Chapter C: E.’ (6)

One Solomon Fromantle, a merchant, with whom I was well acquainted, was so grievously beaten, that he fell down and lost much of his blood in the street; and yet the barbarous troopers did not leave off beating him. His wife, a daughter of the aforesaid Edward Graunt, fearing lest he should be killed, fell down upon him, to cover and protect him from the blows with the hazard of her own body, as she herself told me in the presence of her said husband: a conjugal love and fidelity well worthy to be mentioned, and left upon record. And though she then did not receive very fierce blows; yet there were some women whose lot it was to be sorely beaten with clubs, whereinto iron spikes were driven, as among the rest an aged widow, who received no less than twelve such bloody blows on several parts of her body; and another woman was pierced in her loins with such a spiked club. An ancient man of sixty-five years was followed a great way by three on foot and one on horseback, and so beaten and bruised, that a woman, pitying this old man, spoke to these mischievous fellows to leave off; but this so incensed him that was on horseback, that he gave her a hard blow with his sword on the shoulder, with cursing and railing. This barbarity continued, till the persecutors seemed to be more wearied out than the persecuted, who seemed to grow valiant in these sore tribulations, how grievous soever. A great promoter of this furious violence was captain Turner, who drove on his troopers to act thus; nay, such was his malice, that once at the breaking up of a meeting, he not only gave order to beat the people, but also to spoil the doors, windows, and walls, so that the damage came to five and twenty pounds.

Now I could enter upon a large relation of the trial of many prisoners at Worcester, before the judges Hide and Terril; but since that trial was much after the same manner as that of John Crook, here before-mentioned at large, I will but cursorily make some mention of it. When the prisoners, being brought to the bar, asked, why they had been kept so long in prison; they were answered with the question, whether they would take the oath of allegiance. And endeavours were used to draw some to betray themselves, by asking them, where they had been on such a day. For if they had said, at meeting, then it would have appeared from their own mouth that they had acted contrary to the law; but they answered warily, that they were not bound to accuse themselves. Others by evidence were charged with having been at a meeting; and when they said, that their meetings were not always for public worship; but that they had also meetings to take care for widows, fatherless, and others that were indigent; yet it was said to the jury, that though there was no evidence, that there had been any preaching in the meeting, yet if they did but believe that the prisoners had kept a meeting for religious worship, it was sufficient for them to approve the indictment. And yet such proceedings in other cases would have been thought unwarrantable.

One Edward Bourn being imprisoned for having been at a meeting, and afterwards brought to his trial, the oath was tendered to him. Among other words he spoke in defence of himself, he said, ‘Suppose Christ and his apostles kept a meeting here in this time, would this act against conventicles also take hold of them?’ ‘Yes,’ said the judge, ‘it would.’ But bethinking himself, he said, ‘I won’t answer your questions; ye are no apostles.’ The conclusion was, that Bourn and several of his friends were fined each of them five pounds.

Now since those that were fined thus, did not use to pay the fines, judging that the thing which they were fined for was an indispensable duty they owed to God, and therefore they could not pay any such fine with a good conscience, the consequence thereof generally was imprisonment, and distraining of their goods, whereby some lost twice, and it may be, thrice as much as the fine amounted to. Some of the prisoners made it appear, that they had been somewhere else, and not in the meeting, at the house of one Robert Smith, at such time as the evidence declared by oath; yet because they gave no satisfactory answer to the question, whether they had not been there on that day, they were deemed guilty. The said Robert Smith was premunired: for the oath of allegiance being tendered to him, and he, menaced by the judge with a premunire, asked, for whom that law, for taking the said oath, was made, whether not for Papists. And on suspicion that some of that persuasion sat on the bench, he asked also, whether they, for the satisfaction of the people, there present, ought not also to take the oath. But the judge waived this, telling him, he must take the oath, or else sentence should be pronounced against him. Smith asked then, whether the example of Christ should decide the question; but the judge said, ‘I am not come here to dispute with you concerning the doctrine of Christ, but to inform you concerning the doctrine of the law.’ Then Smith was led away, and afterwards, when an indictment for his refusing the oath was drawn up, he was brought into the court again, and asked, whether he would answer to the indictment, or no; and the reasons he gave not being accepted, the judge said, before Smith had done speaking, ‘This is your sentence, and the judgment of the court, You shall be shut out of the king’s protection, and forfeit your personal estate to the king for ever, and your real estate during life.’ To this Robert said with a composed mind, ‘The Lord hath given, and if he suffers it to be taken away, his will be done.’ Thus Robert Smith suffered, with many more of his friends, there and elsewhere: all which I believe my life-time would not be sufficient to describe circumstantially.

