work, written by Edward Fowler, a Bedfordshire clergyman, who was soon
after elevated to the see of Gloucester. It was entitled The Design of
Christianity, and professed to prove that the object of the Saviour was
merely to place man in a similar position to that of Adam before the
fall. It is an extremely learned production, full of Greek and Latin
quotations; but, in Bunyan’s estimation, it aimed a deadly blow at the
foundations of Christianity. To restore man to Adam’s innocency, and
then to leave him to cope with Satanic subtlety, was to cut off all
hopes of salvation. It was brought to him in February 1672, and in the
very short period of forty-two days, Fowler’s theory was most
completely demolished by Bunyan’s Defence of the Doctrine of
Justification, 4to, dated from prison, the 27th of the 12th Month, 1671
(27th March, 1672). This was answered by a small 4to volume, entitled
Dirt Wiped Off. Bunyan had used some harsh epithets; but the clergyman,
or his curate, beat the tinker in abusive language. He had been by this
time promoted to the rectory of Cripplegate. For an account of this
controversy, the reader is referred to the introduction to Bunyan’s
work on Justification, and to that to the Pilgrim’s Progress.[266] The
impression it made upon the public mind is well expressed in a rude
rhyme, made by an anonymous author, in his Assembly of Moderate
Divines:
‘There’s a moderate Doctour at Cripplegate dwells,
Whom Smythes his curate in trimming excells;
But Bunyan a tinker hath tickled his gills.’
The last work that he wrote in prison was the confession of his faith,
and reason of his practice as to mixed communion, not with the world,
but with saints of other denominations. As this plunged him into a
fearful controversy with his Dissenting brethren (Baptists,
Independents, and Presbyterians), a notice of it will more properly be
introduced in our account of that conflict. He had been incarcerated
nearly twelve years, and had determined to suffer to the end. Here he
found time ‘to weigh, and pause, and pause again, the grounds and
foundations of those principles for which he suffered,’ and he was a
Nonconformist still. ‘I cannot, I dare not now revolt or deny my
principles, on pain of eternal damnation,’[267] are his impressive
words. ‘Faith and holiness are my professed principles, with an
endeavour to be at peace with all men. Let they themselves be judges,
if aught they find in my writing or preaching doth render me worthy of
almost twelve years’ imprisonment, or one that deserveth to be hanged
or banished for ever, according to their tremendous sentence. If
nothing will do unless I make of my conscience a continual butchery and
slaughter-shop, unless putting out my own eyes, I commit me to the
blind to lead me, I have determined, the Almighty God being my help and
shield, yet to suffer, if frail life might continue so long, even until
the moss shall grow over mine eye-brows, rather than to violate my
faith and principles.’[268] The allusion to moss growing on his
eye-brows most probably referred to the damp state of his den or
dungeon.
The continuation to the Grace Abounding, written by a friend, and
published four years after his decease, divides his imprisonment into
three periods; but as Bunyan makes it one continued imprisonment, there
can be no doubt but that it was a long, dreary confinement; during
which the testimony of his friend, Samuel Wilson, is, that it was ‘an
uncomfortable and close prison, and sometimes under cruel and
oppressive jailers.’ The division into three parts most probably
alludes to the severity or liberality of his jailers. He had at times,
while a prisoner, an extraordinary degree of liberty; like Joseph in
Egypt, some of his jailers committed all to his hands. There can be
little doubt but that he went from the prison to preach in the villages
or woods, and at one time went to London to visit his admiring[269]
friends; but this coming to the ears of the justices, the humane jailer
had well nigh lost his place, and for some time he was not permitted to
look out at the door. When this had worn off, he had again
opportunities of visiting his church and preaching by stealth. It is
said that many of the Baptist congregations in Bedfordshire owe their
origin to his midnight preaching.
Upon one occasion, having been permitted to go out and visit his
family, with whom he intended to spend the night, long before morning
he felt so uneasy that at a very late hour he went back to the prison.
