from my first conversion until now. When I have seen good men salute
those women that they have visited, I have made my objection against
it; and when they have answered, that it was but a piece of civility, I
have told them, it is not a comely sight. Some indeed have urged the
holy kiss; but then I have asked why they made baulks, why they did
salute the most handsome, and let the ill-favoured go. Not that I have
been thus kept, because of any goodness in me, more than any other, but
God has been merciful to me, and has kept me, to whom I pray that he
will keep me still, not only from this, but every evil way and work,
and preserve me to his heavenly kingdom. Amen.’[199]
Notwithstanding all Mr. Bunyan’s care to avoid the slightest appearance
of evil, yet being over-persuaded to an act of humanity and civility to
one of his female members, he was most unjustly calumniated. The
circumstances which gave rise to this slander are narrated in James’s
Abstract of God’s dealings with Mrs. Agnes Beaumont, of which an
abridged account will be found in a note to the Grace Abounding.[200]
It exhibits in a remarkable manner how easily such reports are raised
against the holiest men.
Another still more extraordinary and unnatural charge was made against
Bunyan. He lived at a period when witchcraft, witches, and wizards were
in the height of fashion. Any poor woman who had outlived or had become
a burden to her natural protectors, and whose temper was soured by
infirmities, especially if her language was vulgar and her appearance
repulsive, ran the risk of being defamed as a witch. If in her
neighbourhood a murrain seized the cattle, or a disease entered a
family which baffled the little knowledge of the country
practitioners—such as epilepsy, St. Vitus’ dance, or St. Anthony’s
fire—it was ascribed to witchcraft, and vengeance was wreaked upon any
reputed witch. In many parts of England she was tried by a kind of
Lynch law, in a very summary manner. Her hands and feet being bound
together, she was thrown into deep water; if she sank, and was drowned,
she was declared innocent; if she swam, it was a proof of guilt, and a
little form of law condemned her to the stake or halter. In Scotland,
they were treated with greater barbarity; they were awfully
tortured—thumb-screws, the boots to crush their knees, pricking them
with needles or awls night and day, to prevent a moment’s rest, were
persevered in—until a confession was extorted, to be followed by a
frightful death. The ignorance that prevailed may account for the faith
of the vulgar in witchcraft; but that learned divines, and even the
enlightened Judge Hale, should fall into the delusion, is most
surprising. The charge against Bunyan was, that he had circulated some
paper libeling a most respectable widow, a Quakeress, as a witch. This
paper cannot now be discovered; but the story is so perfectly
ridiculous as to render it quite improbable that Bunyan had any
knowledge of it. The account is contained in a rare pamphlet of four
leaves, preserved in the very curious library of the Society of Friends
at Devonshire House, Bishopsgate. It is entitled, ‘A lying wonder
discovered, and the strange and terrible news from Cambridge proved
false; which false news is published in a libel, concerning a wicked
slander cast upon a Quaker; but the author of the said libel was
ashamed to subscribe his name to it. Also, this contains an answer to
John Bunion’s paper, touching the said imagined witchcraft, which he
hath given forth to your wonderment, as he saith; but it is also proved
a lie and a slander by many credible witnesses hereafter
mentioned.’[201] It narrates that Margaret Pryor, of Long Stanton,
indicted, on the 28th July, 1659, the widow Morlin, a Quaker lady, for
having, on the 29th November, 1657, took her out of bed from her
husband in the night, put a bridle in her mouth, and transformed her
into a bay mare, and with a Quaker, William Allen, rode upon her to
Maddenly House, a distance of four miles; that they made her fast to
the latch of the door, while she saw them partake of a feast of mutton,
rabbits, and lamb [lamb in November!!]; that they shone like angels,
and talked of doctrine, and that she knew some of the guests; that her
feet were a little sore, but not her hands, nor was she dirty. In
examining her, the judge elicited that she made no mention of the story
for a year and three-quarters, and that her deposition then was that
some evil spirit changed her into a bay-horse; that her hands and feet
were lamentably bruised, and changed as black as a coal; that she had
her chemise on, which was all bloody, from her sides being rent and
torn with the spurs. All this was unknown to her husband; nor had she
accounted for her chemise so strangely fitting a horse or mare. It was
proved that the complainant had received money for bringing the charge,
and pretended to have burnt some of her hair with elder-bark, as a
counter-charm to prevent it happening again. The judge summed up with
observing that it was a mere dream or phantasy, and that the
complainant was the sorceress, by practicing incantations in burning
her hair and bark. The jury found a verdict of—not guilty; and thus two
innocent persons were saved by an enlightened judge from an ignominious
death. It is almost incredible that, even after the trial, priests and
magistrates who had promoted the prosecution professed to believe that
the charge was true. This singular narrative, in defence of the poor
persecuted Quakeress, is signed James Blackley, an alderman, George
Whitehead, and three others. No one can believe that John Bunyan gave
credit to such a tale, or mentioned it to the injury of the parties
accused. His reply was, that these slanders were devised by the devil
and his instruments—‘God knows that I am innocent.’ The probability is,
that the pamphlet called Strange News from Cambridge had been sent to
him, and that he gave it to some Quaker to answer.
