The Plague and its Results—Penn as a Soldier—His Religious
Struggle—Becomes a Quaker—Imprisonment for Attending Meetings—Death of
his Father
In 1664 another war broke out between England and Holland, owing to the
refusal of the latter to allow the existence of English colonies on the
coast of Guinea, where the Dutch had hitherto enjoyed the exclusive
trade. Admiral de Ruyter was ordered to destroy these settlements and a
declaration of war followed. The Duke of York, then Lord High Admiral of
England, believing the services of his friend Admiral Penn indispensable
at such a juncture, appointed him to the command of his own flagship
with the title of Great Commander. This compelled Sir William to recall
young Penn to take charge of the family affairs during his absence.
Rumors of Louis the Fourteenth’s favorable disposition toward the Dutch
also made him fear for his son’s safety in France. The change wrought in
William by his two years’ absence could not fail to delight the admiral.
The seriousness of mind which had formerly led him to avoid all worldly
pleasures had vanished and was replaced by a youthful vivacity of manner
and a ready wit in conversation that were most charming. In appearance
too he had improved greatly, having grown into a tall and handsome man,
his face marked by an expression of singular sweetness and gentleness,
yet full of intelligence and resolution.
To prevent any return to his former habits, his father took pains to
keep him surrounded by companions of rank and wealth and amid the
associations of a court little behind that of France in the matter of
license and extravagance. He also had him entered at Lincoln’s Inn as a
student of law, a knowledge of which would be indispensable in the lofty
position to which he aspired for his son and heir. And why should not
these hopes of future distinction be realized? Was he not in high favor
not only with the King, but also with the Duke of York, who must succeed
to the throne on the death of Charles? Nevertheless, the admiral must
still have had doubts as to the permanence of this unexpected and most
welcome change, for when he sailed with the Duke of York in March, 1665,
he took William with him, feeling it safest, no doubt, to keep him for a
time under his own eye and away from all temptation to relapse into his
old ways. These prudent calculations were soon upset, however, for three
weeks later, when the first engagement with the Dutch fleet took place,
young Penn was sent back by the Duke of York with despatches to the King
announcing the victory. As the bearer of these tidings he was naturally
made welcome at court and remained in London, continuing his law
studies.
Then came the plague, which broke out in London with such violence as to
terrify even the most worldly and force upon them the thought of death.
Persons seemingly in perfect health would suddenly fall dead in the
streets, as many as ten thousand deaths occurring in a single day. All
who were able to escape fled from the city, while those who could not
get away shut themselves up in their houses, scarcely venturing forth to
obtain even the necessities of life. The terrible scenes which met the
eye at every turn quickly banished William’s newly acquired worldliness
and turned his thoughts once more to serious things. Religious questions
absorbed his whole mind and became of far greater importance to him than
those of law, with which he should have been occupying himself.
Sir William observed this new change with alarm and displeasure on his
return with the fleet, and even more so when his services were rewarded
by the King not only by large additions to his Irish estates, but also
by promises of still higher preferment in the future. Of what use would
these honors be if the son who was to inherit them insisted on embracing
a vocation that utterly unfitted him for such a position? Again he cast
about for a remedy that should prove as effectual as the sojourn in
France had been, and this time he sent his son to the Duke of Ormond,
Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, whose court, though a gay and brilliant one,
was not so profligate as those at Paris and London. The admiral had
overlooked one fact, however, in his choice of residence for his son;
namely, that there were many Quakers in Ireland.
The letters which he carried procured young Penn an instant welcome to
court circles in Dublin, where his attractive person and his cleverness
soon made him popular. Again he found himself plunged into a whirl of
gayety and pleasure, to which he abandoned himself the more readily as
it involved no especial reproach of conscience. Soon after his arrival
he volunteered to join an expedition commanded by the Duke’s son, Lord
Arran, to reduce some mutinous troops to obedience, and bore himself
with so much coolness and courage that the viceroy wrote to Sir William
expressing his satisfaction with young Penn’s conduct and proposing that
he should embrace a military career, for which he seemed so well
adapted. Greatly to William’s disappointment, however, the admiral
refused his consent, having other plans for the future. There was also
work for him now wherein he could utilize his knowledge of law, some
question having arisen as to the title of the large estates recently
granted the admiral by Charles the Second. The matter having to be
settled by law, William was intrusted by his father with the trial of
the case, which he succeeded in winning.
