A Concise Biographical Sketch of William Penn Part 1

A Concise Biographical Sketch of William Penn.

by Charles Evans.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF WILLIAM PENN.

The following is a brief sketch of the life of one who, though perhaps more widely known as the Proprietor and Founder of Pennsylvania, was also eminent as a minister of the gospel in the Society of Friends, and distinguished for his superior intellectual abilities, his varied culture, and, above all, for his devoted Christian character, exemplified both in adversity and prosperity. It is taken princ.i.p.ally from a work ent.i.tled "Friends in the Seventeenth Century."

He was the son of William Penn, who, trained to nautical life, had by his genius and courage risen rapidly in the navy, until at the age of twenty-nine he became "Vice-Admiral of the Straits." From the account of his life and public career, given by Granville Penn, a descendant, he appears to have been a man who made self-interest a leading principle of conduct, but who, while eagerly coveting wealth and honor, was never accused of being corrupt as a public servant. His son William was born in London, in 1644, and resided with his mother at Wanstead, in Ess.e.x, while his father was absent with the fleet over which he had command.

Owing to information received by Cromwell, through some of the spies kept by him in attendance upon the exiled Charles and his court, that, notwithstanding he had sanctioned the promotion of Admiral Penn, and largely rewarded him by an estate in Ireland, for some losses he had sustained there, he was secretly making overtures to bring the squadron he commanded into the service of the Royalists, he lost favor with the Protector. On his return from an unsuccessful expedition against the Spanish West India Islands, he was deprived of his command and thrown into prison, whence Cromwell generously liberated him at his own humble pet.i.tion. He then took his family over to Ireland, where he continued to reside for some years, on the estate which Cromwell had had bestowed upon him, and which was near Cork.

In a ma.n.u.script written by Thomas Harvey, reciting an account given to him by William Penn, of some of the circ.u.mstances of his early life, and which was first published in "The Penns and Peningtons," by M. Webb, it is stated, "That while he was but a child living at Cork with his father, Thomas Loe came thither. When it was rumored a Quaker was come from England, his father proposed to some others to be like the n.o.ble Bereans, and hear him before they judged him. He accordingly sent to Thomas Loe to come to his house; where he had a meeting in the family.

Though William was very young, he observed what effect T. Loe's preaching had on the hearers. A black servant of his father could not restrain himself from weeping aloud; and little William looking on his father, saw the tears running down his cheeks also. He then thought within himself, 'What if they would all be Quakers!'" This opportunity he never quite forgot; the remembrance of it still recurring at times.

William Penn was then about eleven years of age, and was being educated by a private tutor.

On the retirement of Richard Cromwell from the position for which he had been appointed by his father, Admiral Penn declared for Charles Stuart, and lost no time in going over to the Continent to pay court to him whom he had no doubt would soon be recalled to the throne. Charles employed him in secret service, and rewarded him by the honors of knighthood, and by becoming his debtor for one hundred pounds.

When a little over fifteen years of age, William Penn entered as a "gentleman commoner," at Oxford, where he remained three years, distinguis.h.i.+ng himself as a hard and successful student. After the Restoration, the Court set to work to remodel the University, by displacing those who held Puritanical opinions, or who had found favor during the Commonwealth, and installing others, friendly to the re-established church and the lax moral principles then prevailing. Dr.

Owen, conspicuous as a scholar and a strict religionist, was ejected to make room for a royalist partisan, and the students became divided into parties, applauding or denouncing the changes made.

There is reason to believe, from observations made by William Penn himself, that throughout his youth he was repeatedly visited by the Day-Spring from on high, convicting him of that which was evil in his ways, and bringing him into serious thoughtfulness. While at college, his a.s.sociates appear to have been those of a religious cast of character like himself, and who, with him, were greatly influenced by the teaching and advice of Dr. Owen. It so happened that, while much controversy was going on among the scholars relative to religious opinions and practices, Thomas Loe came to Oxford, and held several meetings. To these meetings William Penn and his a.s.sociates went, and a deep impression was made upon their minds by the powerful preaching of this devoted servant of Christ. They declined being present at what were now the regular "services" of the college, and did not refrain from speaking depreciatingly of what they designated as the "Popish doctrines and usages" re-introduced among them. For this they were lectured and fined. With the ardor and indiscretion of youth, this supposed indignity was highly resented by them. They not only held private meetings for wors.h.i.+p and religious exhortation and prayer, but some of them refused to wear the student's gown and cap, and in some instances tore them off of those they met. How far William Penn was implicated in the latter wrong-doing is not known; but his positive refusal to wear the usual garb, his bold denunciation of the doctrine and practices he believed to be wrong, and his courageous defence of the gospel truths he had heard from Thomas Loe, brought upon him the enmity of the Masters in power, and he was expelled the University.