Considering the almost universal belief in witchcraft in those
days—that Baxter, Cotton Mather, Clarke, and many of our most eminent
divines, believed in it—and that Bunyan received the Scriptures in our
authorized translation with the deepest reverence, it becomes an
interesting inquiry how far he believed in witchcraft, possessions,
incantations, and charms. He was persuaded that Satan could appear to
mankind in the shape of animals, and in the human form. Had any one
doubted the possibility of these appearances, he would at that time
have been called an atheist and an unbeliever in the existence of God
and of separate spirits. Thus he argues, that ‘If sin can make one who
was sometimes a glorious angel in heaven now so to abuse himself as to
become, to appearance, as a filthy frog, a toad, a rat, a cat, a fly, a
mouse, or a dog, to serve its ends upon a poor mortal, that it might
gull them of everlasting life, no marvel if the soul is so beguiled as
to sell itself from God and all good for so poor a nothing as a
momentary pleasure.’[202] When speaking of the impropriety of excluding
a pious person from the Lord’s table, because of a difference of
opinion as to water baptism, he says, ‘Do you more to the openly
profane—yea, to all wizards and witches in the land?’[203] In quoting
Isaiah 13, he, taught by the Puritan version, puts the key in the
margin—‘Wild beasts of the desert shall be there and their houses shall
be full of doleful creatures. And owls shall dwell there, and satyrs
[that is, the hobgoblins, or devils] shall dance there.’[204] He gave
no credence to the appearance of departed spirits, except in the hour
of death; and then, while between time and eternity, he thought that in
some rare cases spiritual sight was given to see objects otherwise
invisible.[205]
He fully believed in the power of Satan to suggest evil thoughts to the
pious Christian, and to terrify and punish the wicked, even in this
life; but never hints, through all his works, at any power of Satan to
communicate to man any ability to injure his fellows. What a contrast
is there between the Pilgrim of Loretto, with its witch and devil
story, mentioned in the introduction to the Pilgrim’s Progress, and
Bunyan’s great allegorical work! Conjurors and fortune-tellers, or
witches and wizards, were vagabonds deserving for their fraudulent
pretensions,[206] punishment by a few months’ imprisonment to hard
labour, but not a frightful death. In all these things this great man
was vastly in advance of his age. He had studied nature from personal
observation and the book of revelation. In proportion as the laws of
nature are understood, the crafty pretensions of conjurors and witches
become exposed to contempt. Bunyan never believed that the great and
unchangeable principles which the Creator has ordained to govern nature
could be disturbed by the freaks of poor old crazy women, for purposes
trifling and insignificant. No, such a man could never have circulated
a report that a woman was turned into a bay mare, and her chemise into
a horse-cloth and saddle! Unbridled sectarian feeling perverted some
remark of his, probably made with the kindest intention, into a most
incredible slander.
