consisted of about forty persons, he replied, ‘No, by no means; I will
not stir, neither will I have the meeting dismissed. Come, be of good
cheer, let us not be daunted; our cause is good, we need not be ashamed
of it; to preach God’s Word is so good a work, that we shall be well
rewarded if we suffer for that.’[215] All this took place about an hour
before the officers arrived. The service was commenced with prayer at
the time appointed, the preacher and hearers had their Bibles in their
hands to read the text, when the constable and his attendants came in,
and, exhibiting the warrant, ordered him to lave the pulpit and come
down; but he mildly told him that he was about his Master’s business,
and must rather obey his Lord’s voice than that of man. Then a
constable was ordered to fetch him down, who, coming up and taking hold
of his coat, was about to remove him, when Mr. Bunyan fixed his eyes
steadfastly upon him; having his Bible open in his hand, the man let
go, looked pale, and retired; upon which he said to the congregation,
‘See how this man trembles at the Word of God.’ Truly did one of his
friends say, ‘he had a sharp, quick eye.’ But being commanded in the
king’s name, he went with the officer, accompanied by some of his
friends, to the magistrate’s residence. Before they left, the constable
allowed him to speak a few words to the people of counsel and
encouragement. He declared that it was a mercy when called to suffer
upon so good an account; that it was of grace that they had been kept
from crimes, which might have caused their apprehension as thieves and
murderers, or for some wickedness; but by the blessing of God it was
not so, but, as Christians, they were called to suffer for well-doing;
and that we had better be persecuted than the persecutors. The
constable took him to the justice’s house, but as he was from home, to
save the expense and trouble of charging a watch to secure his
prisoner, he allowed him to go home, one of his friends undertaking to
be answerable for his appearance the next day. On the following morning
they went to the constable and then to the justice. The celebrated
Quaker, John Roberts, managed an affair of that kind better. There was
plenty of time to have held and dismissed the meeting before the
constable arrived, and then he might have done as Roberts did—made the
best of his way to the magistrate’s house, and demanded, ‘Dost thou
want me, old man?’ and when asked whether or not he went to church, his
ready reply was, ‘Yes, sometimes I go to the church, and sometimes the
church comes to me.’[216]
When Bunyan and the constable came before Justice Wingate, he inquired
what the meeters did, and what they had with them; suspecting that they
met armed, or for treasonable practices: but when the constable told
him that they were unarmed, and merely assembled to preach and hear the
Word, he could not well tell what to say. Justice Wingate was not the
only magistrate who had felt difficulties as to the construction of the
persecuting acts of 35 Eliz. and 15 Chas. II. Had he taken an opinion,
as one of the justices at that time did, it might have saved him from
the infamy and guilt of punishing an innocent man. The case was
this:—‘Two persons of insolent behaviour, calling themselves informers,
demanded, on their evidence of having been present, without summons or
hearing in presence of the accused, that a fine of £100 should be
levied; they were at the meeting and heard no Common Prayer service.’
The opinion was that there must be evidence showing the intent, and
that the meeting was held under colour and pretence of any exercise of
religion to concoct sedition.[217] Mr. Wingate asked Bunyan why he did
not follow his calling and go to church? to which he replied, that all
his intention was to instruct and counsel people to forsake their sins,
and that he did, without confusion, both follow his calling and preach
the Word. At this the angry justice ordered his commitment to jail,
refusing bail, unless he would promise to give up preaching. While his
mittimus was preparing, he had a short controversy with an old enemy of
the truth, Dr. Lindale, and also with a persecuting justice, Mr.
Foster, who, soon after, sorely vexed the people of God at Bedford.
They tried their utmost endeavours to persuade him to promise not to
preach; a word from him might have saved his liberty; but it was a word
which would have sacrificed his religious convictions, and these were
dearer to him than life itself. This was a trying moment, but he had
been forewarned of his danger by the extraordinary temptation to sell
Christ narrated in his Grace Abounding. His feelings, while they were
conducting him to the prison, were so cheering as to enable him to
forget his sorrows; he thus describes them—‘Verily, as I was going
forth of the doors I had much ado to forbear saying to them, that I
carried the peace of God along with me; and, blessed be the Lord, I
went away to prison with God’s comfort in my poor soul.’[218]
Tradition points out the place in which this eminently pious man was
confined, as an ancient prison, built with the bridge over the river
Ouse, supported on one of the piers near the middle of the river.[219]
As the bridge was only four yards and a half wide, the prison must have
been very small. Howard, the philanthropist, visited the Bedford
prison, that which was dignified as the county jail about 1788, and
thus describes it:—‘The men and women felons associate together; their
night-rooms are two dungeons. Only one court for debtors and felons;
and no apartment for the jailer.’[220] Imagination can hardly realize
the miseries of fifty or sixty pious men and women, taken from a place
of public worship and incarcerated in such dens or dungeons with
felons, as was the case while Bunyan was a prisoner. Twelve feet square
was about the extent of the walls; for it occupies but one pier between
the center arches of the bridge. How properly does the poor pilgrim
call it a certain DEN! What an abode for men and women who had been
made by God kings and priests—the heirs of heaven! The eyes of Howard,
a Dissenter, penetrated these dens, these hidden things of darkness,
these abodes of cruelty. He revealed what lay and clerical magistrates
ought to have published centuries before, that they were not fit places
in which to imprison any, even the worst of criminals. He denounced
them, humanity shuddered at the discovery, and they were razed to their
foundations. In this den God permitted his honoured servant, John
Bunyan, to be incarcerated for more than twelve years of the prime of
his life. A man, whose holy zeal for the salvation of sinners, whose
disinterested labours, whose sufferings for Christ prove his
apostolical descent much better than those who claim descent from
popes, and Wolsey or Bonner—those fiends in human shape.
