Chapter 11

'He resembleth a Priest somewhat, yet not altogether. He speaketh with more authority than anyone I ever heard. Grave he is too. Grave as my father when he is executing justice. Yet, for all his gravity, as Bridget says, he is wondrous gentle. None of us were affrighted at him, and the little maids ran to him as they do to my father. Moreover, he showed them a curious seal he carried in his pocket with letters intertwined among roses, a "G" I saw, and an "F." Afterwards he took them on his knees and blessed them and they were wholly at ease. Priest Lampitt, who had been watching through a window, his countenance strangely altered by his rage, now took his departure. Seeing him go, the Stranger put down the children gently, setting Susanna with both her feet squarely on the polished floor, as I have seen a shepherd set down a lamb, as if afeared that it might slip. Then he turned in sorrow and spoke a few words to his companion. This was the man who brought him hither, one of the Seekers from Wensleydale or thereabouts, I should judge from his language; but truly none of us paid much heed to him. The two of them left the Hall together, and passed down through the herb-garden, and over the stream. Once I noticed the Stranger turn and gaze back at the house, searching each window, as if looking for something he found not there. Also he smiled at sight of the yew-trees, with a greeting as if they were old friends. Bridget declares that she heard the Stranger, our Stranger, say that he would return hither shortly, when he had set his companion a short distance on his homeward way. But that is now more than two hours agone, and as yet he hath not reappeared.'

'Well then, maids,' replied Mistress Fell briskly, 'let us not linger here. It is high time we went back to the house to welcome our guest, on his return.' So saying, she rose to her feet, and aiding 'young Margrett' with one hand, she drew aside with the other the thick screen of the branches. A ray of sunshine fell upon Margaret Fell, standing there, in the velvety gloom of the old yew-trees, with her six young daughters round her. Sunshine was in her heart too, as she looked down fondly at them for a moment.

Then, lifting up her eyes, she recognised the unknown man she had seen in her dream. In the full blaze of sunlight, coming straight up the flagged path towards her was a Stranger, wearing a white hat. And thus did Mistress Margaret Fell behold for the first time GEORGE FOX.

X. 'BEWITCHED!'

_'When ye do judge of matters, or when ye do judge of words, or when ye do judge of persons, all these are distinct things. A wise man will not give both his ears to one party but reserve one for the other party, and will hear both, and then judge.'--G. FOX._

_'And after I came to one Captain Sands, which he and his wife if they could have had the world and truth they would have received it. But they was hypocrites and he a very light chaffy man, and the way was too strait for him.'--G. FOX._

_'James the First was crazed beyond his English subjects with the witch mania of Scotland and the Continent. No sooner had his first parliament enacted new death laws than the judges and the magistrates, the constable and the mob began to hunt up the oldest and ugliest spinster who lived with her geese on the common, or tottered about the village street. Many pleaded guilty, and described the covenants they had formed with black dogs and "goblins called Tibb"; others were beaten or terrified into fictitious confessions, or perished, denying their guilt to the last. The black business culminated during the Civil Wars when scores of women were put to death.'--G.M. TREVELYAN._

X. 'BEWITCHED!'

Saint Swithin's feast was passed. It was a sultry, thundery afternoon of mid July, when three horsemen were to be seen carefully picking their way across the wide wet estuary of the River Leven that goes by the name of 'the Sands.' The foremost rider was evidently the most important person of the three. He was an oldish man with a careworn face, and deepset eyes occasionally lighted by a smile, as he urged his weary horse across the sand. This was no less a person than Judge Fell himself, the master of Swarthmoor Hall, attended by his clerk and his groom, and returning to his home after a lengthy absence on circuit. A man of wide learning, of sound knowledge of affairs, and gifted with an excellent judgment was Thomas Fell. He was as popular now, in the autumn of his days among his country neighbours, as he had been in former times in Parliament, and among the Puritan leaders. Thrice had he represented his native county in the House of Commons, and had been a trusted friend of Oliver Cromwell himself. It was only latterly, men said, since Oliver showed a disposition to grasp more and ever more power for himself that the good Judge, unable to prevent that of which he disapproved, had retired from the intricate problems and difficulties of the Capital. He now filled the office of Judge on the Welsh Circuit and later on that of Vice-Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. But whether he dwelt in the country or in London town it was all one. Wherever he came, men thought highly of him.[10] The good thirsted for his approval. The bad trembled to meet his eye. Yet, it was noted, that even when he was obliged to sentence some poor wretch, he seemed to commiserate him, and he ever sought to throw the weight of his influence on the side of mercy, although no man could be sterner at times, especially when he dealt with a case of treachery or cold-blooded cruelty.