Passing then by the other persecutions of this year, I will relate one remarkable case that happened in this year, 1663, where patience triumphed very eminently over violence. But before I enter upon this narrative, it will not be amiss to go back a little, and mention some singular cases of the chief actor of the fact I am going to describe.

His name was Thomas Lurting, who formerly had been boatswain’s mate in a man of war, and often had been preserved in imminent dangers: as once being at the Canary islands, under admiral Blake commander in this expedition, they ruined the admiral and vice-admiral of the Spanish galleons, and this being done, he with seven men was sent with a pinnace to set on fire three galleons in the bay; which order he executed, by setting one of them on fire, which burnt the other two. But returning, and passing by a breast-work, they received a volley of small shot, by which two men, close to one of which Thomas sat, were killed, and a third was shot in his back, but Thomas received no harm. And going out of the bay, they came within about four ships length of the castle, which had forty guns; and when they came directly over against the castle, the guns were fired, and a shot cut the bolt-rope a little above Thomas’s head, without hurting him. In more dangers he was eminently preserved, but that I may not be too prolix, I will now relate, how from a fighting sailor he became a harmless Christian.

About the year 1654, it happened that among the soldiers which were in the ship he was in, there was one that had been at a meeting of those called Quakers in Scotland, and there were two young men in the ship who had some converse with him; but he was soon taken away from the ship. Yet these two young men seemed to be under some convincement; for about six months after, they scrupled to go and hear the priest, and to put off their hats to the captain; by which they came to be called Quakers. These two met often together in silence, which being seen by others of the ship, their number increased; but this troubled the captain exceedingly, and the priest grew not a little angry, and said to our boatswain, ‘O Thomas, an honest man and a good Christian; here is a dangerous people on board, viz. the Quakers, a blasphemous people, denying the ordinances and word of God.’ This made Thomas so furious, that in a bigotted zeal he fell to beating and abusing these men, when religiously met together. But this was not the way to have a quiet and sedate mind; for the remembrance of his former deliverances stuck so close upon him, that he could no more beat any of the said people; and then he came to a further sight, insomuch that he clearly saw what a fellow the priest was: for when Thomas could no longer abuse the said people, then he was not accounted by him either an honest man or a good Christian. Now being under condemnation because of his outgoings, he made many promises to the Lord; but these being made in his own will, were of little effect. Yet by the grace of God it was showed him, that since he did not perform these promises, he could not be benefited thereby, which caused him much trouble.

Among those in the ship called Quakers, was one Roger Dennis, whom he entirely loved, and therefore never struck him; for this man had a check on Thomas, to that degree, that looking only upon him, he durst not touch any of those whom he intended to have abused. In this state, feeling no peace in his mind, after some time he much desired to be alone, the more freely to pour out his heart before the Lord; and though he then felt himself inwardly condemned, yet judgments became pleasant to him, because thereby his heart was tendered and broken: in which state he could not forbear sometimes to cry out, O Lord! But this, being observed by the ship’s crew, made some say, he was mad, and others, he was distracted; and of this some wrote home to England. Now it fell to his share to be mocked and ridiculed; but he endeavoured to be fully given up, if he might but have peace in his conscience with God.

And being one evening alone, he was very earnest with the Lord, to know what people he should join himself to; and then it was plainly showed him, the Quakers. But this so startled him at that time, that he desired of the Lord, rather to die than to live: for to join with a people whom he so often had been beating and abusing, seemed to be harder to him than death itself; and by the subtilty of Satan he was often assaulted by various thoughts, to keep him off from the said people. But when the Lord made him mindful of his manifold preservations and deliverances, it mollified his heart, so that at length he came to this resolution, whether Quaker or no Quaker, I am for peace with God. Yet it cost him many a bitter sigh, and many a sorrowful tear, before he could come to a full resignation. But the inward reproofs of the Lord, attended with judgments, followed him so close, that he could no longer forbear, but gave up. And then he took opportunity to discover his heart to his friend Roger Dennis, who spoke so to the purpose, that he had great satisfaction. But not long after temptations assaulted him again in this manner, ‘What, to join thyself to such a foolish people!’ And the very thoughts of this were so grievous to him, that he grew even weary of his life; for thus to expose himself to scorn, seemed to him an intolerable cross; but this struggling was not the way to get peace with God. The First-day of the week being come, he resolved to go to the small meeting, which was now of six in number; but it being reported that he was among the Quakers, many of the company left their worship to see him; and they made a great noise. When the worship was over, the captain asked the reason of that noise; and it was told him, that Thomas was amongst the Quakers; on which he sent for him, there being several officers also present; but the first that spoke was the priest, saying, ‘Thomas, I took you for a very honest man, and a good Christian, but am sorry you should be so deluded.’--And the captain endeavoured to prove from the bible, the Quakers were no Christians. Thomas in the meanwhile was still and quiet; and the others seeing they could not prevail upon him that way, took another course, and said, that the Quakers sometimes came to him saying, ‘Do such and such a thing.’ But because he knew this to be altogether false, and saw how they would bear him down with lies, he was the more strengthened; so that going to his friends, he said to them, ‘When I went to the captain, I was scarce half a Quaker; but by their lies and false reports they have made me almost a whole Quaker; or at least I hope to be one.’