One day while at Cork, near which his father’s property was situated, he
recognized in a shopkeeper of whom he was making some purchases one of
the women who had been present at that never-to-be-forgotten meeting
held at his father’s house by Thomas Loe. Much pleased at thus
discovering an old acquaintance, the conversation naturally turned to
religious subjects, and on William’s expressing the wish that he might
again see and hear the famous preacher, the Quakeress informed him that
Loe was then living in Cork and would hold one of his usual meetings the
following day. It is needless to say that young Penn was present on that
occasion and his Oxford experience was repeated. Loe’s sermon seemed
aimed directly at him, for it was on “the faith that overcometh the
world and the faith that is overcome by the world.” As the first part of
the sermon, wherein the preacher depicted with glowing enthusiasm the
splendid fruits of that faith that overcometh, awoke in the young man’s
heart memories of the true peace and happiness that had been his so long
as he had remained true to his beliefs, so the second part, dealing with
the faith that succumbs to worldly temptations, fell like blows upon his
conscience. Bitter remorse for his frivolous life of the last few years
overwhelmed him, and Loe, to whom he presented himself at the close of
the meeting, perceiving his state of mind, did not fail to strengthen
the effect of his discourse by the most solemn exhortations.
For a time filial duty and worldly ambition struggled against the voice
of awakened conscience, but the latter finally triumphed. Penn now
became a regular attendant at the Quaker meetings and belonged, in heart
at least, to the persecuted sect. In September, 1667, while present at
one of these meetings, usually held with as much secrecy as possible, in
order to avoid the jeers of the rabble, the place was suddenly invaded
by order of the mayor and all the participants arrested. Finding the son
of so distinguished a personage as Sir William Penn among the prisoners,
the astonished official offered to release him at once if he would
promise not to repeat the offence, but Penn refused to enjoy any
advantages over his companions and went with them to prison. While there
he wrote to the Earl of Orrery, complaining of the injustice of his
imprisonment, since the practice of religious worship could be called
neither a criminal offence nor a disturbance of the peace. On receipt of
this letter an order was given for his immediate release, but the report
that he had joined the Quakers quickly spread, calling forth both
derision and indignation among his friends at court.
When this rumor reached the admiral, who feared nothing so much as
ridicule, he promptly ordered his son to join him in London. Finding him
still in the dress of a gentleman with sword and plume, he felt somewhat
reassured and began to hope that after all he might have been
misinformed, but the next day, when he took William to task for keeping
his hat on in his presence, the youth frankly confessed that he had
become a Quaker. Threats and arguments proving alike useless, the
admiral then gave him an hour’s time to consider whether he would not at
least remove his hat before the King and the Duke of York, that his
future prospects and position at court might not be ruined. But
William’s resolution had been fully matured during his imprisonment at
Cork, and his conversion was a serious matter of conscience. He was
forced to admit to himself therefore that such a concession would be a
violation of his principles, and announced at the end of the time that
it would be impossible for him to comply with his father’s wishes. At
this the admiral’s hitherto restrained anger burst all bounds.
Infuriated because all his plans and ambitions for the future were
baffled by what seemed to him a mere notion, he heaped abuse and
reproaches on his son and finally ordered him from the house with
threats of disinheritance.
This was a severe test of Penn’s religious convictions. Not only was he
passionately devoted to his mother, on whose sympathy and support he
could always count, but he also had the deepest respect and regard for
his father, in spite of their widely different views, but his conscience
demanded the sacrifice and he made it, leaving his home and all his
former associations. Now that the die was cast he laid aside his worldly
dress and openly professed himself as belonging to the Friends, as they
were called, who welcomed him with open arms. It would have fared ill
with him, however, accustomed as he was to a life of affluence and ease,
had it not been for his mother, who provided him with money from time to
time as she found an opportunity.
It was not long, however, before the admiral relented, owing chiefly to
her efforts in his behalf, and allowed him to return home, though still
refusing to see or hold any communication with him. It must indeed have
been a crushing blow to the proud and ambitious man of the world to have
his son and heir travelling about the country as a poor preacher, for it
was about this time, 1668, that William first began to preach. He also
utilized his learning and talents by writing in defence of the new
doctrines he had embraced. One of these publications, entitled “The
Sandy Foundation Shaken,” attracted much attention. In it he cleverly
attempted to prove that certain fundamental doctrines of the established
church were contrary to Scripture—a heresy for which the Bishop of
London had him imprisoned. Indeed his malicious enemies went so far as
to claim that Penn had dropped a letter at the time of his arrest,
written by himself and containing treasonable matter, but although his
innocence on this point was soon established, he was forced,
nevertheless, to remain for nine months in the Tower. Even the King, to
whom Sir William appealed on his son’s behalf, did not dare to intervene
for fear of increasing the suspicion, in which he already stood, of
being an enemy to the church. All he could do was to send the court
chaplain to visit Penn and urge him to make amends to the irate Bishop,
who was determined he should publicly retract his published statements
or end his days in prison. But this the young enthusiast refused to do,
replying with the spirit of a martyr that his prison should be his grave
before he would renounce his just opinions; that for his conscience he
was responsible to no man.
