Chapter VIII: Conclusion

THE six months' imprisonment to which Master Drayton the hatter had been condemned came to an end at last, but not before his health had become so greatly impaired by the close confinement and impure air of the prison that the doctor greatly feared he would never be strong again, more especially as he would now be known as a Quaker, and consequently watched and harassed by the authorities upon the smallest provocation.

The thought of this and the sight of her husband's pale worn face soon overcame Dame Drayton's reluctance to give up her home and friends in England, and join the band of Quakers who were soon to sail for New Jersey in His Majesty's plantations of America.

This year 1677 was likely to be one of blessed memory in the history of the Society of Friends, for Sir William Penn had carried into practical effect the dream of Master Drayton, and had spent a portion of his wealth in the purchase of land upon which his poor persecuted friends could settle, and worship God according to the dictates of their conscience, none daring to make them afraid.

Bessie's father had been despatched with a party of convicts to the older settlement of Massachusetts; but as Quakers were persecuted almost as bitterly at Boston as in London, an agent had been sent by Sir William to buy the prisoner at the auction of the convicts, which would take place as soon as the vessel arrived.

Westland was a more robust man than his friend the hatter, and, thanks to the care of Friends outside the prison, he had not suffered so severely as the London tradesman.

The lax rules of the prison had given Westland an opportunity of preaching the gospel to the prisoners confined with him, and though many mocked and jeered at his warnings, a few were impressed with the earnestness of his faith; and this was so great a comfort to his ardent soul that he forgot the discomfort of his surroundings in the joy of knowing he had been the means of awakening some souls from the night and sleep of sin, to seek the Saviour who could give to them a new and better life.

As it had been decreed that his wife must remain in Bridewell until he could earn the money to pay her passage to the plantations, it was at first feared that she would have to remain in prison for a much longer time than her husband; but although Sir William Penn was known to be an obstinate Quaker, many about the Court who had known his father were willing to do him a favour, in the hope of drawing him back to what they deemed was his rightful position in society; and by the interest of some of these it was at last arranged that Bessie's mother should be released when the party of Friends were ready to sail from Gravesend.

Bessie was allowed to go and see her father just before he was taken from Newgate; and now to hear at last that her mother would be released to go with them to the new strange home across the seas was almost too much joy for the poor girl.

"We shall see her, Dorothy! we shall see her! thee and me; and we shall not be afraid of people knowing we are Quakers. Verily, God hath been good in giving us such a friend as Sir William Penn, who is indeed our champion and protector."

But Audrey was by no means so delighted as Bessie over the impending change. The two girls had learned to know and love each other by this time, for each had been drawn to the other by the mutual helpfulness that had kept business and household going during the long illness of Dame Drayton and the imprisonment of her husband.

It had seemed impossible at first that pretty, fashionable Audrey Lowe, whose father lived by ministering at a steeple-house, and the stern, uncompromising Bessie Westland could ever be friends, in the closest sense of that word. But circumstances had thrown them so closely together the last few months, that they had learned to look below the surface they each so much disliked in the other, and there they could recognise the true spirit of Christ Jesus, who came not to be ministered unto, but to minister.

In spite of her mother's chafings and warnings lest their fashionable friends should find out that they were related to Quakers, Audrey Lowe insisted upon spending the greater part of her time at Soper Lane during her aunt's illness; so that the girls were necessarily thrown together a good deal, and thus had learned to know and appreciate the selflessness each displayed in working for Dame Drayton and her family. When at last the day of parting came, it was not such an unmingled joy to Bessie as she had anticipated, for her heart clung to this friend, who was so like and yet so unlike herself in all externals of character and surroundings.

"I shall never be able to say a word against steeple-houses and the people who go there, after knowing thee, Audrey," she said, the last evening they spent together.

They were sitting on a box in the keeping-room, waiting for the waggon to come and fetch the last of their goods to the wherry, which would carry them to the schooner chartered by Sir William Penn to convey them to their new home. The girls sat hand in hand, their hearts too full to say much, until Bessie spoke about the steeple-houses.

"I am glad," said Audrey in a whisper, "for I never liked to hear thee speak of what I loved and reverenced with such contempt. I cannot understand how thee can do it, when it is God's house of prayer."

But this was treading on dangerous ground, and had been the most thorny subject of discussion between the two girls; so Audrey hastened to add—

"I have learned to understand what a real Quaker is from knowing thee, Bessie; and I shall always try to help them if I can, and they need my help."

"Ah, and I fear there will be many poor Friends left behind here in London who will need all the help man can give them," answered Bessie. "For we cannot all go in this ship to another land; and Friend William Penn says it would not be good for us or for England to carry all the Quakers away. We have had our share of the battle, and fought for the truth and for liberty of conscience, as God strengthened us to do. Now He will strengthen others to take our places, while we go to plant the truth in other lands. Although Friend William Penn hath been imprisoned for the truth again and again, he will not come with us now, but stay and fight the battle of religious liberty here; for it can only grow and become strong through fighting and struggling—hard as it may be for us who suffer."

