Not long after, justice Dionysius Wakering followed him, and struck him with his hand upon his back, saying he arrested him in the name of the lord protector. Parnel, not knowing him to be a magistrate, asked him where his writ was. Wakering said he had one; but showed none. Then Parnel was hurried into an house, and some of his friends engaged, that he should be forthcoming when their worship was done. And accordingly he appeared where four justices and six or seven priests were met together. Then justice Wakering pulled his hat off his head, and threw it away; and they questioned him concerning many things; all which he answered, with many frivolous questions asked to ensnare him. At last he was committed to the common jail at Colchester, where none of his friends were permitted to come to him. The time of the sessions at Chelmsford being come, he, with several felons and murderers was fastened to a chain, and thus led about eighteen miles through the country, remaining chained both night and day.
Being brought into the court before judge Hills, the jailer took off his hat and cast it upon the floor. Then the clerk read his indictment, and asked him if he was guilty; to which he said, that he denied all guilt; and he called for his accusers. The judge said he might see them; and that he ought to say guilty, or not guilty. On which Parnel told him, he was not guilty. Then a jury of twelve men was called, whose foreman was a drunkard; priest Willis was also called, who swore against him, and so did two justices; one of their men swearing that they would speak nothing against him but the truth. The accusations were, that in a riotous manner he did enter into the parish church at Great Coggeshall; that he there did stand up, and told the minister he blasphemed, and spoke falsely, using many other reproachful words against him: and he could not give a good account where he was last settled, or of his life and conversation, appearing to be an idle person. He was also accused with contempt of the magistracy, and of the ministry. To this he answered, that he no ways in a riotous manner entered the steeple-house, but came thither quietly, and alone: for being followed by several boys that would have come in after him, he bade them go in before, rather than to go in disorderly, whereby to occasion any disturbance. That he had said to priest Willis, he blasphemed, by saying the church in God was nonsense, he denied not; but did not own himself to be a vagabond and idle person. And he did not think it indecent to call an unjust judge, unrighteous; a persecutor, persecutor; and a deceiver, deceiver. Thus Parnel pleaded his cause. Yet the judge said to the jury, that if they did not find him guilty, the sin would lie upon their heads; thus condemning the prisoner before the jury had considered the case. Then J. Parnel began to speak, to inform them concerning his cause, but the judge would not suffer him, though one of the jury desired it. After consultation, the jury had nothing to lay to his charge, but a paper in which he had answered the mittimus, though he had already owned this paper to be his writing. But in that they were at a loss, because in the indictment he was accused of a riot: yet the judge and the clerk strove to draw some words from the foreman, which the other jurymen did not consent to, and he himself was unwilling to answer fully to their questions. Then J. Parnel was made to withdraw; and being called in again, the judge fined him to the value of about forty pounds, for contempt of the magistracy and ministry; for he said the lord protector had charged him to punish such persons as should contemn either magistracy or ministry. Thereupon J. Parnel was carried back again to the prison, being an old ruinous castle, built as it is reported, in the time of the ancient Romans: here he was to be kept until the fine should be paid: and the jailer was commanded, not to let any giddy-headed people, (by which denomination they meant his friends,) come at him.
The jailer was willing enough to comply with this order, suffering none to come to him, but such as abused him; and his wife, who was a wicked shrew, did not only set her man to beat him, but several times herself laid violent hands upon him, and swore she would have his blood: she also set other prisoners to take away the victuals brought to him by his friends; and would not let him have a trundle bed, which they would have brought him to lie on, so that he was forced to lie on the cold and damp stones. Afterwards he was put into the hole in the wall, a room much like a baker’s oven; for the walls of that building, which is indeed a direful nest, are of an excessive thickness, as I have seen myself, having been in the hole where this pious young man ended his days, as will be said by and by. Being confined in the said hole, which was, as I remember, about twelve feet high from the ground, and the ladder too short by six feet; he must climb up and down by a rope on a broken wall, which he was forced to do to fetch his victuals, or for other necessities: for though his friends would have given him a cord and a basket to draw up his victuals in, yet such was the malice of his keepers, that they would not suffer it.