He continuing to meet with his friends for the performing of worship, some more came to be joined to them, so that in less than six months after, they were twelve men, and two boys, one of which was the priest’s. Now, there was none aboard that would abuse the Quakers, though much tried by the captain; for he got some men out of other ships on purpose to vex them: but how fiercely soever these behaved themselves, a higher power limited them. At length, there was a sickness on board the ship, which swept away above forty in a short time; and most of them called Quakers, had the distemper also, but none died of it, though some were brought very low. They took great care of one another when sick, and whatever one had was free for all; which care being seen by others, made some of them cry upon their death-bed, ‘O carry me to the Quakers, for they take great care of one another, and they will take some care of me also.’ This visitation in the ship, changed the captain so much, that he was very kind to Thomas, and often sent him part of what he had. Thomas seeing him in such a good humour, desired of him to have the cabin he lay in before his change, which request was granted; for none were willing to lie therein, because they told one another it was troubled with an evil spirit; since three or four had died therein within a short space of time. This cabin he made use of also for a meeting-place; and the captain was now so well pleased with him, that when something was to be done, he would often say, ‘Thomas, take thy friends, and do such or such a thing: for as yet they were not against fighting, and therefore no complete Quakers. And thus when Thomas and his friends were sent out on some expedition, they did their work beyond his expectation. But though they were not brought off from fighting, yet when, with others, they annoyed their enemies, they would take none of the plunder; and in all desperate attempts they received no hurt, though several others were killed and wounded; and they behaved themselves so valiantly, that their captain would say to other captains, that he cared not if all his men were Quakers, for they were the hardiest men in his ship. But though this was a time of liberty, yet Thomas looked upon it as a forerunner of further exercise; for he saw what was done in pretended friendship, was but to serve their own ends; and therefore he expected a time of trial would come, and so it did.

For being come to Leghorn, they were ordered to go to Barcelona, to take or burn a Spanish man of war. Their station was to lie against a castle, and batter it; which they did; and one corner of the castle playing some shot into their ship, Thomas was for beating down that part: and those called Quakers, fought with as much courage as any. He himself being stripped to his waistcoat, and going into the forecastle, he levelled the guns, but said, ’Fire not, till I go out to see where the shot lights, that we may level higher or lower;’ he being yet as great a fighter as any; but as he was coming out of the forecastle door to see where the shot fell, suddenly it run through him, ‘What if now thou killest a man?’ This struck him as a thunderbolt, and he that can turn men’s hearts, at his pleasure, changed his in a minute’s time to that degree, that whereas, just before, he bent all his strength to kill men, he now found in himself no will thereto, though it were to gain the world; for he presently perceived it was from the Lord; and then putting on his clothes, he walked on the deck, as if he had not seen a gun fired; and being under great exercise of mind, some asked him, if he was hurt. He answered, ‘No; but under some scruples of conscience on the account of fighting,’ though then he knew not that the Quakers refused to fight.

When night came, they went out of the reach of the castle shot, and he took occasion to speak with two of his friends in the ship, and inquired their judgment concerning fighting; but they gave little answer to it, but said however, if the Lord sent them well home, they would never go to it again. To which he returned, that if he stood honest to that of God in his own conscience, and they came to it to-morrow, with the Lord’s assistance, he would bear his testimony against it; for he clearly saw, that forasmuch as they had been such great actors in fighting, they now must bear their testimony against it, and wait what would be the issue; saying with themselves, ‘The will of the Lord be done.’ The next day they heard that several were killed on shore, which grieved Thomas not a little. Some time after, one of Thomas’s friends went to the captain to be cleared; and he asking why? His answer was, that he could fight no longer. To which the captain said, ‘He that denies to fight in time of engagement, I will put my sword in his guts.’ ‘Then,’ said the other, ‘thou wilt be a manslayer, and guilty of shedding blood:’ for which the captain, (who was a Baptist preacher,) beat him sorely with his fist and cane; and he that had been their friend, was now become their open enemy.

