
Only Sir Edward--pleased perhaps at being told so often that he was a
merciful man, and willing to show that he had some small idea of what
mercy meant--'gave orders that any that had a mind to give me victuals
might; and that I might eat and drink with whom I pleased; and that
none should molest me that day. Then came the lieutenant and sat down
by me, whilst they were at their worship; and he would have given me
brandy, but I refused. Then the dinner came up to be served, and
several gave me victuals to eat, and I did eat freely, and was kindly
entertained that day. Night being come, a man kindly proffered me his
hammock to lie in that night, because I had lain long in irons; and I
accepted of his kindness, and laid me down, and I slept well that
night.'
'The next morning being come, it being the second day of the week, on
which I was to be executed, about eight o'clock in the morning, the
rope being reeved on the mizen-yard's arm; and the boy ready to turn
me off; and boats being come on board with captains from other ships,
that were of the council of war, who came on purpose to see me
executed; I was therefore called to come to be executed. Then, I
coming to the execution place, the Commander asked the council how
their judgment did stand now? So most of them did consent; and some
were silent. Then he desired me freely to speak my mind, if I had
anything to say, before I was executed. I told him I had little at
present to speak. So there came a man, and bid me to go forward to be
executed. So I stepped upon the gunwale, to go towards the rope. The
Commander bid me stop there, if I had anything to say. Then spake the
judge and said, "Sir Edward is a merciful man, that puts that heretic
to no worse death than hanging."'
The judge, the Governor of Dover Castle, was, as we have heard, a
Roman Catholic. To him Sir Edward and Richard Sellar were both alike
heretics, one not much worse than the other, since both were outside
what he believed to be the only true Church.[38] Sir Edward knew this.
Therefore on hearing the word 'heretic' he turned sharp round to the
judge, 'What sayest thou?' Apparently the judge felt that he had been
unwise to speak his candid thoughts, for he repeated the sentence,
leaving out the irritating word 'heretic': 'I say you are a merciful
man that puts him to no worse death than hanging.' Sir Edward knew
that he had not been mistaken in the word his sharp ears had caught.
'But,' said he, 'what is the other word that thou saidst?' 'That
heretic,' repeated the judge. 'I say,' said the Commander, 'he is more
like a Christian than thyself; for I do believe thou wouldst hang me
if it were in thy power.'
'Then said the Commander to me,' continues Richard, '"Come down again,
for I will not hurt an hair of thy head; for I cannot make one hair
grow." Then he cried, "Silence all men," and proclaimed it three times
over, that if any man or men on board of the ship would come and give
evidence that I had done anything that I deserved death for, I should
have it, provided they were credible persons. But no man came, neither
a mouth opened against me then. So he cried again, "Silence all men,
and hear me speak." Then he proclaimed that the Quaker was as free a
man as any on board of the ship was. So the men heaved up their hats,
and with a loud voice cried, "God bless Sir Edward, he is a merciful
man!" The shrouds and tops and decks being full of men, several of
their hats flew overboard and were lost.'
We will say good-bye to Richard there, with all the sailors huzzaing
round him, throwing up their caps, and Sir Edward standing by with a
pleased smile, more pleased than ever now, since it was impossible for
any one to deny that he was a merciful, a most merciful man. The
change for Richard himself, from being a condemned criminal loaded
with chains to being a universal favourite, must have been startling
indeed, though his troubles were not over yet. Difficulties surrounded
him again when the actual battles with the Dutch began. But, though he
could not fight, and was therefore in perpetual danger, he could and
did help and heal.
His story tells us how he was able to save the whole ship's company
from destruction more than once, and had more marvellous adventures
than there is time here to relate. He tells also how the persecuting
lieutenant became his fast friend, and eventually helped him to get
his freedom.
For he did regain his liberty in the end, and was given a written
permission to go home and earn his living as a fisherman. With this
writing in his hand no press-crew would dare to kidnap him again. So
back he came to Scarborough, to the red-roofed cottage by the water's
edge, to his unmended nets, and to the little daughter with whom we
saw him first. Most likely at this time George Fox was still a
prisoner in the Castle. If so, one of the very first things Richard
did, we may be sure, was to climb the many stone steps up to the
Castle and seek his friend in his cheerless prison. The fire smoke and
the rain would be forgotten by both men as they talked together, and
George Fox's face would light up as he heard the story of the lashings
that disappeared and the beatings that left no bruise. He was not a
man who laughed easily, but doubtless he laughed once, at any rate, as
he listened to Richard's story, when he heard of the huzzaing sailors
whose hats fell off into the water because they were so energetically
sure that 'Sir Edward was a very merciful man.'