Admiral Penn, who had set his heart upon preparing his son for realizing to the full the ambitious hopes and aims entertained by himself for his family, appears to have been little qualified to understand his son's character, or to rightly estimate the principles that actuated him. His pride was mortified, and, as he thought, his promising schemes were blasted. He received William with anger, and for a time would hardly deign to speak to him. Accustomed to command, and to be obeyed without question, he ordered him to give up his newly-formed views of religious duty, and to hold no further intercourse with those who had shared in his rebellious opinions and course. Enraged on finding that his authority, though seconded by the filial affection of his child, was powerless for removing his religious convictions, he resorted to the use of his cane, followed by solitary confinement in his room, and then banishment from the family.

It was not long, however, before his good sense convinced him that the object he had in view was not to be obtained by severity. He resolved to change his mode of attack, and try if what could not be gained by force might not be brought about by the seductions of a life of gayety and pleasure. Learning that a number of young men, sons of persons considered to be of high families, were about to go on to the Continent and spend some time in study and travelling, he decided to send William with them. Accordingly, furnished with letters that would introduce him into what the world considered the best society, he went to Paris; and, fascinated by the courtly and gay scenes of the company into which he found himself welcomed as an admired guest, he soon caught the worldly spirit that presided over their festivities, and his serious, Quaker-like impressions appeared to pa.s.s away, like the morning dew before the burning rays of the sun. He did not, however, allow pleasure to wean him from study. He went to Saumur, and placing himself under the tuition of the learned Moses Amyrault, applied himself to the study of the language and literature of the country, embracing the philosophic basis of divinity. Travelling into Italy, he made himself acquainted with its language, and gratified his taste for the works of the masters in art.

On the breaking out of the war with the Dutch, the Admiral called his son William home, where he arrived after an absence of two years. All trace of the religious seriousness and conscientious restraint that had marked his conduct and manner when he left was gone, and his father was delighted to find his son wearing the carriage and displaying the accomplishments of a self-possessed man of the world. He was at once introduced at Court, and had the opportunity to become acquainted with many who stood high in the brilliant but profligate society that filled the saloons of Whitehall.

William Penn now entered Lincoln's Inn as a student of law, and in 1665, when twenty-one years of age, there seemed every probability of his making an accomplished courtier, and a successful compet.i.tor for the honors of this world. Few could enter life with more flattering and apparently better-grounded prospects of attaining to all that would gratify a mind with strong intellectual powers, and naturally ambitious of preferment. His manly form, blooming with health, betokened physical strength and endurance. His disposition, though lively and active, was marked by docility and sweetness. He possessed ready wit, and his good mental abilities had been well developed and trained by careful culture, and strengthened by extensive and profound literary attainments. Men high in power and place smiled upon him. His father enjoyed close intimacy with the Duke of York, heir presumptive to the crown, and eagerly sought to secure for his son the glory and riches of the world, which courted his acceptance.

The Admiral having been appointed by the Duke of York to accompany him in command of the fleet, took William as one of his staff; but after a short absence the latter was sent home with a dispatch to the King. The plague was now spreading in London, and soon the whole aspect of the city was sadly changed. The awful scenes of death that were daily occurring and struck the stoutest hearts with dismay, brought to the sensitive mind of the gay young man conviction of the uncertainty of life, and warning of the necessity to prepare for its sudden termination. The Holy Spirit again broke up his false rest, showed him the emptiness of all worldly grandeur, and wooed him to follow Christ Jesus in the regeneration.

After a cruise of about two months, his father returned, flushed with success in the sanguinary contest in which he had been engaged. He found William again serious, and indisposed to continue the course upon which, but a short time before, he had exultantly entered. The increased honors and emoluments heaped on the victorious sailor by the royal brothers, made him still more fearful lest the foolish whimsies, as he thought them, of his son, would yet disappoint his hopes of the hereditary honors that might be settled upon him. Large accession to his Irish estate, derived from royal bounty as a reward for the service rendered, made it necessary that some one should look after his interest there; and having experienced the good effect, as he considered it, of placing his son within the dazzling circle of gay and fas.h.i.+onable life, he hurried him across the Channel, with letters of introduction to the Duke of Ormond, then Lord Deputy of Ireland.

