In Somersetshire thirty-two persons were fined for having been at a burial. The like happened in the county of Derby, where Samuel Roe, (his wife being deceased,) was fined twenty pounds, because his friends met in his house to conduct the corpse to the grave. Of this the priest, John Wilson, was informer to the justice of peace, John Loe; and out of the house of the said Samuel Roe, was taken the value of thirty pounds; so that the share of the informer was no less than ten pounds; since according to law, his due was a third of the spoil. I could here relate several instances of great adversities, and sad mischiefs that befel cruel persecutors; but not to expatiate too far, I have silently passed by many remarkable cases.
Yet, in general terms I may say, that many of the persecutors, both justices, informers, and others, came to a miserable end: some being by sudden, or unnatural death, and others by lingering sicknesses, or distempers, or by foul and stinking diseases, taken out of this life; whilst some, who by spoil had scraped much together, fell to great poverty and beggary; whose names I could set down, and mention also time and place; and among these some rapacious ecclesiastics, who came to a sad end; but I studiously omit particularizing such instances, to avoid the appearance of grudging and envy. Some of those that had been so active in spoil, signified themselves the terrible remorse of conscience they felt, because of their having persecuted the Quakers; insomuch, that they roared out their gnawing grief, mixed with despair, under the grievous pains they suffered in their body. And it was judged by many a very remarkable case, that one Christopher Glin, priest at Burford, who had acted with a very indiscreet zeal against the Quakers, having about the year 1663, read his text in the pulpit, and then intending to read his sermon, was on a sudden struck with blindness, and continued blind till he died. But none of the persecutors seemed to take notice, or to regard such instances; for they let their rage loose against the Quakers; who, for all that continued in patience, though they did not think it unlawful to give notice of the grievous oppression their friends suffered, to those that were in authority; lest they might have excused themselves as ignorant of these violent proceedings. Therefore it was not omitted to publish in public print, many of those crying instances that have been related here, and to present them to the king and parliament, with humble addresses to that purpose. But all this found but small entrance. King Charles it seems was not to be the man that should take off this yoke of oppression; this work was reserved for others. His brother James that succeeded him, made a beginning thereof, with what intention Heaven knows; and William III. that excellent prince, brought it to perfection as far as it was in his power.
This year deceased at sea William Bayly, coming from the West Indies, in the ship called the Samuel, of London, in the latitude of 46 degrees and 36 minutes: he had been a teacher among the Baptists, and had read much in the books of Jacob Behmen, but could not find thereby true satisfaction to his soul. And being afterwards entered into society with the Quakers, so called, he became a zealous preacher among them. When in this his last voyage he was grown sick, and felt death approaching, he bid John Clark, master of the said vessel, remember him to his dear wife and little ones, and also to G. Fox, G. Whitehead and others; and being filled with joy, began to sing, saying, ‘The creating word of the Lord endures for ever.’ He took several that were about him by the hand, and exhorted them to fear the Lord, and not to fear death: ‘Death,’ said he, ‘is nothing in itself; for the sting of death is sin. Tell the Friends at London, that would have been glad to have seen my face, I go to my Father and their Father, to my God and their God. Remember my love to my dear wife; she will be a sorrowful widow: but let her not mourn too much, for it is well with me.’ And having spoken something concerning his outward business to the master, he said in regard to his wife and children, ‘I have left them no portions, but my endeavour hath been to make God their father. Shall I lay down my head upon the waters? Well, God is the God of the whole universe; and though my body sink, I shall swim atop of the waters.’ Then taking his leave of the company, he said, ‘I see not one of you, but I wish you all well.’ And one asking, how it was with him? he answered, ‘I am perfectly well.’ After having spoken many more sensible words, about four in the morning he departed quietly, as if he had fallen asleep. His wife Mary, the same that had formerly been at Adrianople, and spoken with the emperor of the Turks, gave an excellent testimony in writing concerning him; and J. Crook, in a preface to W. Bayly’s works, said of him, (the truth of which I know by my own experience,) ‘As he was bold and zealous in his preaching, being willing to improve his time, as if he had known it was not to be long amongst us; so was he as valiant in suffering for his testimony, when called thereunto. Methinks I see how once I saw him stand at the bar to plead his innocent cause, like holy Stephen, in the senate-house, when the threats of his persecutors resembled the showers of stones, falling upon that blessed martyr, crying out with a hideous noise, ‘take him away, jailer,’ &c. and yet all this while he changed not his countenance, except by the additional ornaments of some innocent smiles. Sometimes by cruel persecutors he hath been thrown down, and dragged upon the ground by the hair of his head, and his mouth and jaws endeavoured to be rent and broke asunder, so that the ground whereon he lay was smeared with his blood: yet, as if this butchering had not been enough to make him a fit sacrifice for the shambles of their cruelty, a heavy gross bodied persecutor stamped upon his breast with his feet, endeavouring to beat the breath out of his body: and when this persecutor had done his pleasure, he commanded the jailer to take him away, and put him in some nasty hole for his entertainment and cure. And had not the God of Israel been his physician there, he had been taken from us long before this.’ Thus far John Crook.