Information was given to a neighbouring clerical magistrate that there
was strong suspicion of Bunyan having broke prison. At midnight, he
sent a messenger to the jail, that he might be a witness against the
merciful keeper. On his arrival, he demanded, ‘Are all the prisoners
safe?’ the answer was, ‘Yes.’ ‘Is John Bunyan safe?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Let me see
him.’ He was called up and confronted with the astonished witness, and
all passed off well. His kind-hearted jailer said to him, ‘You may go
out when you will, for you know much better when to return than I can
tell you.’[270]
During these twelve terrible years, and particularly towards the end of
his imprisonment, the members and elders of his church at Bedford
suffered most severely, a very abridged account of which is given in
the introduction to the Pilgrim’s Progress.[271] The set time for his
liberation was now drawing near, but the singular means by which it was
accomplished must be reserved for our next chapter.
PERIOD SIXTH.
BUNYAN IS DELIVERED FROM PRISON—CONTROVERSY WITH THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH
ON THE SUBJECT OF THE LORD’S SUPPER—PUBLISHES THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS,
AND MANY BOOKS, AND BECOMES EXTREMELY POPULAR—HIS DECEASE AND
CHARACTER.
As Charles II felt himself securely seated on his throne, his design to
establish an absolute monarchy became more and more apparent. The
adulation of his professed friends, and the noisy popularity with which
he was greeted, appear to have fostered his crafty designs to rid
himself of parliamentary government. His whole conduct was that of a
Papist, who keeps no faith with Protestants; or of a statesman, whose
religion, honour, and truthfulness, were wholly subservient to
expediency. To further his object, he formed a council of five
noblemen, two of whom were Roman Catholics, and the other three either
careless as to religion or professed infidels. The first letter of
their names formed the word CABAL. Aided by these he sought to
extinguish liberty, and extirpate the Protestant faith.[272] To furnish
himself with the means of indulging his unbridled passions, he, like a
buccaneer, seized the Dutch merchantmen returning from India and
Smyrna, without any declaration of war, and laid his hands upon all the
money borrowed of his merchants which had been deposited in the
exchequer. He then united himself with France to destroy Holland, the
stronghold of liberty. To gratify the Roman Catholics, and conciliate
the Dissenters, he issued a declaration in favour of liberty of
conscience, the seal to which he afterwards broke with his own
hands,[273] but he could not prevent a considerable degree of religious
liberty arising from such vacillating conduct.
Bunyan, who had secured the confidence and esteem of his jailer, now
found his prison more like a lodging-house, and enjoyed great
privileges. He frequently, if not regularly, attended the church
meetings, and preached with some degree of publicity. The church at
Bedford was at this time in want of a pastor, and their eyes were
naturally fixed upon Bunyan to succeed to that important office. There
were two weighty considerations that required Divine guidance in coming
to a conclusion. One was, whether it might injuriously affect the
prisoner’s comforts, and the other was, the propriety of making choice
of a Christian brother to be their ministering elder, while
incarcerated in a jail. Feeling these difficulties, the church held
several meetings on the subject, the minutes of which are very
interesting. The first was held at Hawnes, on the 24th of the eighth
month (October) 1671, when ‘the improvement of the gifts of the church,
and their disposal in an orderly way, were proposed to consideration,
that God might be sought for direction therein; and a time further to
consider and debate thereof, was appointed this day seven-night, at
evening, at Bedford, where the principal brethren were desired for that
purpose to come together, at brother John Fenn’s; and a church-meeting
was appointed to be there that day week. The church was also minded to
seek God about the choice of brother, Bunyan to the office of elder,
that their way in that respect may be cleared up to them.’ At a meeting
held at Bedford, on the last day of the ninth month (November), there
was appointed another meeting ‘to pray and consult about concluding the
affair before propounded, concerning gifts of the brethren to be
improved, and the choice of brother Bunyan to office, at Gamlingay, on
the 14th day, and at Hawnes, the 20th, and at Bedford, the 21st of the
same instant, which it was desired might be a general meeting.’ After
all this jealous care, and these fervent applications to the throne of
grace for divine guidance, the result was most gratifying. ‘At a full
assembly of the church at Bedford, the 21st of the tenth month,[274]
after much seeking God by prayer and sober conference formally had, the
congregation did at this meeting, with joynt consent, signified by
solemn lifting up of their hands, call forth and appoint our brother
John Bunyan to the pastoral office or eldership. And he accepting
thereof, gave himself up to serve Christ and his Church, in that
charge, and received of the elders the right hand of fellowship, after
having preached fifteen years.’ The choice thus solemnly made, was
ratified by the abundant blessings of heavenly union and great
prosperity—no stranger or novice, but one whose preaching and writings
had proved most acceptable to them for a series of years—on that had
been owned and blessed of his God, and whom the church delighted to
honour.