Among the many singularities of that very interesting period, one was
the number of religious tournaments or disputations that were held all
over the country. The details of one of these, between Fisher, a
Jesuit, and Archbishop Laud, occupy a folio volume. In these wordy
duels the Baptists and Quakers bore a prominent part. To write a
history of them would occupy more space than our narrow limits will
allow. Bunyan entered into one of these controversies with the Quakers
at Bedford Market-cross,[207] and probably held others in the church,
those buildings being at times available under the Protectorate for
such purposes. Bunyan was met by the son of thunder, Edward Burrough,
who was also assisted by Anne Blackly, a remarkably pious woman and an
able disputant. Bunyan pressed them with the Scriptures, and dealt such
severe blows that Mrs. Blackly, in the public assembly, bid him throw
away the Scriptures. To which he answered, ‘No, for then the devil
would be too hard for me.’ The great controversy was as to Christ
within his saints. Bunyan proved, by the holy oracles, that Christ had
ascended, and was at the right hand of God; to which Mrs. Blackly
answered, that he preached up an idol, and used conjuration and
witchcraft. To the charge of spiritual conjuration and witchcraft he
made no reply, it being unworthy his notice; but called upon her to
repent of her wickedness in calling Christ an idol. With regard to his
presence in his saints, he reminded her, that if any man have not the
Spirit of Christ, he is none of his.[208] As a matter of course, both
parties claimed the victory; and although the hearers were puzzled,
doubtless much good was effected.
These were comparatively happy days for God’s fearers—much valuable
seed was sown, and the light of divine truth penetrated into many a
benighted town and village. At length dark and portentous clouds rolled
over the horizon. The Protector had entered into rest; his son was
wholly incapable of taking the helm of public affairs. The exiled king,
Charles II, declared his determination to publish an amnesty for all
political offences; and from Breda issued his proclamation for liberty
of conscience, and the kingdom was cajoled and sold. The king was
scarcely seated on his throne, and armed with power, when he threw off
the mask. Men who had faithfully performed very painful duties under
the authority of Acts of Parliament were put to death, others
imprisoned and transported, and uniformity in religion was re-enacted
under ferocious penalties. Bunyan was to endure a cruel imprisonment,
with all the fears of an ignominious death. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘as Satan
laboured by reproaches and slanders, to make me vile among my
countrymen, that if possible my preaching might be made of none effect,
so there was added hereto a long and tedious imprisonment, that thereby
I might be frighted from my service for Christ, and the world terrified
and made afraid to hear me preach, of which I shall in the next place
give you a brief account.’[209]
THE FIFTH PERIOD.
BUNYAN SUFFERS PERSECUTION, AND A LONG AND DANGEROUS IMPRISONMENT, FOR
REFUSING TO ATTEND THE COMMON PRAYER SERVICE, AND FOR PREACHING.
—‘O happie he who doth possesse
Christ for his fellow prisoner, who doth gladde
With heavenly sunbeams, goales that are most sad.’
(_Written by William Prynne, on his Prison wall, in the Tower._)
The men who arraign their fellows before any standard of orthodoxy, or
claim the right of dictating forms of belief or modes of worship under
pains or penalties, are guilty of assuming the prerogative of the Most
High, and of claiming, for their frail opinions, infallibility. Such
are guilty of high treason against the Majesty of heaven—and all their
machinations have a direct tendency to destroy human happiness—the
wealth of the nation, and that universal good-will among men which the
gospel is intended to establish. Such men present to us the various
features of antichrist, the dread enemy of mankind.
The duty of every intelligent creature is to watch the operations of
nature, that he may be led to just perceptions of the greatness of the
Creator, and the goodness of his immutable laws. Soon he finds his
perceptions dim, and is conscious of evil propensities, which baffle
all his efforts at sinless perfection. He finds nothing in nature to
solve the solemn inquiry how sin is to be pardoned, and evil thoughts
and habits to be rooted out. The convinced sinner then feels the
necessity of a direct revelation from God; and in the Bible alone he
finds that astounding declaration, which leaves all human philosophy at
an immeasurable distance—‘Ye must be born again.’ God only can effect
the wondrous change—man, priest, prophet, or magi, can do him no
good—his terror-stricken conscience drives him to his Creator, and
faith in the Redeemer causes consolation to abound.
In every kingdom of the world, the Christian inquirer is met by the
opposition of antichrist, in some form or other, attempts will be made
to limit his free-born spirit to human inventions and mediations in
seeking Divine mercy. He feels that he is bound, by all his hopes of
happiness, here and hereafter, to obey God rather than man, in
everything pertaining to spiritual religion. In his simple obedience to
the Word of God, he braves all dangers, sure of the Divine blessing and
support while encountering obloquy, contempt, allurements, and
persecution, in its varied polluted forms and appalling cruelties.