William found the vice-regal Court comparatively free from the dissipation and loose morals of that which surrounded Charles II., and he soon seemed to enter heartily into the enjoyment it afforded. He joined an expedition sent, under the command of Lord Airan, to quell an insurrection that broke out among the garrison at Carrickfergus, and for a while was so excited by the spirit and enterprise attending active military life, that he became anxious to adopt it as a profession. But his father, when consulted on the subject, decidedly objected, and it was given up.

But He who watches over the workmans.h.i.+p of his hand, and seeks to save that which is lost, was not leaving William Penn to wander in the paths of folly, without the reproofs of instruction, and in mercy, by his witness in the heart, inclining him to accept those reproofs as the way to life; and it was not long before he was brought to a stand, and made to feel that he must then make his election between the life of a votary of this world and that of a self-denying disciple of a crucified Saviour.

Shangarry Castle, the newly-acquired estate of the Admiral, was near to Cork, and when not employed in bringing the place and the affairs connected with it into order, William was often in the town, where he had been well acquainted when a boy. Having one day, while there, gone into the shop of a woman Friend whom he had formerly known, to make a purchase, and finding she did not recognize him, he introduced himself, and entered into conversation with her; recalling to her recollection the meeting held by Thomas Loe at his father's house. Upon her expressing surprise at his memory of the events, he replied, he thought he would never forget them, and that, if he knew where that Friend was, he would go to hear him again, though it was a hundred miles off. She told him he need not go so far, for that Friend was now in Cork, and was to have a meeting the next day. Curious again to hear one who had arrested his attention when a boy, and seriously impressed him by his ministry, when at Oxford, he went to the meeting; and after a time Thomas Loe stood up with the expression, "There is a faith that overcomes the world, and there is a faith that is overcome by the world." It struck deep into the heart of William Penn, who was then made to feel keenly that he had been long striving against or slighting his known duty to his Maker, and allowing the world to overcome the drawing of his heavenly Father's love, to bring him out from the thraldom of sin; and as the preacher with fervid eloquence dwelt on the fruits of such faith, he was thoroughly broken down, and wept much. After the meeting he went with Thomas Loe to a Friend's house, where they had a free conversation, and from that time he became a regular attender of the meetings of Friends. As the Light of Christ shone with more and more clearness upon his soul, he saw how grievously he had departed from the right way of the Lord, and was brought under deep repentance therefor.

Convinced of the truth of the doctrines held by Friends, he heartily embraced them, and firmly resolved to live and die by them, whatever sacrifices it might cost him.

Being at a meeting in Cork in 1667, he, with others, was arrested by officers who came to break the meeting up, and was sent to prison: though the Magistrate, who recognized him as the son of the lord of Shangarry Castle, offered to set him at liberty if he would give his word "to keep the peace," which he refused. From the prison he addressed a letter to the Earl of Ossory, giving an account of the arrest and imprisonment of himself and friends, showing their innocence, and pleading the liberty of conscience demanded by the precepts of the gospel. An order was immediately dispatched by the Earl for his release; and as it was soon noised abroad that Admiral Penn's son had turned Quaker, the Earl wrote to his father, communicating the information.

Startled and annoyed by the intelligence, the Admiral ordered William to come home immediately, which he did. Josiah Cole, a minister in the Society of Friends, met him at Bristol; accompanied him to London, and being deeply interested for his stability and preservation, went with him to his father's house. Fully as William had adopted the principles of Friends, and many as were the baptisms he had already pa.s.sed through, he had not yet adopted the plain dress that distinguished them from others; and his father observing this, and that his rapier still hung by his side, hoped that his friend the Earl had been wrongly informed; and he treated him and his friend during the evening with ordinary courtesy, without alluding to the report that had reached him.

