No. LXIV.
Mr. Macaulay’s second mention of William Penn may be found, vol. i. page 650. A number of young girls, acting under the direction of their school-mistress, had walked in procession, and presented a standard to Monmouth, at Taunton, in 1635. Some of them had expiated their offence already. That hell-hound of a judge, Jeffreys, had literally frightened one of them to death. It was determined, under menace of the gibbet, to extort a ransom from the parents of all these innocent girls. Who does not apply those lines of Shakspeare to this infernal judge!
“Did you say all? What, all? Oh, hell-kite, all?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam,
At one fell swoop?”
“The Queen’s maids of honor,” says Mr. Macaulay, “asked the royal permission, to wring money out of the parents of the poor children; and the permission was granted.” They demanded £7000, and applied to Sir Francis Warre, to exact the ransom. “He was charged to declare, in strong language, that the maids of honor would not endure delay,” &c.
Warre excused himself. Mr. Macaulay proceeds as follows: “The maids of honor then requested William Penn to act for them, and Penn accepted the commission. Yet it should seem that a little of the pertinacious scrupulosity, which he had often shown, about taking off his hat, would not have been altogether out of place on this occasion. He probably silenced the remonstrances of his conscience, by repeating to himself, that none of the money, which he extorted, would go into his own pocket; that, if he refused to be the agent of the ladies, they would find agents less humane; that by complying he should increase his influence at the court; and that his influence at the court had already enabled him, and might still enable him to render greater services to his oppressed brethren. The maids of honor were at last forced to content themselves with less than a third part of what they had demanded.”
Now it seems to me, that no clear-headed, whole-hearted, impartial reader will draw the inference, from this passage, which Mr. Macaulay would manifestly have him draw. Penn well understood the resolute brutality of Jeffreys, the never-dying obstinacy and vindictive malevolence of James, and the heartless greediness of these maids of honor. He knew, as Mr. Macaulay says, that “if he refused to be the agent of the ladies they would find agents less humane.” There was no secrecy here—this thing was not done in a corner. Mr. Macaulay says, “they charged Sir Francis Warre,” &c.: and after he refused, they “requested William Penn,” &c. Penn acted as a peacemaker. He stood between these she wolves—these shameless maids of honor—and the Taunton lambs; and, instead of £7000, he persuaded those vampyres, who, under the royal grant, had full power in their hands to do their wicked will—to receive less than £2300. Mr. Macaulay admits, that Penn received not a farthing; and, that, had he refused, matters might have been worse for the oppressed.
The known character of Penn demands of us the presumption, in his favor, that he entered upon this business conscientiously, and not as an extortioner—and that he made, as the result leads us to believe he did, the very best terms for the parents. Wherein was ever the sin or the shame of negotiating, between the buccaneers of the Tortugas, and the parents of captive children, for their ransom? Does not Mr. Macaulay present the reign of James II. before us, as blotted all over, with official piracy and judicial murder? If the adjustment of this odious business increased the influence of Penn, at court, and thereby enabled him to “render great services to his oppressed brethren”—these were the natural consequences of the act; without them, there was enough of just and honorable motive, for a mediator, to step between the oppressor and the oppressed, and lessen, as much as possible, the weight of the oppression.
If the conduct of William Penn, upon this occasion, was the humane and Christian thing, which it certainly appears to have been, “the pertinacious scrupulosity, which he had often shown, about taking off his hat” would have been wholly out of place. And if so, what justification can be found for Mr. Macaulay’s expressions—“the remonstrances of his conscience,” and “the money, which he extorted.”
It is proverbially hard, for an old dog to learn new tricks. He, to whose hand the hatchet is familiar, when he substitutes the rapier, will still hack and hew with it, as though it were a hatchet. It may well be doubted, if an impartial history, especially those parts of it, wherein the writer deals with character and motive, can ever be trustworthily and impartially written, by a veteran, professional reviewer, of the tomahawk school, however splendid his talents may be.