The ministers and magistrates came to the conclusion that the colony could never enjoy peace while the Quakers continued among them. These sectarians were altogether unmanageable by the means of ordinary power or reason; they would neither pay fines nor work in prison, nor, when liberated, promise to amend their conduct. The government now enacted still more violent laws against them, one, among others, rendering them liable to have their ears cut off for obstinacy; and yet this strange fanaticism increased from day to day. At length the Quakers were banished from the colony, under the threat of death in case of return. They were, however, scarcely beyond the borders when a supposed inspiration prompted them to retrace their steps to Boston: scarcely had their absence been observed, when their solemn voices were again heard denouncing the city of their persecutors. The horrible law decreeing the punishment of death against the Quakers had only been carried by a majority of thirteen to twelve in the Colonial Court of Deputies, and after a strong opposition; but, to the eternal disgrace of the local government, its atrocious provisions were carried into effect, and four of the unhappy fanatics were judicially murdered. The tidings of these executions filled England with horror. Even Charles II. was moved to interpose the royal power for the protection of at least the lives of the obnoxious sectarians. He issued a warrant on the 9th of September, 1661, absolutely prohibiting the punishment of death against Quakers, and directing that they should be sent to England for trial. In consequence of this interference, no more executions took place, but other penalties were continued with unabated severity.