Observing, on the next day, that William did not uncover his head when he came into his presence,--in those days men generally wore their hats in the house,--and that he used thee and thou when addressing him, he demanded an explanation. William frankly told him that, having been convinced of the truth of the religion of the Quakers, he was conscientiously scrupulous against taking off his hat as a token of respect, using the plural language, or compliments. An angry altercation on the part of the father, and deeply distressing on the part of the son, succeeded, and was more than once repeated. Finally, the former, finding that neither argument nor threats could shake the latter's firm conviction that to comply with his father's wishes would be to violate his duty to his Lord and Master, told him he might thee and thou whom he pleased, and keep on his hat, except in the presence of the King, the Duke of York, and himself; but to or before these he should not thee or thou, or stand covered; and the son, moved by his father's distress and his own filial affection, asked time for consideration before giving a decisive reply. This was reluctantly granted, though he was forbidden to see any Friend, and William retired, to pour out his soul in prayer for right direction and strength to follow it. At their next interview William told his father that he could not comply with his wishes without violating his duty to his G.o.d, and must therefore decline. Irritated at what he considered his son's obstinacy, and foolish determination to sacrifice the worldly honors soliciting his acceptance, for a mere whim, the Admiral upbraided him in no measured terms, and when convinced that he would not be changed, turned him out of doors, with the threat that he would disinherit him. Before leaving his home and family, William a.s.sured his father how deeply he was grieved; not so much because of his being driven from his paternal roof and brought to poverty, as because he incurred his displeasure, and was thought by him to be an undutiful child. He then left the house, resigned to make the sacrifice required, and "choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of G.o.d, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season; esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt; for he had respect unto the recompense of reward." Friends who knew the circ.u.mstances under which William Penn was placed, received him gladly; and his mother, who yearned over the son of her love, and greatly mourned the course pursued towards him, took means to have him supplied with money sufficient to obtain food and raiment, and so managed as to have an occasional interview with him. It was not long after, that, laying aside his rapier and all ornamentation of dress, he appeared in the plain garb of a Quaker.

Some years after, when writing respecting the trials that befell him about this time, he speaks of "the bitter mockings and scornings that fell upon me, the displeasure of my parents, the cruelty and invective of the priests, the strangeness of all my companions, and what a sign and wonder they made of me; but above all, that great cross of resisting and watching against my own vain affections and thoughts."

As he was given up to endure the baptisms necessary for his purification and refinement, his Divine Master brought him up out of the horrible pit, set his feet upon Himself, the Rock of Ages, and made him a partaker of the powers of the world to come; and having thus prepared him for the work, bestowed on him a gift in the ministry of the gospel of life and salvation. He first came forth in this service in 1668, about two years after his convincement under the ministry of Thomas Loe, and in the twenty-fourth year of his age. His uniformly consistent conduct, and careful maintenance of affectionate filial respect toward his exasperated parent, finally won upon him so far that he permitted him to take up his abode in his house; though it was long after he had been so living, before he would have much intercourse with him. But when, sharing in the persecution which Friends were then suffering, his son was cast into prison, it was said he secretly used his influence to obtain his liberty.

In 1668 Thomas Loe was called away from the church militant to enter upon his reward in the church triumphant. When on his death-bed, he said to William Penn, who, with other Friends, was waiting on him, "Bear thy cross and stand faithful to G.o.d; then He will give thee an everlasting crown of glory, that shall not be taken from thee. There is no other way which shall prosper than that which the holy men of old walked in. G.o.d hath brought immortality to light, and life immortal is felt. Glory!

glory! to Him, for He is worthy of it. His love overcomes my heart; nay, my cup runs over; glory be to His Name forever." To George Whitehead he remarked, "The Lord is good to me; this day He hath covered me with glory," and as life was leaving his body, he sang, "Glory, glory to Thee forever!" and so sank to sleep in Jesus.

In 1668 William Penn was imprisoned on account of one of his publications, "The Sandy Foundation Shaken." It resulted from himself and George Whitehead having been unfairly prevented from orally replying to a Calvinistic preacher who had a.s.sailed the doctrines of Friends. In this tract he was not so guarded in the language he used, but that he was misunderstood by many, and supposed to be unsound on the fundamental doctrines of the proper divinity and meritorious death and atonement of Christ. The publication attracted general attention, and gave deep offence to some of the Prelates, who either thought it beneath their dignity to enter into argument with a polemic so young, and as they might think, so unskilled in divinity, or, being more in accordance with their practice and the spirit of the times, and more likely to silence their opponent, they applied to the Secretary of State, and induced him to issue a warrant for his arrest; which William Penn hearing of, went and voluntarily gave himself up, and was committed to the Tower. It was evident that William Penn had some bitter enemies, for a letter was picked up near where he had been standing when he surrendered himself, which contained matter of so treasonable a character, that Lord Arlington, the Secretary of State, on receiving and reading it, went immediately to the Tower and had an interview with him, in which he soon satisfied himself that William Penn knew nothing of the note, and was innocent of any conspiracy.