Some time after, (about the year 1665,) being at Leghorn, they were ordered to go a cruising; and one morning spied a great ship bearing down upon them, which they supposed to be a Spanish man of war. Presently orders were given to clear the ship for fight. Thomas then being upon the deck, saw plainly that a time of trial was now come, and he prayed to the Lord very earnestly for strength: and that which seemed most expedient to him, was to meet with his friends, which, after notice given, was done accordingly. Being all met, he told them how it was with him, and that things seemed very dark and cloudy, yet his hopes were, that the Lord would deliver him, and all such as were of his faith; to which he added, ‘I lay not this as an injunction upon any one, but leave you all to the Lord:’ moreover he said, ‘I must tell you, that the captain puts great confidence in you; therefore let us be careful that we give no just occasion; and all that are of my mind, let us meet in the most public place upon the deck, in the full view of the captain, that he may not say we deceived him, in not telling him that we would not fight, so that he might have put others in our room.’

Then Thomas went upon the deck, and set his back against the geer capstan, and a little after turning his head, he saw his friends behind him; at which though he rejoiced, yet his bowels rolled within him for them, who stood there as sheep ready for the slaughter. Within a little time came the lieutenant, and said to one of them, ‘Go down to thy quarters;’ to which he returned, ‘I can fight no more.’ The lieutenant then going to the captain, made the worst of it, saying, ‘Yonder the Quakers are all together; and I do not know but they will mutiny; and one says he cannot fight.’ The captain having asked his name, came down to him, flung his hat overboard, and taking hold of his collar, beat him with a great cane, and dragged him down to his quarters. Then he went upon the half deck again, and called for his sword, which his man having brought him, he drew with great fury. No sooner was this done, but the word of the Lord, (as Thomas took it,) run through him, saying, ‘The sword of the Lord is over him; and if he will have a sacrifice, proffer it him.’ And this word was so powerful in him, that he quivered and shook, though he endeavoured to stop it, fearing they should think he was afraid, which he was not; for turning his head over his shoulder, he said to his friend Roger, ‘I must go to the captain.’ To which he returned, ‘Be well satisfied in what thou doest.’ And Thomas replied, there was a necessity upon him. Then seeing the captain coming on with his drawn sword, he fixed his eye with great seriousness upon him, and stepped towards him, keeping his eyes upon him, (in much dread of the Lord,) being carried above his furious looks. At which the captain’s countenance changed pale, and he, turning himself about, called to his man to take away his sword, and so he went off. Not long after, the ship they expected to fight withal, proved to be a Genoese, their friend; and before night, the captain sent the priest to Thomas, to excuse his anger, it having been in his passion. To which Thomas’s answer was, that he had nothing but good will to him; and he bade the priest tell the captain, that he must have a care of such passions; for if he killed a man in his passion, he might seek for repentance, and perhaps not find it. Thus Thomas overcame this storm, and at length got safe home.

Now leaving men of war, he afterwards went to sea in a merchantman, or trading ship: but then it fell to be his lot several times to be pressed into the king’s service, and being carried into a man of war, he suffered very much. Once he fasted five days, taking only at times a draught of water; for he could easily guess, that if he had eaten of their victuals, it would have gone the harder with him; since he scrupled to do any ship-work, though it did not belong to fighting; for he judged all this to be assistance to those whose business it was to fight; and that therefore in such a ship he could do nothing, whatever it was, but it was being helpful and assisting.

In this condition he met with several rude occurrences for some years together. Being once at Harwich, hard at work in a ship, heaving out corn in a lighter, he was pressed; but one of the men saying, that he was a Quaker, the captain, who with his boat was come aboard, said in a scoffing manner to him, ‘Thou art no Quaker, for if thou wast a Quaker, thou shouldst be waiting upon the Lord, and let his ravens feed thee, and not be toiling thy body.’ For Thomas being stripped to his shirt and drawers, his shirt was wet with sweat; and being a little time silent, said at length to the captain, ‘I perceive thou hast read some part of the scriptures. Didst thou never read, that he is worse than an infidel that will not provide for his family? I have often heard the Quakers blamed for not working, but thou art the first that ever I heard blame them for working.’ At this the captain said, ‘Turn him away, he is a Quaker.’ But a little after he cried, ‘Pull him again, he is no Quaker;’ and said to Thomas, ‘Thou art no Quaker; for here thou bringest corn, and of it is made bread, and by the strength of that bread we kill the Dutch; and therefore no Quaker. Or art not thou as accessary to their deaths as we? Answer me.’ Thomas not presently answering, was much scoffed and jeered by the seamen; but at length he said to the captain, ‘I am a man that can feed my enemies, and well may I you, who pretend to be my friends.’ To which the captain replied, ‘Turn him away, he is a Quaker:’ and thus that storm ceased.