At the same church meeting, ‘The congregation having had long
experience of the faithfulness of brother John Fenn in his care for the
poor, did after the same manner solemnly choose him to the honourable
office of a deacon, and committed their poor and purse to him, and he
accepted thereof, and gave himself up to the Lord and them in that
service.’ The church did also determine to keep the 26th inst. as a day
of fasting and prayer, both here, and at Hawnes, and at Gamlingay,
solemnly to commend to the grace of God brother Bunyan and brother
Fenn, and to entreat his gracious assistance and presence with them in
their respective works, whereunto he hath called them.
The most extraordinary circumstance that took place at this time was,
that while Bunyan was a prisoner in a wretched dungeon for preaching
the glad tidings of salvation, or, in the mysterious legal jargon of
the period, ‘holding conventicles,’ he received his Majesty’s license
to preach, and thus to hold conventicles—it was one of the first that
was granted. His Majesty continued to keep him a prisoner for preaching
more than six months after he had licensed him to preach!! At the same
time that the permission to preach was granted to Bunyan, the house of
Josiah Roughed, Bedford, was licensed by his Majesty’s command, for the
use of such as do not conform to the Church of England. In this John
Bunyan was authorized to teach, or in any other licensed place.[275]
These were among the first licenses that were granted. The present
highly-respected pastor of the church considers that this license does
not refer to Roughed’s private dwelling, but rather to ‘an edifice or a
barn, purchased of Robert Crompton, Esq., with a piece of ground
adjoining it,’ in the parishes of St. Paul and Cuthbert, for £50, in
1672, by Roughed, Bunyan, Fenn, and others, and which was released by
Fenn to Bunyan and others, November 10, 1681, two days before Fenn’s
death. This building having been properly fitted up by voluntary
contribution, became permanently occupied by the church as its place of
meeting, until the old chapel was erected in 1707. From this we may
conclude that Bunyan was engaged in his worldly occupation as a
brazier, in the year that he obtained his release from prison, and to
1681.
How utterly contemptible does any Government become when they tamper
with spiritual worship. At one period they punished Dissenters with
imprisonment, transportation, and, to use Judge Keeling’s elegant
expression in his sentence on Bunyan, ‘to stretch by the neck for it’;
and anon, the very same Government, under the same king, gives them
license to dissent! Human laws affecting religion can never be the
standard of morality; to read the Bible is considered to be sin in
Tuscany, and righteousness in Britain. The release of this great and
pious man from his tedious imprisonment, has been hitherto involved in
a cloud of mystery, which it will be our happiness to disperse, while
we record that event in a clear, indisputable narrative of facts. His
earlier biographer, Mr. Doe, not having access to archives which the
lapse of time has now rendered available, attributed his release to the
influence of Bishop Barlow, by the interference of Dr. Owen. It is
narrated in the life of Dr. Owen, published in 1721:—‘The doctor had
some friends also among the bishops, Dr. Barlow, formerly his tutor,
then bishop of Lincoln, who yet upon a special occasion failed him,
when he might have expected the service of his professed friendship.
