Brave Bessie Westland : $b A story of Quaker persecutionLeslie, Emma
History
Brave Bessie Westland : $b A story of Quaker persecution
Leslie, Emma
Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Quakers -- Fiction
"The 'prentice lads suspect we are Quakers, and Sim Tompkins has told
his mother about it. What wilt thou do, my husband?" she asked.
"Nay, what can we do but put our trust in the Lord?"
"But thou wilt be careful, Gilbert, for the children's sake?"
"Careful, dear heart? It is not to be feared that I shall publish
abroad that I am a Quaker; but, as thou sayest, too many suspect it,
I fear, and I have been pondering on a thought that came to me to-day
when thinking of Westland and his wife. He will doubtless be sent out
to the plantations of America by the next cargo of convicts, and when
he can save money enough to pay for the passage of his wife, she will
be allowed to join him in his exile. Now, our young champion, Sir
William Penn, is rich, and moreover the government is deeply indebted
to him for moneys lent by his father, and which he hath small hope of
regaining, for the king is too extravagant ever to pay his debts. But
if he hath little money to spare, he hath many waste lands out in the
plantations of America, and he might be induced to sell some to our
friend Penn in part payment of his debt. On this land some of us might
go and settle, even as the Independents did in the reign of the first
Charles, for America is wide and free, and there we might serve God
even as the divine voice should guide and direct us, and none could
make us afraid."
"That were a blessing indeed," said Dame Drayton, but with a sigh, for
the prospect of leaving her native land and her beloved London was a
painful thought to her. "Oh that we could have this blessed freedom in
England!" she said, clasping her hands, while the tears slowly filled
her eyes.
"Nay, nay, dame, thou hast naught to fret over, I trow," said her
husband, in some surprise to see his wife in tears.
"It was not of myself I was thinking, but of Annie Lowe, my sister.
Audrey hath let me know—without herself understanding—that the way they
thought would be soft to their feet hath been strewn with thorns; none
the less sharp are they, I trow, because they have to be covered from
the world."
"Now thou art speaking in parables, Martha. I thought the vicar was
well content to abide in the church that could nourish him."
"It may afford nourishment for the body, but to sign the Act of
Uniformity, whereby Parson Lowe and many another gave up the right to
serve and worship God as the inner voice would fain lead them, could
but be starvation for the soul. I felt sure it would come to this with
Annie and her husband, and that she would one day wish she had been
among those who were ejected for the truth's sake."
"But—but I thought Annie sent to warn thee of the danger thou wert in
through Sim chattering to his mother of what had been spoken here?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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