Continuing in this moist hole, his limbs grew benumbed; and thus it once happened, that as he was climbing up the ladder, with his victuals in one hand, and come to the top thereof, catching at the rope with his other, he missed the same, and fell down upon the stones, whereby he was exceedingly wounded in his head, and his body so bruised, that he was taken up for dead. Then they put him into a hole underneath the other; for there were two rows of such vaulted holes in the wall. This hole was called the oven, and so little, that some baker’s ovens were bigger, though not so high. Here, (the door being shut,) was scarcely any air, there being no window or hole. And after he was a little recovered from his fall, they would not suffer him to take the air, though he was almost spent for want of breath: and though some of his friends, viz. William Talcot and Edward Grant, did offer their bond of forty pounds to the justice Henry Barrington, and another, whose name was Thomas Shortland, to lie body for body, that Parnel might but have his liberty to come to W. Talcot’s house, and return, when recovered; yet this was denied; nay so immoveable were they set against him, that when it was desired that he might only walk a little sometimes in the yard, they would not grant it by any means: and once the door of the hole being open, and he coming forth, and walking in a narrow yard between two high walls, so incensed the jailer, that he locked up the hole, and shut him out in the yard all night, being in the coldest time of the winter. This hard imprisonment did so weaken him, that after ten or eleven months he fell sick and died. At his departure there were with him Thomas Shortland, and Ann Langley: and it was one of these, that came often to him, who long after brought me into this hole where he died.
Several things which are related here, I had from the mouth of eye-witnesses, who lived in that town. When death approached, he said, ‘Here I die innocently.’ A little after he was heard to say, ‘Now I must go:’ and turning his head to Thomas, he said, ‘This death must I die; Thomas, I have seen great things: don’t hold me, but let me go.’ Then he said again, ‘Will you hold me?’ To which Ann answered, ‘No, dear heart, we will not hold thee.’ He had often said that one hour’s sleep would cure him of all: and the last words he was heard to say, were, ‘Now I go;’ and then stretched out himself, and slept about an hour, and breathed his last. Thus this valiant soldier of the Lamb conquered through sufferings: and so great was the malice and envy of his persecutors, that to cover their guilt and shame, they spread among the people, that by immoderate fasting, and afterwards with too greedy eating, he had shortened his days. But this was a wicked lie; for though it be true that he had no appetite to eat some days before he fell sick, yet when he began to eat again, he took nothing but a little milk, as was declared by credible witnesses. During his imprisonment he writ several edifying epistles to his friends.
By continuing this relation without breaking off, I am advanced somewhat as to time; but going back a little, let us see the transactions of Edward Burrough and Francis Howgill. It was in the year 1655, that they went together to Ireland, where they came in the summer, and staid more than six months, having spent at Dublin about three months, without being disturbed, though they omitted no opportunity to declare the doctrine of Truth. Henry Cromwell, son of the protector, was at that time lord deputy of Ireland; and it was in his name that they were carried from Cork, (whither they were gone,) to Dublin; for since several received their testimony, and adhered to the doctrine they preached, it was resolved upon, not to let them stay any longer in Ireland. Here it was, as I have been told, that William Ames, by their ministry, was brought over into the society of the Quakers, so called. He was a Baptist teacher, and also a military officer, who being of a strict life himself, kept his soldiers under a severe discipline. I remember how he used to tell us, when any soldier under his colours had been guilty of any immorality on a First-day of the week, he presently had him bound neck and heels. But being now entered into the society of the despised Quakers, and in process of time becoming a minister among them, it was not long before he was cast into prison; of whom more may be said hereafter.
Now E. Burrough and F. Howgill were banished out of Ireland; but on the same day that they were sent away, Barbara Blaugdone arrived there. She went from England in a vessel bound for Cork, but by foul weather carried to Dublin. When the tempest was high, the seamen said, that she being a Quaker was the cause of it, and they conspired to cast her overboard. Aware of this plot, she told the master what his men designed to do, and said that if he did suffer this, her blood would be required at his hands. So he charged them not to meddle with her. The storm continuing, and it being on a First-day of the week, she went upon the deck, feeling herself moved to speak to the seamen by way of exhortation, and to pray for them; for their priest, afraid like the rest, could not say any thing among them. Having spoke what was upon her, she concluded with a prayer; and all the ship’s crew were very quiet and sedate, saying, that they were more beholden to her than to their priest, because she prayed for them; and he, for fear, could not open his mouth to speak. At length they arrived safe at Dublin, without damage, which indeed was strange, and made the master say, that he was never in such a storm without receiving any loss.