The case was this, Mr. John Bunyan had been confined to a jail twelve
years, upon an excommunication for Nonconformity. Now there was a law,
that if any two persons will go to the bishop of the diocese, and offer
a cautionary bond, that the prisoner shall conform in half a year, the
bishop may release him upon that bond; whereupon a friend of this poor
man desired Dr. Owen to give him his letter to the bishop in his
behalf, which he readily granted. It was soon after the discovery of
the Popish plot, when this letter was carried to the bishop, who having
read it, desired “a little time to consider of it, and if I can do it,
you may be assured of my readiness.” He was waited upon again in about
a fortnight, and his answer was, “I would desire you to move the Lord
Chancellor in the case, and, upon his order, I will do it.” To which it
was replied, “this method would be chargeable, and the man was poor,
not able to expend so much money; and, being satisfied he could do it
legally, it was hoped his Lordship would remember his promise, there
being no straining a point in the case. But he would do it upon no
other terms, which at last was done, and the poor man released.” And
for this we are told that “Mr. Bunyan returned him his unfeigned
thanks, and often remembered him in his prayers, as, next to God, his
deliverer.”’ The whole of this story, so far as it relates to Bunyan,
is not only improbable, but utterly impossible. Bunyan was never
excommunicated, and he was certainly released from prison two or three
years previous to Dr. Barlow becoming a bishop. The critical times to
which he alludes, refer doubtless to the Popish plot, which took place
in 1678, Bunyan having been released in 1672. The probability is, that
Dr. Owen did about 1678 apply to the bishop of Lincoln for the release
of some poor prisoner under sentence of excommunication, it being his
province to release such prisoners upon their making peace with the
Church. If this person was a friend of Bunyan’s, his prayers for the
bishop, and acknowledgments for this act of kindness, are readily
accounted for. That Barlow had nothing to do with Bunyan’s release is
now perfectly clear; because all, even the minutest particulars
relative to it, have been discovered. This is a very romantic history,
and necessarily leads us back to the battle of Worcester. At this
battle, the republicans were numerous, well disciplined, and led by
experienced officers; the royal army was completely routed, and its
leaders, who survived the battle, were subject to the severest
privations. Charles found refuge at Boscobel House, and, disguised as a
woodcutter, was hid in an oak. His adventures and hair-breadth escapes
fill a volume:—the parliament offered one thousand pounds reward for
his apprehension. At length, after wandering in various disguises forty
days, he arrived at Brighton, then a small fishing town, and here his
friends succeeded in hiring a fishing boat to take him to France.
Numerous histories of this extraordinary escape were published, but no
two of them agree, excepting that, to please the king, all the credit
was given to Roman Catholics. Of these narratives, that by Dr. Lingard
has the strangest blunder. When they left Shoreham, ‘The ship stood
with easy sail towards the Isle of Wight, as if she were on her way to
Deal, to which port she was bound’[276]—Deal being exactly in the
contrary direction! Carte has the best account. The vessel was bound
for Poole, coal-laden; they left Shoreham at seven a.m. under easy
sail; and at five, being off the Isle of Wight, with the wind north,
she stood over to France, and returned to Poole, no one discovering
that they had been out of their course. A letter recently discovered
among the archives of the Society of Friends at Devonshire House solves
every difficulty. It is written by Ellis Hookes to the wife of George
Fox, dated January, 1670—
‘Yesterday there was a friend (a quaker) wth the king, one that is John
Groves mate, he was the may yt. was mate to the master of the
fisher-boat yt carried the king away when he went from Worcester fight,
and only this friend and the master knew of it in the ship, and the
friend carried him (the king) ashoare on his shoulders. the king knew
him again, and was very friendly to him, and told him he remembered him
and of severall tings yt was done in ye ship att the same time. the
friend told him the reason why he did not come all this while was yt he
was satisfied in yt he had peace and satisfaction in himself yt he did
what he did to releiue a man in distresse and now he desired nothing of
him (the king) but that he would sett friends at libertie who were
great sufferers or to that purpose and told the king he had a paper of
110 that were premunired yt had lain in prison about 6 years and none
can release ym but him. Soe the king took the paper and said there was
many of ym and yt they would be in again in a monthes time and yt the
country gentlemen complained to him yt they were so troubled wth the
quakers. So he said he would release him six. but ye friend thinkes to
goe to him again, for he had not fully cleared himselfe.’
This letter is endorsed by Fox himself, ‘E Hookes to M F of passages
consering Richard Carver, that cared the King of his backe.’
E. Hooke’s next letter, addressed to George Fox, thus continues the
narrative—
‘February, 1669-70.
‘Dear G. F. As for the friend that was with the King, his love is to
thee. He has been with the King lately, and Thomas Moore was with him,
and the King was very loving to them. He had a fair and free
opportunity to open his mind to the King, and the King has promised to
do for him, but willed him to wait a month or two longer. I rest thy
faithful friend to serve thee,
‘E.H.’[277]
The captain of the fisher-boat was Nicholas Tattersall, whose grave,
covered with a slab of black marble, is still to be seen in Brighton
church-yard, with a long poetical inscription, now scarcely legible. On
the Restoration, he applied for his reward, and was made a commander in
the royal navy, with an annuity to him and his heirs for ever of £100.