Bedford bridge was pulled down in the year 1811, when the present
handsome bridge was built. One of the workmen employed upon the ruins
found, among the rubbish, where the prison had stood, a ring made of
fine gold, bearing an inscription which affords strong presumptive
evidence that it belonged to our great allegorist. Dr. Abbot, a
neighbouring clergyman, who had daily watched the labours of the
workmen, luckily saw it, and saved it from destruction. He constantly
wore it, until, drawing near the end of his pilgrimage, in 1817, he
took it off his own finger and placed it upon that of his friend Dr.
Bower, then curate of Elstow,[221] and at present the dean of
Manchester, charging him to keep it for his sake. This ring must have
been a present from some person of property, as a token of great
respect for Bunyan’s pious character, and probably from an indignant
sense of his unjust and cruel imprisonment. By the kind permission of
the dean, we are enabled to give a correct representation of this
curious relic.[222][223]
Bunyan was thirty-two years of age when taken to prison. He had
suffered the loss of his pious wife, whose conversation and portion had
been so blessed to him. It is not improbable that her peaceful
departure is pictured in Christiana’s crossing the river which has no
bridge. She left him with four young children, one of whom very
naturally and most strongly excited his paternal feelings, from the
circumstance of her having been afflicted with blindness. He had
married a second time, a woman of exemplary piety and retiring modesty;
but whose spirit, when roused to seek the release of her beloved
husband, enabled her to stand unabashed, and full of energy and
presence of mind, before judges in their courts, and lords in their
mansions. When her partner was sent to jail, she was in that peculiar
state that called for all his sympathy and his tenderest care. The
shock was too severe for her delicate situation; she became dangerously
ill, and, although her life was spared, all hopes had fled of her
maternal feelings being called into exercise. Thus did one calamity
follow another; still he preserved his integrity.[224]
Bunyan was treated with all the kindness which many of his jailers
dared to show him. In his times, imprisonment and fetters were
generally companions. Thus he says—‘When a felon is going to be tried,
his fetters are still making a noise on his heels.’[225] So the
prisoners in the Holy War are represented as being ‘brought in chains
to the bar’ for trial. ‘The prisoners were handled by the jailer so
severely, and loaded so with irons, that they died in the prison.’[226]
In many cases, prisoners for conscience’ sake were treated with such
brutality, before the form of trial, as to cause their death. By Divine
mercy, Bunyan was saved from these dreadful punishments, which have
ceased as civilization has progressed, and now cloud the narratives of
a darker age.
After having lain in prison about seven weeks, the session was held at
Bedford, for the county; and Bunyan was placed at the bar, indicted for
devilishly and perniciously abstaining from coming to church to hear
Divine service, and as a common upholder of several unlawful meetings
and conventicles, to the great disturbance and distraction of the good
subjects of this kingdom, contrary to the laws of our sovereign lord
the king. In this indictment Bunyan is not described as ‘of Elstow’ but
‘of Bedford.’ Probably he had removed to Bedford soon after he joined
Gifford’s church. The bench was numerous, and presided over by Justice
Keelin.[227] If this was Sergeant Kelynge who, the following year, was
made Lord Chief-Justice, he was a most arbitrary tyrant, equaled or
excelled only by Judge Jeffreys. It was before him that some persons
were indicted for attending a conventicle; but it being only proved
that they had assembled on the Lord’s-day with Bibles in their hands
without prayer-books, and there being no proof that their meeting was
only under colour or pretence of religion, the jury acquitted them.
Upon this he fined each of the jury-men one hundred marks, and
imprisoned them till the fines were paid. Again, on a trial for murder,
the prisoner being under suspicion of Dissent, was one whom the judge
had a great desire to hang, he fined and imprisoned all the jury
because, contrary to his direction, they brought in a verdict of
manslaughter! Well was it said, that he was more fit to charge the
Roundheads under Prince Rupert than to charge a jury. After a short
career, he fell into utter contempt.[228] He entered into a long
argument with the poor tinker, about using the liturgy of the Church of
England, first warning him of his danger if he spake lightly of it.