But a few days after he was pressed again out of the same vessel, and carried on board a man of war; there he was ordered to go into the cabin, where the captain and several officers were; and being entered, the captain began to curse the Quakers, and swore, that if he did not hang Thomas, he would carry him to the duke of York, and he would. But Thomas said very little, and felt himself kept by the Lord from fear. And when the captain had tired himself with scolding and railing, he said more mildly, ‘What, dost thou say nothing for thyself?’ To which Thomas answered, ‘Thou sayest enough for thee and me too:’ and he found it most safe to say little. This was indeed the best way; for generally no reasons, how good soever, avail with passionate men; who often think it a disparagement to them, when they hearken to what is said by one they look upon to be their inferior. But such sometimes find they reckon amiss; as this captain did, who, notwithstanding his haughtiness, was soon struck by a superior power; for the next night a sudden cry was heard, ‘Where is the Quaker? Where is the Quaker?’ Thomas hearing this, said, ‘Here I am: what lack you at this time of the night?’ To which it was told him, ‘You must come to the captain presently.’ He then coming to the cabin door, the captain said, ‘Is the Quaker there?’ To which Thomas having answered, ‘Yes,’ the captain said, ‘I cannot sleep, thou must go on shore.’ Thomas replied, ‘I am in thy hand, and thou mayest do with me as thou pleasest.’ So with the boat he was put on shore at Harwich, by order of the captain, who in his fury had said, that hanging was too good for him. But now, because his mind was disquieted, he could not sleep, though Thomas, who lay on the hard boards, slept very well.

Having said thus much of this seaman: let us now take a view, and behold how, and in what an industrious manner, he, without passing the bounds of a peaceable disposition, retook a ship that was taken by a pirate; which happened in the year 1663, after this manner:

A master of a ship, whose name was George Pattison, one of the society of those called Quakers, about the month of October, being with his ship in the Mediterranean, coming from Venice, near the island of Majorca, was chased by a pirate of Algiers, and their vessel sailing well, they endeavoured to escape; but, by carrying over-much sail, some of their materials gave way, by which means the Turks came up with them, and commanded the master on board, who accordingly, with four men more, went in his boat, leaving only his mate, (the before-mentioned Thomas Lurting,) with three men and a boy on board his vessel, as soon as those came on board the pirate, the Turks put thirteen or fourteen of their men into the boat, to go towards the English ship. In the meanwhile the mate was under great exercise of mind, the rather because the master, with four of his men, were then with the Turks, and those that were left, were somewhat unruly. In this concern, however, he believed it was told him inwardly by the Lord, ‘Be not afraid, for thou shalt not go to Algiers:’ for having had formerly great experience of the Lord’s deliverances, as hath been said above, he had already learned to trust in God, almost against hope. On the consideration of this, all fear was removed from him; and going to the ship’s side to see the Turks come in, he received them as if they were his friends, and they also behaved themselves civilly: then he showed them all the parts of the vessel, and what she was laden with. Afterwards he said to the men that were with him, ‘Be not afraid, for all this we shall not go to Algiers: but let me desire you, as ye have been willing to obey me, to be as willing now to obey the Turks.’ This they promised him, and by so doing, he soon perceived they gained upon the Turks; for they seeing the seamen’s diligence, grew the more careless and favourable to them. And having taken some small matter of the lading, some went again to their own ship, and eight Turks staid with the English.

Then the mate began to think of the master, and the other four that were in the Turk’s ship; as for himself, and the others with him, he had no fear at all; nay, he was so far from it, that he said to one of his men, ‘Were but the master on board, and the rest of our men, if there were twice as many Turks, I should not fear them.’ By this he encouraged the seamen, who not being of his persuasion, thought much otherwise than he, and would have been ready enough to have killed the Turks, if they had seen opportunity. In the meanwhile the mate’s earnest desire to the Lord was, that he would put it into the heart of the Turks, to send the master and the four others back. And his desire was answered; for soon after the master and those men were sent on board.

