A Book of Quaker Saints

by L. V. Hodgkin

'Stiff-necked Quakers—you shall answer for this,' shouted Ensign Hodgson as he entered 'cursing and swearing' (so says the old account) 'and threatening that if Friends would not depart and disperse he would kill them and slay and what not.' 'You look like hardened offenders, all of you, and I doubt this is not a first offence.' So saying, the Ensign set spurs to his horse and rode up and down the barn, overturning forms and chairs, slashing at the women Friends with the flat of his sword, while some of the roughest of his followers poked the sharp points of their blades through the coats of the men, 'just to remind you, Quaker dogs, of what we could do, an' we chose.'

Amid all this noise and hurly-burly, the men and women Friends sat on in stillness as long as possible. Only when their seats were actually overturned, they rose to their feet and stood upright in their places. They were ready to be beaten or trampled upon, if necessary; but they would not, of their own will, quit their ground. Strangely enough, the wives did not rush to their husbands or cling to them; the men did not seek to protect the women-folk. They all remained, even the lads and lasses, self-poised as it were, one company still; resting, as long as they could, quietly, in the inward citadel of peace. In spite of all the hubbub, the true spirit of worship was not disturbed.

At last the soldiers, determined not to be baffled, came to yet closer quarters and drove their unresisting victims, willy nilly, before them from under the sheltering rafters of the barn. The Friends were roughly hustled down the steep hillside and driven hither and thither, but still the meeting was not interrupted, for their hearts could not be driven out from the overshadowing presence of God.

So the great fells looked down upon a strange scene a few minutes later,—a strange scene, yet one all too common in those days. A cavalcade of glittering horsemen with their flowing perukes, ruffles, gay coats, plumed hats, and all the extravagances of the costume of even the fighting man of 'good King Charles's golden days.' In the centre of this gay throng, a little company of Friends in their plain garments of homespun and duffel, moving along, with sober faces and downcast eyes, speaking never a word as their captors prepared to force them to their destination—the Justice's house at Ingmire Hall near Sedbergh.

Now from Drawwell Farm to Ingmire is some little distance. The way is hilly, and the roads are narrow and rough. Bad going it is on those roads even to-day, and far worse in the times of which I write. Therefore the troopers quickly grew weary of their task, weary of trying to rein in their mettlesome horses to keep pace with the slow steps of their prisoners, weary, too, of even the sport of pricking at these last with their swords, to try to make them go faster.

They had barely reached the bottom of the slope when Ensign Hodgson, ever a restless youth, lost patience. As soon as he found his horse on a bit of level road, he called to his men, 'Halloo! here's our chance for a canter!—We'll leave the Lambs to follow us to the slaughter-house at their own sweet will.' Then, seeing mingled relief and consternation on the men's faces, he slapped his thighs with a loud laugh and said: 'Ye silly fellows, have no fear! No Quaker ever yet tried to escape from gaol, nor ever will. We can trust them to follow us in our absence as well as if we were here to drive them. Quakers haven't the wit to seek after their own safety.'

The audacity of the plan tickled the troopers. Following Hodgson's example, they, one and all, raised their plumed hats and, rising high in their stirrups, bowed with mock courtesy, as they took leave of their prisoners.

'Farewell, sweet Lambkins,' called out the Ensign, 'hasten your Quaker pace and meet us at the slaughter-house at Ingmire Hall as fast as you can, OR' ... he cocked his pistol at them, and then, dashing it up, fired a shot into the air. With wild shouting and laughter the whole troop disappeared round a turn of the road. 'To Sedbergh,' they cried, 'to Sedbergh first! Plenty of time for a carouse, and yet to arrive at Ingmire Hall as soon as the Lambs!'

Arriving in Sedbergh at a canter they slackened rein at a tavern and refreshed themselves with a draught of ale and an hour's carouse, before setting off to meet their prisoners at the Justice's house.

When they arrived at Ingmire Hall, to their dismay, not a Quaker was in sight. Sending his men off to scour the roads, Ensign Hodgson himself dismounted with an oath on Justice Otway's doorstep, and went within to inquire if the Quakers from Drawwell had yet arrived.