There had been no indictment, no trial, conviction, nor sentence pa.s.sed upon the prisoner, and yet he was kept in solitary confinement for about eight months; during which time most of his family and friends were forbidden access to him, and the "Bishop of London" sent him word he should either make a public recantation or die in prison. But though thus closely immured as to his body, his spirit was free, and the word of the Lord was not bound. He prepared himself to weary out the malice of his enemies by patience and meekness, and to be resigned to lay down his life within the walls of the Tower, if the sacrifice was called for, rather than violate his conscience.

To occupy his time profitably, and, as far as he had ability, promote the cause of truth and righteousness, he employed his pen; and his thoughts, probably taking their direction and coloring from the afflictive circ.u.mstances under which he and many other members of the Society to which he was joined were then placed, he wrote the work, since become so celebrated, "No Cross, No Crown." This treatise is admitted to be of extraordinary merit; not only in a literary point of view, considering the short time and the circ.u.mstances under which it was produced, but in the clear and cogent manner in which it presents the sinful indulgences of the great body of the professors of Christianity, and enforces the self-denying requisitions of the religion of Christ.

Finding that some parts of his "Sandy Foundation Shaken" had been misunderstood or misrepresented, so as to give currency to the charge of his being unsound in relation to the divinity and atonement of Christ, William Penn at once wrote an explanation of what had been misrepresented, and in exposition of his views on these cardinal points of Christian faith. This was ent.i.tled, "Innocency with her Open Face."

In this work he says, "Let all know, that I pretend to know no other name by which remission, atonement, and salvation can be obtained, but Jesus Christ the Saviour, who is the power and wisdom of G.o.d." a.s.serting his full belief in the divinity of Christ, he observes, "He that is the everlasting Wisdom, the divine Power, the true Light, the only Saviour, the creating Word of all things, whether visible or invisible, and their Upholder by his own power, is without contradiction, G.o.d; but all these qualifications and divine properties are, by the concurrent testimony of Scripture, ascribed to the Lord Jesus Christ, therefore without scruple, I call and believe him really to be the mighty G.o.d."

In replying to Dr. John Collenges, some years after the publication of "The Sandy Foundation Shaken," who had at that time brought forward exceptions to its doctrines, William Perm again explicitly a.s.serts his full belief in the proper divinity of, and atonement made by, Christ: and in the doctrine of justification as held by Friends at that time and ever since. "I do _heartily believe_ that Jesus Christ is the only true and everlasting G.o.d, by whom all things were made that are made, in the heavens above or the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth: that He is as omnipotent, so omniscient and omnipresent, therefore G.o.d." And in regard to the atonement and justification, he thus writes, "He that would not have me mistaken, on purpose to render his charge against me just, whether it be so or no, may see in _my apology_ for 'The Sandy Foundation Shaken,' that I otherwise meant than I am charactered. In short, I say, both as to this and the other point of justification, that Jesus Christ was a _sacrifice for sin_; that He was set forth to be _a propitiation for the sins of the whole world_; to declare G.o.d's righteousness, _for the remission of sins that are pa.s.sed_, etc.; to all that repented and had faith in His Son. Therein the love of G.o.d appeared, that He declared His good-will _thereby_ to be reconciled; Christ bearing away the sins that are pa.s.sed, as the scape-goat did of old; not excluding inward work; for till that is begun, none can be benefitted; though it is not the work, but G.o.d's free love, that remits and blots out; of which the death of Christ and His sacrificing himself was a most certain declaration and confirmation. In short, _that_ declared remission to all who believe and obey, for the sins that are past; which is the _first part_ of Christ's work (as it is a king's to pardon a traitor before he advanceth him), and hitherto the acquittance imputes a righteousness--inasmuch as men, _on true repentance_, are imputed as clean of guilt as if they had never sinned--and thus far are justified; but the _completion_ of this by the working out of sin inherent, must be by the Power and Spirit of Christ in the heart, destroying the old man and his deeds, and bringing in the new and everlasting righteousness. So that which I wrote against, is such doctrine as extended Christ's death and obedience, _not to the first_, but to the second part of justification; not the pacifying of conscience as to past sin; but to complete salvation without cleansing and purging from all filthiness of flesh and spirit, by the internal operation of his holy power and Spirit."