Then all manner of fear concerning going to Algiers was taken away from him; which made some say to him, he was a strange man, since he was afraid before he was taken, but now he was not. For before they were taken, he having heard there were many Turks at sea, endeavoured to persuade the master to have gone to Leghorn, and there to stay for a convoy, and so long they would have no wages. But to this the master would not agree. Now the mate, to answer the seamen, who blamed his behaviour, said to them, ‘I now believe I shall not go to Algiers: and if ye will be ruled by me, I will act for your delivery, as well as my own.’ However, though he spoke thus boldly, yet he saw no way for it; for the Turks were all armed, and the English without arms. Now these being altogether, except the master, he said to them, ‘What if we should overcome the Turks, and go to Majorca.’ At which they very much rejoiced, and one said, ‘I will kill one or two;’ ‘And I,’ said another, ‘will cut as many of their throats as you will have me.’ But at these sayings the mate was much troubled, for he intended not to hurt any, and therefore told the men, ‘If I knew that any of you would touch a Turk at that rate, I would tell it the Turks myself. But,’ said he, ‘if ye will be ruled, I will act for you; if not, I will be still.’ They seeing that he would not suffer them to take their own course, agreed to do what he would have them. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘if the Turks bid you do any thing, do it without grumbling, and with as much diligence and quickness as ye can, for that pleases them, and will cause them to let us be together.’ To this the men all agreed; and then he went to the master, and told him their intention. But his answer was, ‘If we offer to rise, and they overcome us, we had as good be burnt alive.’ The mate knew very well the master was in the right, viz. that if they failed in the attempt, they were like to meet with the most cruel treatment from the Turks that could be thought of. Now the reason why the master, though a very bold spirited man, did not readily consent to the proposal, was, because he feared they would shed blood, but his mate told him, they were resolved, and he questioned not but to do it, without shedding one drop of blood; and besides, he would rather have gone to Algiers, than to kill one Turk. Speaking thus, he so swayed the master, that at last he agreed to let him do what he would, provided they killed none.

Now since two Turks lay in the cabin with the master, it was agreed that he should continue to lie there, lest they should mistrust any thing. In the meanwhile it began to be bad weather, so that they lost the company of the Turkish man of war, which was the thing the mate much desired; and the Turks seeing the diligence of the English sailors, grew careless concerning them, which was what the mate aimed at. The second night after, the captain of the Turks, and one of his company, being gone to sleep in the cabin with the master, the mate persuaded one to lie in his cabin, and about an hour after another in another cabin; and at last it raining very much, he persuaded them all to lie down and sleep: and when they were all asleep, he coming to them, fairly got their arms into his possession. This being done, he told his men, ‘Now we have the Turks at our command, no man shall hurt any of them; for if ye do, I will be against you: but this we will do, now they are under deck, we will keep them so, and go for Majorca.’ And having ordered some to keep the doors, they steered their course to Majorca, and they had such a strong gale, that in the morning they were near it. Then he ordered his men, if any offered to come out, not to let above one or two at a time; and when one came out, expecting to have seen his own country, he was not a little astonished instead thereof to see Majorca. Then the mate said to his men, ‘Be careful of the door, for when he goes in we shall see what they will do. But have a care not to spill blood.’ The Turk being gone down, and telling his comrades what he had seen, and how they were going to Majorca, they, instead of rising, all fell a crying, for their courage was quite sunk; and they begged that they might not be sold. This the mate promised, and said, they should not. And when he had appeased them, he went into the cabin to the master, who knew nothing of what was done, and gave him an account of the sudden change, and how they had overcome the Turks. Which when he understood, he told their captain, that the vessel was now no more in their possession, but in his again; and that they were going for Majorca. At this unexpected news the captain wept, and desired the master not to sell him; which he promised he would not. Then they told him also, they would make a place to hide them in, that the Spaniards coming aboard should not find them. And so they did accordingly, at which the Turks were very glad.

Being come into the port of Majorca, the master, with four men, went ashore, and left the mate on board with ten Turks. The master having done his business, returned on board, not taking licence, lest the Spaniards should come and see the Turks: but another English master, being an acquaintance, lying there also with his ship, came at night on board; and after some discourse, they told him what they had done, under promise of silence, lest the Spaniards should come and take away the Turks. But he broke his promise, and would have had two or three of the Turks, to have brought them to England. His design then being seen, his demand was denied; and seeing he could not prevail, he said to Pattison and his mate, that they were fools, because they would not sell the Turks, which were each worth two or three hundred pieces of eight. But they told him, that if they would give many thousands, they should not have one, for they hoped to send them home again; and to sell them, the mate said, he would not have done for the whole island. The other master then coming ashore, told the Spaniards what he knew of this, who then threatened to take away the Turks. But Pattison and his mate having heard this, called out the Turks, and said to them, ‘Ye must help us or the Spaniards will take you from us.’ To this the Turks, as one may easily guess, were very ready, and so they quickly got out to sea: and the English, to save the Turks, put themselves to the hazard of being overcome again; for they continued hovering several days, because they would not put into any port of Spain, for fear of losing the Turks: to whom they gave liberty for four or five days, until they made an attempt to rise; which the mate perceiving, he prevented, without hurting any of them, though he once laid hold of one; yet generally he was so kind to them, that some of his men grumbled, and said he had more care for the Turks than for them. To which his answer was, they were strangers, and therefore he must treat them well. At length, after several occurrences, the mate told the master, that he thought it best to go to the coasts of Barbary, because they were then like to miss their men of war. To this the master consented. However, to deceive the Turks, they sailed to and fro for several days; for in the day-time they were for going to Algiers, but when night came they steered the contrary way, and went back again, by which means they kept the Turks in ignorance, so as to be quiet.