1676.
At the beginning of this year, 1676, died at London, Matthew Hide, who had made it his business, during the space of about twenty years, publicly to contradict the Quakers in their meetings, and to disturb them in their worship of God, thinking from a blind zeal, that he did God an acceptable piece of service, by zealously opposing what he judged to be heresy. Now how much soever this man was bent against them, yet he showed this moderation, that in his gainsaying he did not behave himself furiously, but appeared to be well meaning, although he erred exceedingly, and often hindered the preaching of ministers among the Quakers; which induced W. Penn sometimes to pray to God very earnestly for him, and to tell him in the presence of many auditors, that God would plead with him by his righteous judgments; and that the time would come he should be forced to confess to the sufficiency of that light he then opposed, and to acknowledge that God was with those called Quakers.
This same Hide being by sickness brought to the brink of death, desired that G. Whitehead, and some of his friends, might be sent for: and to one Cotton Oade, who asked him, if he had any thing to say to clear himself, concerning his having so often opposed the friends called Quakers, in their declarations and prayers, he said, that he was sorry for what he had done: for, added he, they are the people of God. G. Whitehead, then, though it was late in the evening, being come to him, with some others, said, ‘I am come in love and tenderness to see thee.’ To which Hide returned, ‘I am glad to see you.’ And Whitehead again, ‘If thou hast any thing on thy conscience to speak, I would have thee to clear thy conscience.’ To this Hide replied, ‘What I have to say, I speak in the presence of God: as Paul was a persecutor of the people of the Lord, so have I been a persecutor of you, his people, as the world is who persecute the children of God.’ More he spoke, but being very weak, his words could not well be understood. Then G. Whitehead resumed, ‘Thy understanding being darkened when darkness was over thee, thou hast gainsaid the truth and people of the Lord; and I knew that that light which thou opposedst, would rise up in judgment against thee. I have often with others, laboured with thee to bring thee to a right understanding.’ To which Hide said, ‘This I declare in the presence of God, and of you here, I have done evil in persecuting you who are the children of God, and I am sorry for it: the Lord Jesus Christ show mercy unto me, and the Lord increase your number, and be with you.’ After some pause G. Whitehead said to him, ‘I would have thee, if thou art able to speak, to ease thy conscience as fully as thou canst. My soul is affected to hear thee thus confess thy evil, as the Lord hath given thee a sense of it. In repentance there is mercy and forgiveness; in confessing and forsaking sin, there is mercy to be found with the Lord, who in the midst of judgment remembers mercy, that he may be feared.’ Hide being in great anguish, and striving for breath, said, a little after, ‘I have done evil in opposing you in your prayers; the Lord be merciful unto me; and as I have been an instrument to turn many from God, the Lord raise up many instruments to turn many to him.’ G. Whitehead resumed, ‘I desire thou mayest find mercy and forgiveness at the hand of the Lord. How is it with thy soul? Dost not thou find some ease?’ ‘I hope I do,’ answered Hide, ‘and if the Lord should lengthen my days, I should be willing to hear a testimony for you, as publicly as I have appeared against you.’ His wife then said, ‘It is enough; what can be desired more?’ ‘If,’ queried Whitehead, ‘the Lord should not lengthen out thy days, dost thou desire what thou sayest should be signified to others?’ ‘Yes,’ answered Hide, ‘I do, you may; I have said as much as I can say.’ After some silence, he being much straitened for breath, Whitehead said, ‘If this company be wearisome unto thee, we may withdraw.’ To which he returned, ‘you may use your freedom.’ G. Whitehead then taking leave of him, said, ‘I shall leave thee to the Lord, desiring he may show mercy and forgiveness unto thee, as I hope he will.’ Upon which Hide replied, ‘The Lord be with your spirits.’