The family have recently become extinct. His fisher-boat was moored for
a considerable time in the Thames, opposite Whitehall. Years had rolled
on, but the Quaker mate who had so materially assisted the flying
prince—by keeping the secret—arranging the escape with the crew, and
when, in fear of danger from a privateer, rowing the prince ashore, and
in shoal water carrying him on his shoulders to the land, near the
village of Fecamp, in Normandy, yet he had not been with the king to
claim any reward. This escape took place in 1651, and nearly twenty
years had elapsed, ten of which were after the Restoration; so that in
all probability the king, who with all his faults was not ungrateful,
was agreeably surprised with his appearance at the palace. Whatever
alteration the rough life of a sailor had made on his appearance, the
king at once recognized him. All the progress he had made as to worldly
prosperity was from being mate of a fisher-boat, under Tattersall, to
becoming mate of a West Indiaman, under Captain Grove. His Majesty, who
had passed his time more with courtiers than with Quakers, was
doubtless astonished that a poor man, having such a claim on his
bounty, should have been so many years without seeking his recompense.
On asking the reason, the Quaker nobly answered to this effect, That
the performance of his duty in saving the life of the hunted prince,
was only a moral obligation, for the discharge of which God had amply
repaid him by peace and satisfaction in his mind and conscience. And
now, Sire, I ask nothing for myself, but that your Majesty would do the
same to my friends that I did for you—set the poor pious sufferers at
liberty, that they may bless you, and that you may have that peace and
satisfaction which always follows good and benevolent actions. The king
attempted feebly to argue, that they would soon offend again, and that
they were much complained of by the country gentlemen. How readily the
sailor might have said to his sailor king, Alter the ship’s articles,
let all the crew fare alike as to their free choice in religion, and
there will be no grumbling in your noble ship; every subject will do
his duty. The king offered to release any six, and we may imagine the
sailor’s blunt answer, What, six poor Quakers for a king’s ransom!! His
Majesty was so pleased as to invite him to come again, when he
introduced another member of the Society of Friends, Thomas Moore. At
this period an amazing number of Friends, men and women, were in the
jails throughout the kingdom, torn from their families, and suffering
most severe privations, under which great numbers had perished. The
application for the release of the survivors, thus happily commenced,
was followed up with zeal and energy, and crowned with great success.
This narrative solves all those difficulties which rendered that
remarkable event extremely mysterious. The question naturally arises
why so debauched and dissolute a king should prefer such tight-laced
Christians to be the peculiar objects of his mercy. The reason is
perfectly obvious, he owed his life to one of their members, who,
however poor as to this world, possessed those riches of piety which
prevented his taking any personal reward for an act of duty. Shade of
the noble sailor, thy name, Richard Carver, is worthy of all honour!
And the more so, because thy gallant bearing has been studiously
concealed in all the histories of these important transactions. Had he
been a mischief-making Jesuit, like Father Huddleston, his noble deed
would have been trumpeted forth for the admiration of the world in all
ages. His name was left to perish in oblivion, because he was of a
despised sect. It is an honour to Christianity that a labouring man
preferred the duty of saving the life of a human being, and that of an
enemy, to gaining so easily heaps of glittering gold. And when all the
resources of royalty were ready munificently to reward him, he, like
Moses, preferred the rescue of his suffering friends to personal
honours or emoluments—even to all the riches of England!
The efforts of Carver and Moore were followed by most earnest appeals
for mercy by George Whitehead, who with Moore appeared before the king
in council several times, until at length the royal word sanctioned
this act of mercy. The Quakers were then appealed to by sufferers of
other denominations, and advised them to obtain the permission of the
king in council, that their names might be inserted in the deed;
rendering them all the assistance that was in their power. Great
difficulties were encountered in passing the cumbrous deed through the
various offices, and then in pleading it in all parts of the country.
The number of Quakers thus released from imprisonment was 471, being
about the same number as those who had perished in the jails. The rest
of the prisoners liberated by this deed were Baptists and Independents,
and among the former was JOHN BUNYAN.
A very circumstantial narrative of these proceedings, copies of the
minutes of the privy council, and other documents, will be found in the
introduction to The Pilgrim’s Progress.[278] One of these official
papers affords an interesting subject of study to an occasional
conformist. It is the return of the sheriff of Bedfordshire, stating
that ALL the sufferings of Bunyan—his privation of liberty, sacrifice
of wife, children, and temporal comforts, with the fear of an
ignominious death—were for refusing to attend his parish church and
hear the Common Prayer service.