But on the 9th day, being all upon deck, when none of the English were there but the master, his mate, and the man at the helm, they began to be so untoward and haughty, that it rose in the mate’s mind, what if they should lay hold on the master, and cast him overboard: for they were ten lusty men, and he but a little man. This thought struck him with terror; but recollecting himself, and taking heart, he stamped with his foot and the men coming up, one asked for the crow, and another for the axe, to fall on the Turks; but the mate bade them not to hurt the Turks, and said, ‘I will lay hold on their captain:’ which he did, for having heard them threaten the master, he stept forward, and laying hold of the captain, said, he must go down, which he did very quietly, all the rest following him. Two days after, being come on the coast of Barbary, they were, according to what the Turks said, about fifty miles from Algiers, and six from land; and in the afternoon it fell calm. But how to set the Turks on shore was yet not resolved upon. The mate saw well enough, that he being the man who had begun this business, it would be his lot also to bring it to an end. He then acquainted the master that he was willing to carry the Turks on shore; but how to do this safely, he as yet knew not certainly; for to give them the boat was too dangerous, for then they might get men and arms, and so come and retake the ship with its own boat; and to carry them on shore with two or three of the ship’s men, was also a great hazard, because the Turks were ten in number: and to put one half on shore was no less dangerous; for then they might raise the country, and so surprise the English when they came with the other half. In this great strait the mate said to the master, if he would let him have the boat and three men to go with him, he would venture to put the Turks on shore. The master, relying perhaps on his mate’s conduct, consented to the proposal, though not without some tears dropt on both sides. Yet the mate taking courage, said to the master, ‘I believe the Lord will preserve me, for I have nothing but good-will in venturing my life, and I have not the least fear upon me; but trust that all will do well.’

The master having consented, the mate called up the Turks, and going with two men and a boy in the boat, took in these ten Turks, all loose and unbound. Perhaps somebody will think this to be a very inconsiderate act of the mate, and that it would have been more prudent to have tied the Turks’ hands, the rather because he had made the men promise, that they should do nothing to the Turks, until he said, he could do no more; for then he gave them liberty to act for their lives so as they judged convenient. Now since he knew not how near he should bring the Turks ashore, and whether they should not have been necessitated to swim a little, it seemed not prudent, to do any thing which might have exasperated them; for if it had fallen out so that they must have swam, then of necessity they must have been untied; which would have been dangerous. Yet the mate did not omit to be as careful as possible he could. For calling in the captain of the Turks, he placed him first in the boat’s stern; then calling for another, he placed him in his lap, and one on each side, and two more in their laps, until he had placed them all; which he did to prevent a sudden rising. He himself sat with a boat-hook in his hand on the bow of the boat, having next to him one of the shipmen, and two that rowed, having one a carpenter’s adze, and the other a cooper’s heading-knife. These were all their arms, besides what belonged to the Turks, which they had at their command. Thus the boat went off, and stood for the shore. But as they came near it, the men growing afraid, one of them cried out of a sudden, ‘Lord have mercy on us, there are Turks in the bushes on shore.’ The Turks in the boat perceiving the English to be afraid, all rose at once. But the mate, who in this great strait continued to be hearty, showed himself now to be a man of courage, and bid the men to take up such arms as they had; but do nothing with them until he gave them leave. And then seeing that there were no men in the bushes, and that it was only an imagination, all fear was taken away from him, and his courage increasing, he thought with himself, ‘It is better to strike a man, than to cleave a man’s head; and turning the boat-hook in his hand, he struck the captain a smart blow, and bid him set down: which he did instantly, and so did all the rest. After the boat was come so near the shore, that they could easily wade, the mate bid the Turks jump out, and so they did; and because they said they were about four miles from a town, he gave them some loaves, and other necessaries.

They would fain have persuaded the English to go with them ashore to a town, promising to treat them with wine, and other good things; but though the mate trusted in Divine Providence, yet he was not so careless as freely to enter into an apparent danger, without being necessitated thereto: for though he had some thoughts that the Turks would not have done him any evil, yet it was too hazardous thus to have yielded to the mercy of those that lived there; and therefore he very prudently rejected their invitation, well knowing that the Scripture saith, “Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.” The Turks seeing they could not persuade him, took their leave with signs of great kindness, and so went on shore. The English then putting the boat closer in, threw all their arms on shore, being unwilling to keep any thing of theirs. And when the Turks got up the hill, they waved their caps at the English, and so joyfully took their last farewell. And as soon as the boat came again on board, they had a fair wind, which they had not all the while the Turks were on board. Thus Thomas Lurting saved the ship and its men; which being thus wonderfully preserved, returned to England with a prosperous wind.