All this was spoken to G. Whitehead and his friends, in the presence of Hide’s wife, and some others of his acquaintance, about two hours before his death: and thus he gave manifest proofs of a sincere repentance; for Elizabeth his wife, having perceived him to be much troubled in his mind, had asked him, if he would speak with some of the Quakers? and he smiting his hand on his breast, said, ‘With all my soul.’ After G. Whitehead and his friends were gone, it being the seventh day of the week, he desired several times that he might live till morning, and might hear on that day, viz. the first day of the week, a testimony for the truth, he had on that day so often opposed; yet he signified that he had found some ease to his spirit. He also exhorted his wife, who conversed much with people that were great in the world, to use the plain language of the Quakers. And after some more words to this purpose, spoken by him, with good understanding, he stretched himself out, and died very quietly. An evident token of God’s unspeakable mercy, who wills not the death of a sinner, but that he should repent and live; and who entirely knowing the real disposition of man’s heart, forgives sin by mere grace, without any merit in man, but for his own sake, as he hath said himself, “I am he that blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins.” The truth of which saying very plainly appeared in the converted thief on the cross, though his impenitent fellow-sufferer hardened his heart against it.
In this year, while G. Fox was at Swarthmore, died William Lampitt, the priest of Ulverstone, who formerly had been a great friend to Margaret, now the wife of G. Fox, but grew so envious against the friends she was in society with, that he said in the year 1652, he would wage his life upon it, that the Quakers would all vanish and come to nought within half a year. But on his death-bed he said to one of his hearers, who came to visit him, ‘I have been a preacher a long time, and thought I had lived well; but I did not think it had been so hard a thing to die.’
At Norwich now great spoil was made upon the Quakers, for their religious assemblies. Erasmus Cooper coming once into the house of Anthony Alexander, said to his wife, who was big with child, he came to seize all she had. ‘All,’ said she, ‘and that for seven pounds fine, that is hard.’ But he slighting what she said, replied, he would not leave her a bed to lie on. And then began to break the doors with a pick-axe; he and his companions behaving themselves so desperately, that it drew tears from some of the neighbours who beheld it; and the warranted spoilers forced Alexander’s man to help them; which made Alexander say, that it was a most unreasonable thing, to require a servant to assist in the taking his master’s goods: for which the warden, Robert Clerk, snarled at him, saying, ‘They are our goods.’ To the house of Samuel Duncon, the aforesaid officers came also, and with them the informer, Charles Tennison, and the hangman. Here they staid several days and nights, and kept Samuel’s wife, who was big with child, as a prisoner in her own house, not suffering her to speak with any, so much as at the door, nor any to come to her. And after they had broken open all the locked doors, they took away to the value of about forty-three pounds in goods; and so insolent the informers were, that one did not stick to say, ‘I will make the mayor wait upon me as often as I will, at my pleasure.’ Nay, this wicked crew was become so powerful, that none durst oppose them, for fear of falling into disgrace with the court: since they were encouraged by such as were in high stations, and probably at the instance of the Papists, or popishly affected. The constable, William Poole, coming this summer into a meeting at Norwich, with an informer, who made him come, and hearing efficacious preaching there, cried with tears in his eyes, ‘What shall I do! I know the power of God is among you:’ and told the informer, that if there were a curse hung over any people upon the earth, it was over the informers. And Tennison the informer, who had assisted in taking away Samuel Duncon’s goods, being afterwards committed to prison for debt, confessed he never prospered since he took in hand that work; and said if he were at liberty, he would never meddle with it more.
In Nottinghamshire also great spoil and havoc was made, to which the justice Robert Thoroton, was greatly instrumental; for at Sutton he gave forth a warrant to seize the goods of two persons, one of which was a woman, who having in a meeting spoken five or six words, which, according to the testimony of some officers that were present, were not at all like preaching, was however informed against as a preacher, and so by the said Thoroton fined twenty pounds; and she being unable to pay, the one half of the fine was charged upon her, and the other half upon John Fulwood. At another time Thoroton gave order to seize the goods of William Day, a miller, because he having been at a meeting at Sutton, in the street, the fine of a pretended preacher, that was unable, was charged upon him; though Day proved, and the officers who kept the friends out of their meeting place, declared also, that those words, which were called preaching, were no more than an answer to what another had spoken. But for all that, Thoroton, to protect, and to gratify the informer, said, ‘Though but one word were spoken, it is sufficient.’ A poor woman at South Collingham, who was already bereaved of almost all that she possessed, and since by her friends provided with a bed and other necessaries, was also deprived of this little, because she continued to frequent meetings. Matthew Hartly, a poor man, who lived by spinning of wool, was likewise, for frequenting the meeting there, bereaved of what he had; and so it was with many others, whose names and surnames I could mention, if I had a mind to enlarge. And if their friends had not taken care of them, and other impoverished families, who had lost all by spoil, many might have perished.