Notwithstanding William Penn is thus clear and explicit in correcting the misunderstanding of his Christian faith, to which some of his expressions in "The Sandy Foundation Shaken" had given rise, and in his full avowal of his belief in the Deity of Christ, and the atonement made by Him for the sins of mankind; as also in the doctrine of justification by faith in Him; yet those who are anxious to represent Friends as Socinians, or as denying the atonement of Christ, are still so unjust to his unequivocal and widely-published opinions on these points, and so ungenerous to his character and memory, as well as untruthful in their representation of Friends, as to claim him as authority for their disbelief in these fundamental doctrines.

Though he had addressed a communication to Lord Arlington, Secretary of State, on whose warrant he was committed to the Tower, in which he denied the charges brought against him, so far as he had been able to ascertain them; declaring they were the result of ignorance and malice, and requesting that he might have an audience with the King, in order to hear the accusation of his enemies, and have an opportunity to defend himself; or if he could not have access to the King, then to be brought, with his accusers, face to face before him, the Secretary of State, it was disregarded, nor was the rigor of his confinement abated. "Innocency with her Open Face" had, however, produced a change of public feeling towards him; and his father, who could not but respect the consistent firmness and Christian endurance of his son, and who had himself been pa.s.sing through a severe ordeal from the machinations of his enemies in the House of Commons, visited him in his dungeon, and began to use the influence he continued to hold with the Duke of York and the King, on his behalf. Whether at his instance or not is not known, but Arlington, though declining to give audience to William Penn himself, sent the King's Chaplain, Stillingfleet, to have an interview with him, and ascertain what concessions he would be willing to make to the offended hierarchy. Their conversation appears to have been conducted in a friendly spirit and manner: the Chaplain holding up the brilliant future that would be realized by Penn if he would recant some of his opinions, and dwelling on the favorable disposition of the Duke of York and King towards him. William told him, "The Tower is the worst argument in the world," and that nothing could induce him to violate his conscientious convictions, so there seemed nothing gained. But suddenly and unexpectedly an order came from the King for his release, and he left the gloomy confines of his prison-house without making any concession or accepting a pardon. The discharge was believed to have been the work of the Duke of York, and William ever cherished a grateful feeling towards him for this generous act.

In the year 1670, Friends in England underwent great persecution and suffering on account of their religious principles. The law against Dissenters, that had just expired, had failed in its object, and it was therefore determined to try another method, which enlisted the cupidity of the depraved cla.s.s as informers, and used the almost unrestrained functions of officials clothed with absolute power to impoverish and hara.s.s those who met together for Divine wors.h.i.+p in a way differing from the "Church of England," in the hope of rendering such unable to live in their native country. Accordingly a third "Act to prevent and suppress seditious conventicles" was pa.s.sed by Parliament, and received the royal a.s.sent in the Fourth month, 1670.

Persecution now ran riot; and the power being by design placed in the hands of the most profligate and debased, rapine, havoc, and impoverishment were spread over the nation by the graceless informers, abetted by a venal magistracy, eager to share in the plunder.

But the storm, biting and incessant as it was, was no more effective in deterring Friends from a.s.sembling for the purpose of wors.h.i.+pping their Almighty Father in Heaven, than that which had been raised under the former "Conventicle Act." Grievously spoiled and cruelly abused as they were, they knew their enemies could truthfully allege nothing against them but that which concerned the law of their G.o.d; and in the sincerity of their hearts they made their appeal unto Him, with full confidence that He would extend his fatherly, protecting care over them; would cause the wrath of man to bring Him praise, and when He saw it was enough, would restrain the remainder of wrath, and limit the rage and cruelty of their merciless tormentors. Deprived of the use of their meeting-houses, they a.s.sembled as near to them as they could get; and beaten, bruised, imprisoned, and fined, as many of each company were almost sure to be, the next meeting-day found others at the same place, engaged in the performance of the same indispensable duty; ready to encounter, with meekness and patience, the wrath of their persecutors, and to suffer for the maintenance of their rights as men and their obligation as Christians.

Their treatment in London, bad as it was, was thought to be less severe than in many other parts of the Kingdom. Yet in that city, it was a common occurrence for those who attended their meetings for wors.h.i.+p, to be beaten with the muskets of the foot-soldiers, and the sabres of the dragoons, until the blood ran down upon the ground; women, sometimes young maidens, were maltreated in the most shameful manner.

