"Ah, and I fear there will be many poor Friends left behind here in London who will need all the help man can give them," answered Bessie. "For we cannot all go in this ship to another land; and Friend William Penn says it would not be good for us or for England to carry all the Quakers away. We have had our share of the battle, and fought for the truth and for liberty of conscience, as God strengthened us to do. Now He will strengthen others to take our places, while we go to plant the truth in other lands. Although Friend William Penn hath been imprisoned for the truth again and again, he will not come with us now, but stay and fight the battle of religious liberty here; for it can only grow and become strong through fighting and struggling—hard as it may be for us who suffer."
"Oh, Bessie, I cannot bear to think there should be all this fighting about it," said Audrey, in a pained tone.
"It hurts thee only to think of it," said Bessie, "and therefore God hath not called thee to this work, but to be a comforter of those who suffer, and help to make them strong and gentle. Thou art tender and loving and pitiful. I thought scornfully of these things once; but since I have known thee, I have learned to see that God hath work for all in His world. For it is His world, Audrey, in spite of the sin and pain and trouble that wicked people make in it. Now I want to fight this wickedness, and so does my father. But it may be God hath other methods, only I have not learned them. But I am glad—oh, so glad!—that God hath called my mother and father, and all of us, out of the fight for a little while—or, at least, this sort of fighting," added Bessie.
"The fight can never be over, while we have our own sin and selfishness to struggle against," said Audrey quickly.
"I know. I have learned that since I have been here," replied Bessie. "There was not time to think of much besides the other sort of fighting before. We needed all our courage to be faithful and true, and preach the gospel to every creature, as the Lord Jesus commanded; but since I have been here, dwelling in safety and comfort, such as I never knew before, I have learned there is another battle to fight, and other victories to be won, and I have been trying to do this as well."
"I know, Bessie," whispered Audrey, "I know it has not been easy for you to do just the everyday work that was so important to aunt and uncle. You are Brave Bessie Westland—the bravest girl I ever knew, especially in what you have done for aunt and all of us here."
They were interrupted at this point, for the box on which they were seated was wanted, and there was no further opportunity of talking.
At daybreak they were going by water to Limehouse Hole, where a wherry was to be in readiness to convey them to Gravesend. The whole party who were going were Quakers, many of them in broken health from imprisonment in unwholesome gaols. Some were bringing all their household goods, as Master Drayton was doing; while others, like Bessie's mother, possessed but the few rags they wore when leaving prison. Most of them came from London and its neighbourhood; but a few were brought from neighbouring gaols, the authorities giving them up to save, the expense of transporting them as slaves to the plantations.
Audrey and her mother bade the Draytons farewell the night before they started. It was hard for the sisters to part after this short reunion, for they too had begun to understand each other better than they had done before, and whatever their differences of opinion might be, they were heartily at one in desiring that religious liberty should be the right of everybody, whatever name they might be called by; for, as Dame Lowe remarked, there were more silent martyrs in any cause than the world dreamed of; and, as Audrey added, there were not many like Brave Bessie Westland.
So the tears of parting had all been shed when the sun rose the next morning, and if they were not all as happy as Bessie herself and her two sisters, it was a calm and hopeful party of men and women who went on board the wherry at Limehouse Hole, and though most of them were being forcibly driven from their native land, they could yet look forward to the new home they were going to make in the unknown world beyond the seas. To many of the more timid of the company, seated among the baskets and bundles on board the wherry, the voyage, with its unknown perils, was the most fearful part of the trial, and if they could not have rested upon the arm of their Father in heaven, they would scarcely have braved its dangers even to escape persecution. But almost all among them had a nearer and dearer self in husband, wife, or children, to think of, and for their sakes the timid became brave, for the time at least, so that when the schooner was reached, where the prisoners had been already placed under the care of the captain, the party of Friends in the wherry were able to meet them with cheerful, hopeful words and greetings.