The lines of his countenance were rugged, yet underneath there was always an expression of goodwill, and a kindly light in his eyes that seemed to come from some still quiet fount of happiness within. It was said of the Judge, and truly, that he had the happiest home, the fairest and wisest wife, and the goodliest young family, of any man in the county. That had been a joyful day, indeed, for him, twenty years before, when he brought the golden-haired Margaret Askew, the heiress of Marsh Grange, as his bride to the old grey Hall of Swarthmoor. Sixteen full years younger than her husband was she, yet a wondrous wise-hearted woman, and his companion in all things.

Now that a son and six fair daughters filled the old Hall with music and gay laughter all day long, the Judge might well be no less proud of his 'great family' than even of having been Oliver Cromwell's friend.

He was ever loath to leave that cherished home for his long absences on the Chester and North Welsh Circuit, and ever joyful when the day came that he might return thither. Even the heavy sand that clogged his horse's feet could hardly make him check his pace. The sands of Morecambe Bay are perilous at times, especially to strangers, for the tide flows in with such swiftness that even a galloping horse may not escape it. But the Judge and his companions knew the dangers well enough to avoid them. Their trained eyes instinctively marked the slight depressions in the sand and the line of brogs, or half-hidden trees, that guide travellers across by what is really the safest route, although it may seem to take unnecessary loops and curves.[11] At a little distance lay the lonely Chapel Island, surrounded by the sea even at low tide, where in olden days lived a community of monks, who tolled a bell to guide pilgrims across the shifting sands, or said masses for the souls of those who perished.

As his horse picked its way carefully, the Judge raised his eyes often towards the high plateau on the horizon to which he was steadily drawing nearer with every tedious step. Beloved Swarthmoor! The house itself was hidden, but he could plainly discern the belt of trees in which it stood. He thought of each of the inmates of that hidden home. George, his only son, how straight and tall he was growing, how gallant a rider, and how skilful a sportsman even now, though hasty in temper and over apt to take offence. His gay maidens, were they at this moment singing over some new madrigal prepared to greet him on his return? In an hour or two he should see them all running down the garden path to welcome him, from stately 'young Margrett' to little toddling Susanna. His wife, his own Margaret, well he knew where she would be! watching for him from the lattice of their chamber, where she was ever the first to catch sight of him on his return, as she had been the last to bid him farewell on his departure.

At this point the good Judge's meditations were suddenly interrupted by his groom, who, spurring his horse on a level with his Master's, pointed respectfully, with upraised whip, towards several moving specks that were hastening across the estuary.

The softest bit of sand was over now, the travellers were reaching firmer ground, where it was possible to go at a quicker pace. Setting spurs to his horse the Judge hastened forward, his face flushing with an anxiety he took no pains to conceal.

In those days, when posts were rare and letters difficult to get or to send, an absence of many weeks always meant the possibility of finding bad news at home on the return from a journey.

'Heaven send they bring me no ill tidings!' Judge Fell said to himself as he cantered anxiously forward. Before long, it was possible to make out that the moving specks were a little company of horsemen galloping towards them over the sands. A few minutes later the Judge was surrounded by a group of breathless riders and panting horses, with bits and bridles flecked with foam.

The Judge's fears increased as he recognised all his most important neighbours. Their excited faces also struck him with dread. 'You bring me bad news?' he had called out, as soon as the cavalcade came within earshot. At the answering shout, 'Aye, the worst,' his heart had sunk like lead. And now here he was actually in their midst, and not one of them could speak. 'Out with it, friends,' he commanded, 'let me know the worst. To whom hath evil happened? To my wife? My son? My daughters?'

But even he was hardly prepared for the answer, low-breathed and muttering like a roll of thunder: 'To all.'

'To all!' cried the agonised father. 'Impossible! They cannot all be dead!' Again came the ominous rejoinder, 'Worse, far worse,' and then, in a shout from half-a-dozen throats at once, 'Far, far worse. They are all bewitched!' Bewitched! that was indeed a word of ill-omen in those days, a word at which no man, be his position ever so exalted, could afford to smile. Ever since the days of the first Parliament of the first Stuart king, the penalties for the sin of witchcraft had been made increasingly severe. Although the country was now settling down into an uneasy peace, after the turmoil of the Civil Wars, still its witch hunts were even yet too recent a memory for a devoted husband and father to hear the fatal accusation breathed against his family without dismay. Not all a woman's youth and beauty might always save her, if the hunt were keen. The Judge's lips were tightly pressed together, but his unmoved countenance showed little of his inward alarm as he gazed on the faces round him. His courteous neighbours, who had ridden in such haste with the 'ill news' that 'travels fast,' which of them all should enlighten him? His neighbour Captain Sands? a jovial good-humoured man truly;--no, not he, he could not enter into a husband and father's deep anxiety, seeing that he was ever of a mocking disposition inwardly for all that he looked sober and scared enough now. His brother Justice, John Sawrey? Instinctively Judge Fell recoiled from the thought. Sawrey's countenance might be sober enough in good sooth, seeing he was a leader among professing Puritans, but somehow Judge Fell had always mistrusted the pompous little man. Even bad news would be worsened if he had to hear it from those lips. Therefore it was with considerable relief that the good Judge caught sight of a well-known figure riding up more slowly than the others, and now hovering on the outskirts of the group. 'The very man! My honoured neighbour Priest Lampitt! You, the Priest of Ulverston, will surely tell me what has befallen the members of my household, who are likewise members of your flock?'