On the fourteenth of the Eighth month, 1670, William Penn and William Mead were taken from the meeting held in the street, as near to Grace-church meeting-house as they could get; the former being engaged in ministry at the time. They were brought to trial on the first of the Ninth month, before the Mayor, Samuel Starling; the Recorder, John Howell; several Aldermen, and the Sheriffs. William Mead had formerly been a captain in the Commonwealth's army, but having embraced the truths of the Gospel as held by Friends, he of course gave up all connection with military life, and is mentioned in the indictment as a linen-draper, in London; though it is probable he resided most of his time in Ess.e.x, where he had a considerable landed estate. He afterwards married a daughter of Margaret Fell.

The indictment charged that they, with other persons, to the number of three hundred, with force and arms, unlawfully and tumultuously a.s.sembled together, on the fifteenth day of August, 1670, and the said William Penn, by agreement made beforehand with William Mead, preached and spoke to the a.s.sembly; by reason whereof, a great concourse and tumult of people continued a long time in the street, in contempt of the King and his law, to the great disturbance of his peace, and to the terror of many of his liege people and subjects.

The character of the trial might be judged by the first incident that occurred. Being brought before the Court on the third of the Ninth month, an officer took off their hats on their entrance; whereupon the Mayor angrily ordered him to put them on again; which being done, the Recorder fined them forty marks apiece, for alleged contempt of Court, by appearing before it with their hats on. This trial has become celebrated, not only on account of the ability with which William Penn--then in his twenty-sixth year--defended his cause, and sustained the inalienable rights of Englishmen, but for the inflexible firmness of the jury in maintaining their own rights, and adhering to their conscientious convictions; notwithstanding the iniquitous determination of the Court, to enforce its own will, to convict and punish the prisoners at the bar, and to oblige the jury to become their tools for that purpose.

The indictment was incorrect, even in the statement of the time when the offence was said to have taken place; as it was on the fourteenth of the month, and not on the fifteenth, and therefore it ought to have been quashed by the Court, and the prisoners discharged. The evidence of the three witnesses examined was altogether inconclusive, but William Penn boldly said to the Court, "We confess ourselves to be so far from recanting or declining to vindicate the a.s.sembling of ourselves, to preach, pray, or wors.h.i.+p the eternal, holy, just G.o.d, that we declare to all the world, that we do believe it to be our indispensable duty to meet incessantly on so good an account; nor shall all the powers upon earth be able to divert us from reverencing and adoring the G.o.d who made us." He then asked the Court to tell him upon what law the indictment and proceedings were founded. The Recorder answering, the common law, Penn requested him to tell him what law that was; for if it was common, it must be easy to define it. But the Recorder refused to tell him, saying it was _lex non scripta_, and it was not to be expected that he could say at once what it was, for some had been thirty or forty years studying it. Penn observed that Lord c.o.ke had declared that common law was common right, and common right the great chartered privileges confirmed by former Kings. The Recorder, greatly excited, told him he was a troublesome fellow, and it was not to the honor of the Court to suffer him to go on; but Penn calmly insisted that the Court was bound to explain to the prisoners at their bar the law they had violated, and upon which they were being tried; and he told them plainly that, unless they did so, they were violating the chartered rights of Englishmen, and acting upon an arbitrary determination to sacrifice those rights to their own illegal designs. Whereupon the Mayor and Recorder ordered him to be turned into the bail-dock. William Penn,--"These are but so many vain exclamations; is this justice or true judgment? Must I, therefore, be taken away because I plead for the fundamental laws of England?"

Then, addressing himself to the jury, he said: "However, this I leave upon your consciences who are of the jury, and my sole judges, that if these ancient fundamental laws which relate to liberty and property, and are not limited to particular persuasions in matters of religion, must not be indispensably maintained and observed, who can say he hath a right to the coat upon his back. Certainly our liberties are openly to be invaded, our children enslaved, our families ruined, and our estates led away in triumph, by every st.u.r.dy beggar and malicious informer, as their trophies, but our pretended forfeits for conscience' sake. The Lord of heaven and earth will be judge between us in this matter." The hearing of this emphatic speech was so troublesome to the Recorder, that he cried, "Be silent there!" At which William Penn returned, "I am not to be silent in a cause wherein I am so much concerned, and not only myself, but many ten thousand families besides."

Penn being thrust into the bail-dock, William Mead was called up, and was asked if he was present at the meeting. Which question he refused to answer, on the ground that he could not be required to accuse himself.