Bunyan argued that prayer was purely spiritual, the offering of the
heart, and not the reading of a form. The justice declared—‘We know the
Common Prayer-book hath been ever since the apostles’ time, and is
lawful to be used in the church!!’ It is surprising that such a
dialogue was ever entered upon; either Keling was desirous of
triumphing over the celebrated tinker, or his countenance and personal
appearance commanded respect. For some cause he was treated with great
liberality for those times; the extent of it may be seen by one justice
asking him, ‘Is your God Beelzebub?’ and another declaring that he was
possessed with the devil! ‘All which,’ says Bunyan, ‘I passed over, the
Lord forgive them!’ When, however, the justice was worsted in argument,
and acknowledged that he was not well versed in Scripture, he demanded
the prisoner’s plea, saying, ‘Then you confess the indictment?’ ‘Now,’
says Bunyan, ‘and not till now, I saw I was indicted; and said—“This I
confess, we have had many meetings together, both to pray to God, and
to exhort one another; and that we had the sweet comforting presence of
the Lord among us for our encouragement (blessed be his name!);
therefore I confess myself guilty, and no otherwise.”’ This was
recorded as a plea of guilty, and Keling resumed his natural ferocity.
‘Then,’ said he, ‘hear your judgment. You must be had back again to
prison, and there lie for three months following; and then, if you do
not submit to go to church to hear Divine service, and leave your
preaching, you must be banished the realm; and after that, if you shall
be found in this realm without special license from the king, you must
stretch by the neck for it. I tell you plainly’; ‘and so he bid my
jailer have me away.’ The hero answered—‘I am at a point with you: if I
were out of prison to-day, I would preach the gospel again to-morrow,
by the help of God.’[229]
The statutes, by virtue of which this awful sentence was pronounced,
together with the legal form of recantation used by those who were
terrified into conformity, are set forth in a note to the Grace
Abounding.[230] Bunyan was, if not the first, one of the first
Dissenters who were proceeded against after the restoration of Charles
II; and his trial, if such it may be called, was followed by a
wholesale persecution. The king, as head of the Church of England,
wreaked his vengeance upon all classes of Dissenters, excepting Roman
Catholics and Jews.
The reign of Charles II was most disgraceful and disastrous to the
nation, even the king being a pensioner upon the French court. The
Dutch swept the seas, and threatened to burn London; a dreadful plague
depopulated the metropolis—the principal part of which was, in the
following year, with its cathedral, churches, and public buildings,
destroyed by fire; plots and conspiracies alarmed the people; tyranny
was triumphant; even the bodies of the illustrious dead were exhumed,
and treated with worse than savage ferocity; while a fierce persecution
raged throughout the kingdom, which filled the jails with Dissenters.
In Scotland, the persecution raged with still more deadly violence.
Military, in addition to civil despotism, strove to enforce the use of
the Book of Common Prayer. The heroic achievements and awful suffering
of Scottish Christians saved their descendants from this yoke of
bondage.[231]
A short account of the extent of the sufferings of our pious ancestors
is given in the Introduction to the Pilgrim’s Progress[232]—a narrative
which would appear incredible did it not rest upon unimpeachable
authority. It would be difficult to believe the records of the brutal
treatment which the sufferers underwent had they not been handed down
to us in the State Trials, and in public registers, over which the
persecuted had no control. Two instances will show the extreme peril in
which the most learned and pious men held their lives. John James, the
pastor of a Baptist church in Whitechapel, was charged, upon the
evidence of a perjured drunken vagabond named Tipler, a pipe-maker’s
journeyman, who was not present in the meeting, but swore that he heard
him utter treasonable words. Notwithstanding the evidence of some most
respectable witnesses, who were present during the whole service, and
distinctly proved that no such words were used, Mr. James was
convicted, and sentenced to be hung. His distracted wife saw the king,
presented a petition, and implored mercy, when the unfeeling monarch
replied, ‘O! Mr. James; he is a sweet gentleman.’ Again, on the
following morning, she fell at his feet, beseeching his royal clemency,
when he spurned her from him, saying, ‘John James, that rogue, he shall
be hanged; yea, he shall be hanged.’ And, in the presence of his
weeping friends, he ascended from the gibbet to the mansions of the
blessed. His real crime was, that he continued to preach after having
been warned not to do so by John Robinson, lieutenant of the Tower,
properly called, by Mr. Crosby,[233] a devouring wolf, upon whose head
the blood of this and other innocent Dissenters will be found. Another
Dissenting minister, learned, pious, loyal, and peaceful, was, during
Bunyan’s time, marked for destruction. Thomas Rosewell was tried before
the monster Jeffreys. He was charged, upon the evidence of two infamous
informers, with having doubted the power of the king to cure the kings’
evil, and with saying that they should overcome their enemies with
rams’ horns, broken platters, and a stone in a sling. A number of most
respectable witnesses deposed to their having been present; that no
such words were uttered, and that Mr. Rosewell was eminent for loyalty
and devoted attachment to the Government. Alas! he was a Dissenting
teacher of high standing, of extensive acquirements, and of great
earnestness in seeking the salvation of sinners; and, under the
direction of that brutal judge, the venal jury found him guilty, and he
was sentenced to be hung. This frightful sentence would have been
executed but from a singular interposition of Providence. Sir John
Talbot was present during the trial, and a stranger to Mr. Rosewell;
but he was so struck with the proceedings, that he hastened to the
king, related the facts, and added, ‘that he had seen the life of a
subject, who appeared to be a gentleman and a scholar, in danger, upon
such evidence as he would not hang his dog on.’ And added, ‘Sire, if
you suffer this man to die, we are none of us safe in our own houses.’