This period of enforced idleness was by no means wasted, however. While
at the Tower he wrote “No Cross, No Crown,” perhaps the best known and
most popular of all his works, wherein for his own consolation as well
as that of his persecuted brethren he explained the need for all true
Christians to bear the cross. Another, called “Innocence with her Open
Face,” further expounded certain disputed passages in the Holy Book that
had shared his imprisonment. The manly firmness and courage with which
Penn bore his long confinement without allowing his newly adopted
beliefs to be shaken forced universal respect and sympathy and even
softened his father’s wrath at last. The admiral himself had been having
troubles. False accusations made against him by his enemies had so
preyed on his mind that his health had given way, and he had been forced
to resign his post in the admiralty and retire to private life. He
visited his son several times in prison, and his appeals to the Duke of
York finally secured William’s release, without the recantation demanded
by the Bishop. Further residence in London at that time being
undesirable, however, he went back to his father’s estate in Ireland.
Here he labored unceasingly for the liberation of his friends in Cork,
who were still languishing in prison, and at last had the joy of seeing
his efforts crowned with success by securing their pardon from the Duke
of Ormond.
At the end of eight months he returned again to England at the wish of
his father, whose rapidly failing health made him long for his eldest
son. He had fully relented toward him by this time and a complete
reconciliation now took place, greatly to the joy of all parties. But
the year 1670, which brought this happiness to Penn, was also one of
trial for him, owing to the revival of the law against dissenters, as
all who differed from the doctrines of the established church were
called, declaring assemblies of more than five persons for religious
purposes unlawful and making offenders punishable by heavy fines or even
banishment. Among the thousands thus deprived of liberty and property,
being at the mercy of the meanest informer, one of the first to suffer
was William Penn.
On the fourteenth of August, 1670, the Quakers found their usual place
of meeting in London closed and occupied by soldiery. When Penn arrived
on the scene with his friend William Mead he attempted to address the
assembled crowd, urging them to disperse quietly and offer no
resistance, which would be quite useless. But as soon as he began to
speak both he and Mead were arrested and taken to prison by warrants
from the mayor of London for having attended a proscribed meeting and
furthermore caused a disturbance of the peace. The prisoners were tried
before a jury on September third. Although the three witnesses brought
against them could produce no testimony to confirm the charge, Penn
voluntarily confessed that he had intended to preach and claimed it as a
sacred right. In spite of all the indignities and abuse permitted by the
court, he pleaded his cause so stoutly and so eloquently that the jury
pronounced a verdict of not guilty. This was far from pleasing to the
judges, who were bent on having Penn punished, so the jury were sent
back to reconsider, and when they persisted were locked up for two days
without food or water and threatened with starvation unless a verdict
were reached which could be accepted by the court. Even this proving
ineffectual they were fined for their obstinacy, and refusing to pay
these fines were sent to prison, while Penn and his friend Mead, instead
of being released, were still kept in confinement for refusing to pay a
fine which had been arbitrarily imposed on them for contempt of court.
The admiral, however, whose approaching end made him more and more
anxious to have his son at liberty, sent privately and paid both fines,
thus securing the release of both prisoners. Penn found his father
greatly changed. The once proud and ambitious man had experienced the
hollowness of worldly things and longed for death. “I am weary of the
world,” he said to William shortly before his death. “I would not live
over another day of my life even if it were possible to bring back the
past. Its temptations are more terrible than death.” He charged his
children, all of whom were gathered about him, “Let nothing tempt you to
wrong your conscience; thus shall you find an inward peace that will
prove a blessing when evil days befall.”
He talked much with William, who doubtless did not fail to impress upon
his dying father the comfort of a firm religious faith, and before he
died expressed his entire approval of the simple form of worship adopted
by his eldest and favorite son. Sir William died on the sixteenth of
September, 1670. Shortly before the end he sent messages to the King and
to the Duke of York with the dying request that they would act as
guardians to his son, whom he foresaw would stand greatly in need of
friends and protectors in the trials to which his faith would expose
him. Wealth he would not lack, for the admiral left an estate yielding
an annual income of about fifteen hundred pounds, besides a claim on the
royal exchequer for fifteen thousand pounds, which sum he had loaned at
various times to the King and his brother.