But the Priest's face was even gloomier than that of the other gentlemen. In the fewest possible words, but with stinging emphasis, he told the Judge that the news was indeed too true; his wife and young family, yea, and even the household servants had, one and all, been bewitched.

At this the Judge thought his wisest course was to laugh. 'Nay, nay, good friends,' he said, 'that is too much! I know my wife. I trust her good sense utterly. Still it is possible for even the wisest of women to lose her judgment at times. But as for my trusty steward Thomas Salthouse, the steadiest man I have ever had in my employ, if even old Nick himself has managed to bewitch him, he must be a cleverer devil than I thought.'

Then drawing himself up proudly he added, 'So now, Gentlemen, I will thank you to submit to me your evidence for these incredible and baseless allegations.' Priest Lampitt hastened to explain. He spoke with due respect of Mistress Fell, his 'honoured neighbour,' as he called her. ''Tis her well-known kindness of heart that hath led her astray. She hath warmed a snake in her bosom, a wandering Quaker Preacher, who hath beguiled and corrupted both herself and her household.'

'A wandering, Ranting Quaker entertained in my house, during my absence!' Judge Fell had an even temper, but the rising flush on his forehead betokened the effort with which he kept his anger under control. 'I thank ye, gentles, for your news. My wife and I have ever right gladly given food and lodging to all true servants of the Lord, but I will not have any Quakers or Ranters creeping into my house during my absence and nesting there, to set abroad such tales as ye have hastened to spread before me this day. Even the wisest woman is but a woman still, and the sooner I reach home the better.' So saying he raised his hat, and set spurs to his horse. But little Mr. Justice Sawrey, edging out of the group officiously, set spurs to his own horse and trotted after him. Laying a restraining hand on his fellow Justice's bridle, 'One moment more!' he entreated. ''Tis best you should know all ere you return. Not only at Swarthmoor, at Ulverston church also, hath this pestilential fellow caused a disturbance. It was on the Saturday that he arrived at Swarthmoor Hall, and violently brawled with our good Friend Lampitt during Mistress Fell's absence from home.'

A shade of relief crossed the Judge's face, 'My wife absent! I might have sworn to it. The maidens are too young to have sober judgment.' 'Nay, but listen,' continued Sawrey, 'the day after he came to the Hall was not only the Sabbath but also a day of public humiliation. Our good Priest Lampitt, seeing Mistress Fell surrounded by her family in the pew at church, trusted, as did we all, that she had sent the fellow packing speedily about his business. Alack! no such thing, he was but prowling outside. No sooner did the congregation sing a hymn than in he came, and boldly standing on a form, asked leave to speak. Our worthy Priest, the soul of courtesy, consented. Then, oh! the tedious discourse that fell on our ears, how that the hymn we had sung was entirely unsuited to our condition, with much talk of Moses and of John, and I know not what besides, ending up in no less a place than the Paradise of God! Naturally, none of us, gentles, paid much attention. I crossed my legs and tried to sleep until the wearisome business should be ended. When, to my dismay, I was aroused by our honoured neighbour Mistress Fell standing upright on the seat of her pew, shrieking with a loud voice: "We are all thieves, we are all thieves!" This was after the Ranter had finished. While he was yet speaking, she continued to gaze on him, so says my wife, as if she were drinking in every word. But afterwards, having loosed this exclamation about thieves (and she a Justice's wife, forsooth!) she sat down in her pew once more and began to weep bitterly.'

'Yes,' interrupted Lampitt, who had also come alongside by this time, 'and he continued to pour forth foul speeches, how that God was come to teach His people by His own spirit, and to bring them off from all their old ways and religions and churches and worships, for that they were all out of the life and spirit, that they was in that gave them forth.... And so on, until our good friend here,' indicating Sawrey, 'being a Justice of the Peace, called out to the churchwardens, "Take him away, take the fellow away." Whereat Mistress Fell must needs rise up again and say to the officers, "Why may he not speak as well as any other? Let him alone!" And I, willing to humour her----'

'Yes, more fool you,' interrupted Sawrey rudely, 'you must needs echo her, and cry, "Let him alone!" else had I safely and securely clapped him into the stocks.'