After the decease of Oliver Cromwell, it soon became apparent that the
exiled king would be restored. In the prospect of that event, Charles
II promised a free pardon to all his subjects, excepting only such
persons as should be excepted by parliament; and ‘we do declare a
liberty to tender consciences, and that no man shall be disquieted or
called in question for differences of opinion in matters of religion,
which do not disturb the peace of the kingdom.’ Who could imagine,
that, in the face of this solemn declaration, acts, the most oppressive
and tyrannical, would be passed—compelling pretended uniformity in
belief and real uniformity in the mode of public worship—driving the
most pious and useful clergymen from their pulpits and
livings—preventing them from becoming tutors or schoolmasters—and not
suffering them to live within five miles of a city or town. Ruinous
penalties were inflicted, not only on every minister, but upon every
hearer, who met to worship God in private houses or in the fields and
woods. Christians, convinced of the wickedness of such laws, strove, by
every possible means, to evade the penalties, with a stern
determination to worship God in the way that their conscience led them.
They met their beloved ministers in private places, and at the most
unseasonable hours. It is said that Bunyan, to avoid discovery, went
from a friend’s house disguised as a carter; with his white frock,
wide-awake cap, and his whip in his hand, to attend a private meeting
in a sheltered field or barn. To prevent these meetings, severe and
almost arbitrary penalties were enforced, a considerable part of which
went to the informers—men of debauched habits and profligate
principles. With all their vigilance, these prohibited meetings could
not be prevented. In some cases, the persecuted disciples of a
persecuted Lord took houses adjoining each other, and, by opening
internal communications, assembled together. In some cases, the barn or
room in which they met, had a door behind the pulpit, by which the
preacher could escape. A curious letter, preserved in the archives at
Devonshire House, states, that when a Christian assembly was held near
Devonshire Square, while the minister was in his sermon, the officers
and trained bands entered the meeting-house. The preacher immediately
ceased preaching, and gave out the lines of a hymn, which the
congregation joined in singing, and the officers waited till the
devotional exercise was ended. The preacher, taking advantage of their
hesitation, made his escape by a door at the back of the pulpit;
‘thus,’ says the quaint Quaker, ‘he choked the informers off with his
hymn.’ In the Life of Badman are some illustrative anecdotes relating
to informers and their violent ends, with an interesting cut of a
religious meeting in the fields. One informer is in a neighbouring
tree, to identify the meeters; while in the distance, another is
running for the officers, with this verse under the print:—
‘Informer, art thou in the tree?
Take heed, lest there thou hanged be:
Look likewise to thy foot-hold well;
Lest, if thou slip, thou fall to hell.’
In many cases the justices considered a field preacher to be equally
guilty with a regicide.[210] One of the informers, named W. S., was
very diligent in this business; ‘he would watch a-nights, climb trees,
and range the woods a-days, if possible to find out the meeters, for
then they were forced to meet in the fields.’ At length he was stricken
by the hand of God, and died a most wretched object.[211] The cruelties
that were inflicted upon Dissenters are scarcely credible. Penn, the
Quaker, gives this narrative of facts:—The widow’s mite hath not
escaped their hands; they have made her cow the forfeit of her
conscience, not leaving her a bed to lie on, nor a blanket to cover
her; and what is yet more barbarous, and helps to make up this tragedy,
the poor helpless orphan’s milk, boiling over the fire, was flung away,
and the skillet made part of their prize; that, had not nature in
neighbours been stronger than cruelty in informers and officers, to
open her bowels for their relief, they must have utterly perished.[212]
One of these infamous, hard-hearted wretches in Bedford, was stricken,
soon after, with death; and such had been his notorious brutality, that
his widow could not obtain a hearse, but was obliged to carry his body
to the grave in a cart.
It is gratifying to leave these horrors—these stains upon our national
history—for a moment, to record an event which took place about fifty
years back. The Rev. S. Hillyard, the pastor of Bunyan’s church, thus
writes:—‘When our meeting-house was lately repaired, we were allowed,
by the Lord Lieutenant and the justices, to carry on our public
worship, for a quarter of a year in the town-hall, where, if it had
been standing in Mr. Bunyan’s time, he must have been tried and
committed to jail for preaching.’ How different our position from that
of our pilgrim forefathers.