Now before the vessel arrived at London, the news of this extraordinary case was come thither; and when she was coming up the Thames, the king, with the duke of York, and several lords, being at Greenwich, it was told him, there was a Quaker’s ketch coming up the river, that had been taken by the Turks, and redeemed themselves without fighting. The king hearing this, came with his barge to the ship’s side, and holding the entering rope in his hand, he understood from the mate’s own mouth, how the thing had happened. But when he heard him say, how they had let the Turks go free, he said to the master, ’You have done like a fool, for you might have had good gain for them:’ and to the mate he said, ‘You should have brought the Turks to me.’ But the mate answered, ‘I thought it better for them to be in their own country.’ At which the king and others smiled, and so went away, thinking that the master had done foolishly; but he and his mate were of another opinion, and they made it appear that they did approve the lesson of our Saviour, “Love your enemies, and do good to those that hate you,” not only with their mouths, but that they had also put it into practice.

Though I have described this fact from a printed relation, yet I have added some circumstances from the mouth of the said mate, with whom I had some acquaintance.

Several years afterwards, when some seamen of the people called Quakers, were in slavery at Algiers, G. Fox wrote a book to the grand sultan, and the king at Algiers, wherein he laid before them their indecent behaviour, and unreasonable dealings, showing them from their alcoran that this displeased God, and that Mahomet had given them other directions. To this he added a succinct narrative of what hath been related here of G. Pattison’s ship being taken and retaken, and how the Turks were set at liberty, without being made slaves: by which the Mahometans might see what kind of Christians the Quakers were, viz. such as showed effectually that they loved their enemies, according to the doctrine of their supreme lawgiver, Christ. Now concerning those Quakers at Algiers, of whom mention hath been made that they were slaves there, it was a pretty long time before opportunity was found to redeem them; but in the meanwhile they so faithfully served their masters, that they were suffered to go loose through the town, without being chained or fettered; and liberty was also allowed them to meet at set times for religious worship: and their patrons themselves would sometimes come and see what they did there; and finding no images or prints, as Papist slaves in the exercise of their worship made use of, but hearing from their slaves that they reverently adored and worshipped the living God, Creator of Heaven and Earth, they commended them for it, and said it was very good, and that they might freely do so. And since one of them was raised to speak by way of edification to his friends, some other English slaves frequenting that meeting, came to be united with them. In the meanwhile the Quakers’ name came to be known at Algiers, as a people that might be trusted beyond others.

It was in this year that William Caton went to England with his wife from Holland, (where he was married,) and two friends more, one of which was Judith Zinspenning, my mother, who was moved to speak at the meeting at Kingston, where W. Caton interpreted for her. At another time being in a meeting at London, and he not present, and feeling herself stirred up to declare of the loving-kindness of the Lord to those that feared him, she desired one Peter Sybrands to be her interpreter; but he, though an honest man, yet not very fit for that service, one or more friends told her, they were so sensible of the power by which she spoke, that though they did not understand her words, yet they were edified by the life and power that accompanied her speech; and therefore they little mattered the want of interpretation; and so she went on without any interpreter. She had indeed a very good talent, and left such repute behind her, that I coming several years after into England, kindness was showed me in several places on her account. After a stay of some weeks at London, and thereabouts, she went to Colchester, in order to return with W. Caton’s wife to Holland; but making some stay in that town, she there wrote a book of proverbs, which, W. Caton having translated into English, was printed at London. After her departure, he staying behind, travelled through Essex, Warwickshire, Staffordshire, Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, and Yorkshire; and coming into Lancashire, he repaired to Swarthmore, and found there not only his ancient mistress, Margaret Fell, who received him very kindly, but also G. Fox, not long before he was taken prisoner.

From thence Caton went to Sunderland, and so to Scarborough, where meeting with a vessel bound for Holland, he embarked, and went off with a fair wind: but it was not long before the wind changed; and being about ten leagues from the land, the sky began to look tempestuous; which made Caton advise the master to return; but he thinking the weather would soon change, was unwilling to do so; yet it fell out otherwise, for a violent storm arose, by which the ship was so exceedingly tossed, that she grew leaky, and took so much water, that the pumps continually must be kept going. But this so wearied the seamen, that Caton also fell to pumping; for though he found himself prepared to meet death, if it had been the will of the Lord, yet he knew it to be the duty of a man to preserve his life by lawful means, as long as possible; besides, he pitied the poor seamen, and so was made willing to help them as much as lay in his power. But at length they lost the use of the rudder, and were near the sands and shallows, by which the danger was greatly increased, and death seemed to approach.