Judge Fell, who had listened with obviously growing impatience, now broke away from his vociferous companions. Crying once more, 'I thank you, Sirs, for your well-meant courtesy, but now I pray you to excuse me and allow me to hasten to my home,' he broke away from the restraining hands laid upon his bridle and galloped over the sands. His attendants, who had been waiting at a little distance just out of earshot, eagerly joined him, and the three figures gradually grew smaller and then disappeared into the distance.

The other group of riders departed on their different ways homewards, well satisfied with their day's work. Not without a parting shot from fat Captain Sands as they separated. Raising his whip he said mockingly as he pointed at the Judge's figure riding away in urgent haste: 'Let us hope he may not find the Fox too Foxy when he expels him from his earth!'

FOOTNOTES:

[10] 'Being beloved,' the historian says, 'for his justice, wisdom, moderation, and mercy.'

[11] 'The sands are left uncovered at low water to a great extent; and travellers between Lancaster and Furness had formerly to cross from Hest Bank to Ulverston by the route _brogged_ out by the guides; the brogs being branches of trees stuck in the sand to mark where the treacherous way was safest; a dreary distance of about 14 miles.'--Richardson, _Furness_, i. 14.

XI. THE JUDGE'S RETURN

_'The Cross being minded it makes a separation from all other lovers, and brings to God.'--G. FOX._

_'Give up to be crossed;_ that _is the way to please the Lord and to follow Him in His own will and way, whose way is the best.'--M. FELL._

_'Now here was a time of waiting, here is a time of receiving, here is a time of speaking; the Holy Ghost fell upon them, that they spoke the wonderful things of God.'--G. FOX._

_'Mind and consider well the spirit of Christ in you, that's he that's lowly in you, that's just and lowly in you: mind this Spirit in you, and then whither will you run, and forsake the Lord of Life? Will you leave Christ the fountain which should spring in you and hunt for yourselves? Should you not abide within, and drink of that which springs freely, and feed on that which is pure, meek and lowly in spirit, that so you might grow spiritual men into the same Spirit, to be as He is, the sheep of His Pasture? For as is your pasture, so are you filled.... And you shall say no more, I am weak and can do nothing, but all things through him who gives you strength.'--JAMES NAYLER._

XI. THE JUDGE'S RETURN

Not one of the six maidens ever remembered a home-coming over-clouded as was Judge Fell's on that thundery afternoon of late July. Sadder, darker days lay before them in the years to follow, but none more filled with unacknowledged dread. Was this sad, stern-looking man, who dismounted wearily from his horse at the high arched gate, really their indulgent father? He scarcely noticed or spoke to them, as he tramped heavily towards the house. 'He did not even raise an eye towards the window where my mother sits, as she hath ever sat, to welcome him,' young Margrett noticed. The thunder rumbled ominously overhead. The first big drops fell from the gloomy clouds that had been gathering for hours; while upstairs, in her panelled chamber, a big tear splashed on the delicate cambric needlework that lay between the elder Margaret's fingers, before she laid it aside and descended the shallow, oaken stairs to greet her husband.

Margaret Fell looked older and sadder than on the afternoon under the yew-trees, only three weeks before. There was a new shade of care on her smooth forehead: yet there was a soft radiance about her that was also new. Even her voice had gentler tones. She looked as if she had reached a haven, like a stately ship that, after long tossing in the waves, now feels itself safely anchored and at rest.

Happily she has left an account of the Judge's return in her own words, words as fresh and vivid as if they had been written but yesterday, instead of more than two hundred and fifty years ago. We will take up her narrative at the point in Ulverston church at which Judge Fell broke away from Mr. Justice Sawrey when he was telling him the same tale from his point of view, on the glistening sands of the estuary of the Leven.

'And there was one John Sawrey,' writes Mistress Fell, 'a Justice of Peace and professor, that bid the church warden take him [George Fox] away, and he laid hands on him several times, and took them off again, and let him alone; and then after awhile he gave over and he [G.F.] came to our house again that night. He spoke in the family amongst the servants, and they were all generally convinced; as William Caton, Thomas Salthouse, Mary Askew, Anne Clayton, and several other servants. And I was struck into such a sadness, I knew not what to do, my husband being from home. I saw it was the truth, and I could not deny it; and I did as the Apostle saith, "I received truth in the love of it;" and it was opened to me so clear, that I had never a tittle in my heart against it; but I desired the Lord that I might be kept in it, and then I desired no greater portion.'