The justices, if the law had allowed them, would, from the first, have
prevented Bunyan’s preaching. When they had the power, he possessed
nothing to excite the cupidity of an informer: this, with the caution
of his friends, saved him, for some months, from being apprehended;
they met privately in barns, milk-houses, and stables, or in any
convenient place in which they were not likely to be disturbed. In
addition to these services, every opportunity was embraced to visit his
friends—praying with them, and administering consolation, arming them
with a steady resolve to be patient in suffering, and to trust in God
for their safety and reward. At length an information was laid, and he
was caught in the very act of worshipping God with some pious
neighbours. Bunyan’s account of this event is deeply interesting; but
the want of sufficient space prevents my giving more than an abstract
of it, referring the reader to his Grace Abounding for fuller details.
On November 12, 1660, as the winter was setting in, having been invited
to preach at Samsell, in Bedfordshire, he prepared a sermon upon these
words—‘Dost thou believe in the Son of God?’ (John 9:35); from which he
intended ‘to show the absolute need of faith in Jesus Christ, and that
it was also a thing of the highest concern for men to inquire into, and
to ask their own hearts whether they had faith or no.’[213] He had then
been a preacher of the glorious gospel of Christ for five or six years,
without any interruption; for, although indicted, he had continued his
useful career, and through grace had received great encouragement and
eminent proofs of the Divine blessing.
Francis Wingate, a neighbouring justice of the peace, having heard of
the intended meeting, issued his warrant to bring the preacher before
him. The intention of the magistrate was whispered about, and came to
Bunyan’s ears before the meeting was held, probably to give him an
opportunity of escape. His friends, becoming alarmed for his safety,
advised him to forego the opportunity. It was a trying moment for him;
he had a beloved wife to whom he had not been long married, and four
dear children, one of them blind, depending upon his daily labour for
food. If he escaped, he might continue his stolen opportunities of
doing good to the souls of men. He hesitated but for a few minutes for
private prayer; he had hitherto shown himself hearty and courageous in
preaching, and it was his business to encourage the timid flock.
‘Therefore, thought I, if I should now run and make an escape, it will
be of a very ill savour in the country; what will my weak and newly
converted brethren think of it? If I should run, now there was a
warrant out for me, I might, by so doing, make them afraid to stand
when great words only should be spoken to them.’ He retired into a
close, privately, to seek Divine direction, and came back resolved to
abide the will of God. It was the first attempt, near Bedford, to
apprehend a preacher of the gospel, and he thus argued with himself—‘If
God, of his mercy, should choose me to go upon the forlorn hope, that
is, to be the first that should be opposed for the gospel, if I should
fly it might be a discouragement to the whole body that should follow
after. And I thought that the world thereby would take occasion at my
cowardliness, to have blasphemed the gospel.’[214] These considerations
brought him to the noble resolution of fulfilling his duty, under all
its difficulties and dangers. In these reasonings the same honourable
decision of mind animated him which impelled Daniel, and the three
Hebrew youths, to violate the wicked laws of the nation in which they
lived, because these laws were opposed to the will of God. He and they,
as well as the apostles, judged for themselves, and opposed statutes or
ancient customs which, in their opinion, were contrary to the Divine
law by which they were to be judged at the solemn and great day. Nor
did they, in the prospect of the most dread personal sufferings,
hesitate to follow the convictions of their minds. Some laws are more
honoured in the breach than in the observance of them. The law of
Pharaoh to destroy the male children of the Israelites, in ancient
times, and the present Popish laws of Tuscany, that the Bible shall not
be read, are laws so contrary to common sense, and the most sacred
duties of man, that ‘God dealt well’ with those who broke them in
Egypt, as he has ever dealt with those who have thus honoured him. The
millions of prayers that were offered up for a blessing upon the
confessors, Madiai, have been answered. Had they perished in the
prisons of Tuscany, they would have joined the noble army of martyrs
before the throne of God, to witness his judgments upon that
persecuting church which has shed so much holy blood.