"Oh, Bessie, I cannot bear to think there should be all this fighting about it," said Audrey, in a pained tone.

"It hurts thee only to think of it," said Bessie, "and therefore God hath not called thee to this work, but to be a comforter of those who suffer, and help to make them strong and gentle. Thou art tender and loving and pitiful. I thought scornfully of these things once; but since I have known thee, I have learned to see that God hath work for all in His world. For it is His world, Audrey, in spite of the sin and pain and trouble that wicked people make in it. Now I want to fight this wickedness, and so does my father. But it may be God hath other methods, only I have not learned them. But I am glad—oh, so glad!—that God hath called my mother and father, and all of us, out of the fight for a little while—or, at least, this sort of fighting," added Bessie.

"The fight can never be over, while we have our own sin and selfishness to struggle against," said Audrey quickly.

"I know. I have learned that since I have been here," replied Bessie. "There was not time to think of much besides the other sort of fighting before. We needed all our courage to be faithful and true, and preach the gospel to every creature, as the Lord Jesus commanded; but since I have been here, dwelling in safety and comfort, such as I never knew before, I have learned there is another battle to fight, and other victories to be won, and I have been trying to do this as well."

"I know, Bessie," whispered Audrey, "I know it has not been easy for you to do just the everyday work that was so important to aunt and uncle. You are Brave Bessie Westland—the bravest girl I ever knew, especially in what you have done for aunt and all of us here."

They were interrupted at this point, for the box on which they were seated was wanted, and there was no further opportunity of talking.

At daybreak they were going by water to Limehouse Hole, where a wherry was to be in readiness to convey them to Gravesend. The whole party who were going were Quakers, many of them in broken health from imprisonment in unwholesome gaols. Some were bringing all their household goods, as Master Drayton was doing; while others, like Bessie's mother, possessed but the few rags they wore when leaving prison. Most of them came from London and its neighbourhood; but a few were brought from neighbouring gaols, the authorities giving them up to save, the expense of transporting them as slaves to the plantations.

Audrey and her mother bade the Draytons farewell the night before they started. It was hard for the sisters to part after this short reunion, for they too had begun to understand each other better than they had done before, and whatever their differences of opinion might be, they were heartily at one in desiring that religious liberty should be the right of everybody, whatever name they might be called by; for, as Dame Lowe remarked, there were more silent martyrs in any cause than the world dreamed of; and, as Audrey added, there were not many like Brave Bessie Westland.

So the tears of parting had all been shed when the sun rose the next morning, and if they were not all as happy as Bessie herself and her two sisters, it was a calm and hopeful party of men and women who went on board the wherry at Limehouse Hole, and though most of them were being forcibly driven from their native land, they could yet look forward to the new home they were going to make in the unknown world beyond the seas. To many of the more timid of the company, seated among the baskets and bundles on board the wherry, the voyage, with its unknown perils, was the most fearful part of the trial, and if they could not have rested upon the arm of their Father in heaven, they would scarcely have braved its dangers even to escape persecution. But almost all among them had a nearer and dearer self in husband, wife, or children, to think of, and for their sakes the timid became brave, for the time at least, so that when the schooner was reached, where the prisoners had been already placed under the care of the captain, the party of Friends in the wherry were able to meet them with cheerful, hopeful words and greetings.

To Bessie and her sisters it was a moment of great joy, although a second look at the dear mother showed that the months spent in prison had left cruel marks upon her. The hair, so dark when she went away, was now quite white, they saw, as they looked more closely under the hood that covered her head. She was better clothed than most of those who had been brought from different gaols, for Dame Lowe and Audrey had made her a homely but useful outfit for the voyage, and some of the things had been taken by Friends to the prison the day before. For this thoughtful kindness Dame Westland was deeply grateful, since the rags she had been wearing would have been a pain and grief to Bessie, she knew, and to be able to meet her children decently clad was a great comfort.

Truly the passengers going on this voyage were of all sorts and conditions of men; but they were linked in the bonds of love to God, and the truth declared by the Lord Jesus Christ, and for this they had all suffered in mind, body, or estate, some being beggared, some maimed, some broken in health and hope alike, but all brave, true friends and brethren, ready to help each other and bear each other's burdens.

By the help of the same benefactor, under the guidance of God, they had been brought together to make a new home in a new country, and they resolved that, so far as it was possible, religious as well as civil liberty, should be the charter of the new homestead they were going to set up in New Jersey. It was to be a home and refuge for the persecuted Society of Friends. Sir William Penn had bought it, and they were to establish the faith of God upon it.

Later, perhaps, if the persecution of their people in England did not cease, he would endeavour to secure a larger territory in liquidation of a debt owing by the king, for money advanced by his father the admiral. Whether these larger plans would ever come to anything, the present band of pilgrims did not know; but, of course, it would largely depend upon the success of this venture, so every man and woman of the party felt that it would depend upon them whether or not this larger refuge could be founded, and all with one accord, who had heard the story, resolved to follow the example of Brave Bessie Westland.

MORRISON AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.