During the next four years, he was mostly "in retirement" in private lodgings, in London, to avoid the warrants issued against him at the instance of an infamous informer, named Fuller. This man was afterwards denounced by Parliament as a notorious cheat and impostor. Yet, it is evident that he was really dangerous, for one of his victims was actually executed. So Penn deemed it wisest to live in privacy till the storm blew over. But he was far from idle. Besides the work already mentioned, he wrote his famous "Maxims" and other books. Other calamities befel him one after another, until his condition was indeed forlorn. The King deprived him of the government of Pennsylvania. Roguish agents robbed and defrauded him, until neither his colony nor his Irish estates yielded him anything. He was reduced to such straits, that when once he thought of going to Pennsylvania he had not the means. Friends looked coldly on him, in spite of his pathetic appeal to them not to forsake him in his hour of need. To fill up the bitter cup, in 1693 he lost his wife, the joy and consolation of his days of trial, the constant, indefatigable, and undaunted sharer of his labours. He had the melancholy knowledge that her end was hastened by her taking to heart her husband's crushing cares and unmerited ill-usage.
The coolness of the Quakers needs explanation. There was then, as now, a strong feeling amongst some religious people against Christian men taking an active part in public affairs. Penn was too strong a man to yield to it, but it caused him much trouble and suffering. And now that William reigned, and that Penn's position, instead of being a help and a protection to Friends, caused them to be suspected of disloyalty, this feeling was intensified. George Fox's son-in-law, Thomas Lower, even sketched a form of apology, which Penn was to sign to satisfy the weaker brethren. Penn once joined some Friends in Pennsylvania when they had given him up, supposing that opposing winds and tide made his coming impossible. When they expressed their astonishment at seeing him under the circumstances, he answered with that ready pleasantry which ever characterised him, "I have been sailing against wind and tide all my life."
But, with sublime Christian heroism, he accepted his lot. He strengthened himself by much waiting on God, and by such intercourse with the best spirits around him as circumstances permitted. In his Maxims we have not only whatever of his own prudence could be crystallised; we have also clear evidence of his own habit of looking at earthly things in heavenly light, and of endeavouring to discover their spiritual meaning and use.
At last, in God's mercy, the tide turned. The night had been very dark, but the tardy dawn came at length, and ushered in a bright though not a cloudless day. Cruelly deserted by the colonists, for whom he had done and suffered so much, he found gratitude amongst "worldly" statesmen and courtiers. The Earl of Rochester, Lord Somers, and others took the case in hand. He asked them to gain him a full and public hearing before the King and Council. His defence was completely successful. The charges against him were quashed. It was proved that he had done nothing to forfeit his patent, and was restored to his government and proprietary. This consolation came to him at a time when it was greatly needed. He had lost his wife, and now his favorite son, Springett, was slowly dying of consumption.
We must not pass by the death of his wife so briefly. No doubt, the sad event was hastened by her wifely sympathy with her husband in his great troubles. Yet she had the happiness of seeing the bulk of them removed before she died. "She quietly expired," says Penn, "in my arms, her head upon my bosom, with a sensible and devout resignation of her soul to Almighty God. I hope I may say she was a public as well as private loss, for she was not only an excellent wife and mother, but an entire and constant friend, of a more than common capacity, and greater modesty and humility, yet most equal and undaunted in danger." Their wedded life had been a beautiful blending of romantic passion with sober Christian usefulness. Religion, and culture, and practical philanthropy had gone hand-in-hand in their social life.
Whilst speaking of this bitter cross, it will be well to anticipate a little, and record the death of his favorite son, Springett. This noble and gifted youth died of consumption. Penn did all that a father's love could suggest, all that personal attention could do to lengthen his days. But the end, though slow in its approach, was yet too sure, and the darling boy expired in his father's arms early in 1696.
The younger son, William, was of a very different stamp. Cavalier grace, and sensuousness which degenerated into sensuality, marked his character. Martial and generous in disposition, with no mean capacity for business, he early shewed a tendency to idle frivolousness and then to gross indulgence, which caused his father the keenest pain. The refined enjoyments of his home were not to his taste, so he sought in foreign cities the worst indulgences they could afford. And when his father was far away in Pennsylvania, he launched out into riot and excesses which filled that father's heart with shame and dismay.
Early in 1696, William Penn married as his second wife Hannah Callowhill of Bristol, a woman of great energy and ability. She was an admirable helper in all good works.
For six years after his restoration to his rights, Penn was content to leave Pennsylvania in the hands of his cousin, Colonel Markham. His principal employments then were literary and ministerial.