At this moment Jeffreys came in, gloating over his prey, exulting in
the innocent blood he was about to shed, when, to his utter confusion,
the king said, ‘Mr. Rosewell shall not die’; and his pardon was issued
under the great seal.[234] Every Englishman should read the state
trials of that period, recording the sufferings of Richard Baxter,
William Penn, Sir H. Vane, and many others of our most pious
forefathers; and they must feel that it was a miracle of mercy that
saved the life of Bunyan, and gave him leisure to write not only his
popular allegories, but the most valuable treatises in the English
language upon subjects of the deepest importance.
When he entered the prison, his first and prayerful object was to levy
a tax upon his affliction—to endeavour to draw honey from the carcass
of the lion. His care was to render his imprisonment subservient to the
great design of showing forth the glory of God by patient submission to
His will. Before his commitment, he had a strong presentiment of his
sufferings; his earnest prayer, for many months, was that he might,
with composure, encounter all his trials, even to an ignominious death.
This led him to the solemn consideration of reckoning himself, his
wife, children, health, enjoyments, all as dying, and in perfect
uncertainty, and to live upon God, his invisible but ever-present
Father.
Like an experienced military commander, he wisely advises every
Christian to have a reserve for Christ in case of dire emergency. ‘We
ought to have a reserve for Christ, to help us at a dead lift. When
profession and confession will not do; when loss of goods and a prison
will not do; when loss of country and of friends will not do; when
nothing else will do, then willingly to lay down our lives for his
name.’[235] In the midst of all these dread uncertainties, his soul was
raised to heavenly contemplations of the future happiness of the saints
of God.
It is deeply impressive to view a man, with gigantic intellect,
involved in the net which was laid to trammel his free spirit,
disregarding his own wisdom; seeking guidance from heaven in earnest
prayer, and in searching the sacred Scriptures; disentangling himself,
and calmly waiting the will of his heavenly Father. Still he severely
felt the infirmities of nature. Parting with his wife and children, he
described as ‘the pulling the flesh from the bones. I saw I was as a
man who was pulling down his house upon the head of his wife and
children; yet, thought I, I must do it.’[236] His feelings were
peculiarly excited to his poor blind Mary.[237] ‘O! the thoughts of the
hardships my poor blind one might go under, would break my heart in
pieces.’ It is one of the governing principles of human nature, that
the most delicate or afflicted child excites our tenderest feelings. ‘I
have seen men,’ says Bunyan, ‘take most care of, and best provide for
those of their children that have been most infirm and helpless; and
our Advocate “shall gather his lambs with his arms, and carry them in
his bosom.”’[238] While in this state of distress, the promise came to
his relief—‘Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive;
and let thy widows trust in me.’ He had heard of the miseries of those
banished Christians who had been sold into slavery, and perished with
cold and calamities, lying in ditches like poor, forlorn, desolate
sheep.
At the end of three months he became anxious to know what the enemies
of the cross intended to do with him. His sentence was transportation
and death, unless he conformed. To give up or shrink from his
profession of Christ, by embracing the national forms and submitting
his conscience to human laws, he dared not. He resolved to persevere
even at the sacrifice of his life. To add to his distress, doubts and
fears clouded his prospects of futurity; ‘Satan,’ said he, ‘laid hard
at me to beat me out of heart.’ At length he came to the determination
to venture his eternal state with Christ, whether he had present
comfort or not. His state of mind he thus describes—‘If God doth not
come in (to comfort me) I will leap off the ladder, even blindfold,
into eternity, sink or swim, come heaven, come hell. Lord Jesus, if
thou wilt catch me, do; I will venture all for thy name.’ From this
time he felt a good hope and great consolation.