He then told the jury that the indictment was false in many particulars, and that William Penn was right in demanding the law upon which it was based. It charged him with a.s.sembling by force and arms, tumultuously and illegally, which was untrue; and he informed them of Lord c.o.ke's definition of a rout or riot, or unlawful a.s.sembly. Here the Recorder interrupted him, and endeavored to cast ridicule on what he had said, by taking off his hat and saying, "I thank you for telling us what the law is." On Mead replying sharply to a taunting speech of Richard Brown, the old and inveterate enemy of Friends, the Mayor told him "he deserved to have his tongue cut out." He, too, was put into the bail-dock, and the Court proceeded to charge the jury. Whereupon William Penn cried out with a loud voice to the jury, to take notice, that it was illegal to charge the jury in the prisoners' absence, and without giving them opportunity to plead their cause. The Recorder ordered him to be put down. William Mead then remonstrating against such "barbarous and unjust proceedings," the Court ordered them both to be put into a filthy, stinking place, called "the hole." After an absence of an hour and a half, eight of the jury came down agreed, but four staid up and would not a.s.sent. The Court sent for the four, and menaced them for dissenting. When the jury was all together, the prisoners were brought to the bar, and the verdict demanded. The Foreman said William Penn was guilty of speaking in Grace-church Street. The Court endeavored to extort something more, but the Foreman declared he was not authorized to say anything but what he had given in. The Recorder, highly displeased, told them they might as well say nothing, and they were sent back. They soon returned with a written verdict, signed by all of them, that they found William Penn guilty of speaking or preaching in Grace-church Street, and William Mead not guilty. This so incensed the Court, that they told them they _would_ have a verdict they would accept, and that "they should be locked up without meat, drink, fire, or tobacco: you shall not think thus to abuse the Court. We will have a verdict, by the help of G.o.d, or you shall starve for it." Against this outrageous infraction of justice and right, William Penn remonstrated, saying: "My jury, who are my judges, ought not to be thus menaced; their verdict should be free, and not compelled; the Bench ought to wait upon them, but not forestall them. I do desire that justice may be done me, and that the arbitrary resolves of the Bench may not be made the measure of my jury's verdict." The Recorder cried out, "Stop that prating fellow's mouth, or put him out of Court." Penn insisted that the agreement of the twelve men was a verdict, and that the Clerk of the Court should record it; and, addressing the jury, he said: "You are Englishmen; mind your privileges; give not away your right!" To which some of them replied, "Nor will we ever do it."

The jury were sent to their room, and the prisoners to jail, the former being deprived of food, drink, and every accommodation. The same verdict was returned the next morning; calling from the Bench upbraiding and threats, similar to those so lavishly bestowed on the jury before: the Recorder, in his pa.s.sion, going so far as to say, "Till now, I never understood the reason of the policy and prudence of the Spaniards in suffering the Inquisition among them; and certainly, it will never be well with us till something like the Spanish Inquisition be in England."

Again the jury was sent back to their room, and the prisoners returned to Newgate; both being so kept for another twenty-four hours; the jury without victuals, drink, or other accommodations. The next morning they were again brought into Court, and the usual question respecting their verdict being put, the Foreman first replied, "You have our written verdict already." The Recorder refusing to allow it to be read, the Clerk repeated the query, "How say you, is William Penn guilty or not guilty?" The Foreman answered: "Not guilty." The same verdict was given in the case of William Mead. The jury being separately questioned, they all made the same reply. The Recorder, exasperated at their decision and firmness, after pouring out his invectives upon them, said: "The Court fines you forty marks a man, and imprisonment till paid."

William Penn now demanded his liberty; but the Mayor said, "No, you are in for your fines." "Fines! for what?" replied Penn. "For contempt of Court," was the answer. Penn then declared that, according to the laws, no man could be fined without a trial by jury; but the Mayor ordered him and Mead first to the bail-dock, and then to the jail; where the jury was likewise consigned.

But this n.o.ble stand of the jury for law and right was not allowed to terminate in the punishment of these upright men, and the continued gratification of the revenge of the unjust Judges. After ineffectually demanding of the Court their release two or three times, a writ of _habeas corpus_ was granted by Judge Vaughan; who, upon hearing the case, decided their fine and imprisonment illegal, and set them free.

The usage of the Courts had not before been reduced to a legal and positive form. It had been the occasional practice of the Bench to impose fines on "inconvenient juries," and had long remained practically an unsettled question, whether a jury had a right so far to exercise its own discretion as to bring in a verdict contrary to the sense of the Court. This important point was now decided; the Judges--there were others a.s.sociated with Vaughan--adopting the views that it was the special function of the jury to judge of the evidence, and that the Bench, though at liberty to offer suggestions for the consideration of the jurymen, might not lawfully coerce them.