Barbara going ashore, went to the house of the deputy; but the people told her, there was for her no speaking with him; for she might know that he had banished two of her friends out of the nation the day before. Then she met with the secretary, and desired him to help her to speak with the deputy. He answered that he did not think he could; then she told him that if he would be so civil, as to go up and tell the deputy that there was a woman below that would speak with him; if he refused, she was answered. So the secretary went up; and there came a man to fetch her into the withdrawing-room; and after she had been there awhile, a person came out of the deputy’s chamber, and all that accompanied him stood bare-headed; for they knew she never saw the deputy, but she had a sense it was a priest, who showed himself covered to deceive her: and the room being almost full of people, they asked her why she did not do her message to their lord. To which she answered, ‘When I see your lord, then I shall do my message to him.’ A little after the deputy came forth, and sat down on a couch: she then stood up, and speaking to him what was upon her mind, bade him beware that he was not found fighting against God, in opposing the Truth, and persecuting the innocent; but like wise Gamaliel, to let them alone; for if it was of God, it would stand; but if of man, it would fall. Further, that the enmity did not lie so much in himself, but he was stirred up to it by evil magistrates, and bad priests; and that God’s people were as dear to him now, as ever; and they that touched them, touched the apple of his eye. In the meanwhile, in his name, and by his power, there was much hurt done to the people of God, all over the nation, and it would at last lie heavy upon him. Moreover, that the teachers of the people did cause them to err, and that he knew the priests’ condition. She touching upon that, the deputy said to the priest that stood by, ‘There’s for you, Mr. Harrison:’ and she spoke with such power, that it made the deputy much concerned: and when she had done, he asked the priest what he had to say to that which she spoke. And he said, it was all very true, and very good, and he had nothing to say against it, if she did speak as she meant. Then she told the priest, that the Spirit of God was true, and did speak as it meant, and meant as it spoke; but that men of corrupt minds did pervert the Scriptures, by putting their own imaginations and conceivings upon it, and so did deceive the people: but the holy men of God wrote, and gave forth the Scriptures as they were inspired of the Holy Ghost; and that they were of no private interpretation; and could not be understood but by the same spirit that gave them forth.
After having thus spoken, she went away, and returned to her lodging, which was at one captain Rich’s house, who coming home, said, that the deputy was so sad and melancholy, after she had been with him, that he could not go to bowls, or to any other pastime.
Barbara having now performed her service at Dublin, went to Cork, where she had some relations and acquaintance; but great were her sufferings thereabout; for she was imprisoned almost wherever she came, being moved to follow those of her acquaintance, into several steeple-houses: yet wherever her mouth was opened, there was some that received her testimony. Once she was made to speak in a market-place, where a butcher swore he would cleave her head; and having lifted up his cleaver to do it, there came a woman behind him, and catching his arms, stopt him, till the soldiers came and rescued Barbara. Many of her acquaintance, with whom she formerly had been very conversant, were now afraid of her; for sometimes she spoke so awfully to them in their houses, that it made them tremble; and some said she was a witch; and, running away, their servants turned her out of doors. After having been there some time, she returned home to Bristol; but it was not very long ere she was moved to go to Ireland again; and being come near Dungarvan, the ship foundered near the shore: the master and the passengers got into the boat, save one man and a woman, who were cast away; and Barbara who was still in the cabin, was almost stifled by waves that beat in upon her; yet at length she got upon the deck. The master in the meanwhile being come ashore, called to her, that if she would leap down, he and another would venture to come into the water to save her. Accordingly they came up to their necks, and she leaping down, they caught her; but being entangled in the ropes in leaping down, she was drawn from them again: but presently a wave came rolling and beat the ship outward, which was their preservation; for if it had beaten inward, it might have killed them all three; she was thus caught again, and drawn to shore. Then she went to Dublin, where coming into the court of justice, she spoke to the judges, and exhorted them to righteousness. But this was taken so ill, that she was put into prison, where she lay upon straw on the ground, and when it rained, the wet and filth of the house of office ran in under her. Being arraigned at the bar, she was required to plead guilty or not guilty. She answered that there was no guilt upon any one’s conscience for what was done in obedience to the Lord God. But she not answering in that form of words they bid her, was sent back to prison again, where she suffered much. In the meanwhile, there happened a singular instance, which I cannot pass by with silence.