upon; but he in a rage denied us that, and put us in a little room, where there was scarce place for us to lie down. When night came, sleep came upon us, we being weary by travelling so many miles on foot, but we were made willing and able to suffer all things; so that night we lay upon the boards, and it was pleasant unto us, being warm weather, and about the time of hay-harvest. The next morning, we were very fresh and well, praising God for his mercies and goodness to us, when the jailor came to us, and asked, how we liked our lodging, and how we slept; we told him, we slept in peace of conscience and quietness of mind, for we suffered for conscience' sake towards God and durst not break the command of Christ and the apostle, who commanded us not to swear at all. For our supposed transgression was not only for meeting together, but for refusing the oaths of allegiance and supremacy. The jailor being a very passionate inconsiderate man, would go out in the morning from his own house, and not come back till night, and then returned so drunken, that he could hardly speak or stand. The next night when we went to lie down, the room was so little we could not all lie at once. The next morning we complained to the jailor, that there was not enough of room for us all to lie down, and desired him to let us have a little straw, but it would not be granted us. By this time, the Friends of the town had liberty to come to visit us, and to bring us in some provision ; and when the door was opened for us to go into another room, there being a bedstead with cords in that room, William Gibson and I lay upon the cords, and next morning we found, that the print of the cords was not only in our clothes, but in our skin also, so that it had been easier for us to have lain upon the boards, as we did before. By this time having well observed the jailor's humour and temper, I began to be uneasy in myself to let him alone; so I watched him in the morning upon his first rising, when he came to the court before our prison door, and began

told him, when I was

to discourse with him about the prisoners that lay in such hardship. I told him, they were honest men, and most of them masters of families, and had good beds to lie upon at home, but now they were content for Christ's and the gospel's sake, to suffer that hardship, I desired him to let them have liberty to go to their friends in town at night, and to come there in the morning; and if he would not be pleased to grant them a little straw, then to let them go lie in their own beds; which he surlily denied, calling them a company of rogues and knaves, and such like terms. He asked me, what made me plead for them; I told him they were my friends. He answered, “Why your friends? You are no Quaker, are you?" I said, "I am called a Quaker ?" He answered, "You do not look like a Quaker;" and he looked me in my face, and on my hands and body. I desired him not to disgrace me so, as to tell me I was no Quaker. Then he asked me where I lived; I at home, I lived at Welch-Pool, and my family was there. But," said he, "where are you now?" I asked him whether he did not know I was a prisoner there with my friends; and he asked me whether I did lie upon the boards with them. I told him, I did. He said he was sorry for it; but went away in anger, being much discontented in himself. I did not see him till next morning, at which time I went to him again, and friendly discoursed with him; he said, he inquired about me in town, and I might take the liberty of the town. I acknowledged his kindness; but told him, it would be no comfort to me, to have the liberty of the town, and leave my friends and brethren there. He said, then I might stay there with them. So I did not see him till the next morning, and then I went to him again. He was so cross and ill-conditioned, he would not suffer any other Friend to speak to him. William Gibson did so judge him for his wickedness, that he kept him close in a room by himself. After five or six nights lying on the boards, I prevailed

66

with him, that Friends might have the liberty of the town in the night, and be there in the morning. So the next day he began to be more friendly to us. After some days,

I desired our friend John Millington to come with me to the jailor's house, to see whether we could have leave to go home till the next assizes; but then it was not granted; but he told me, if I pleased I might go home till then. I told him, he might as freely let them go as me, for most of them lived in the county, and I lived out of the county; but no more could we have that time of him. I was uneasy in myself (seeing I had got a place in him) to let him alone, and pressed for my friends' farther liberty. A little time afterwards, by serious arguments, as it was harvest-time, and hard for their wives, or some of their families, to come with weekly necessaries for them, I, with my friend John Millington, prevailed with him to let them go, and he took our words for our appearance at the next assizes.

Through the goodness of God, we all turned together to Shrewsbury, to our prison before the assizes, and found a great alteration in the jailor; he was very low and mournful. He had lost a prisoner, a malefactor, and was to be tried for his life for his escape. He was very loving and kind to us, and let Friends go themselves to Bridgenorth, about fourteen miles, where the assizes were then held; and he desired me to stay with him in his affliction, and not be much from him. He said his life was at stake, and if God and the judge would shew him any mercy, he said, it was upon our friends' account, and not for any deserts that were in himself, for he confessed he had been too severe to us; but notwithstanding, said he, you are merciful men, and can forgive wrongs and injuries.

When we came to Bridgenorth, we were put in a large spacious room in the House of Correction, to be there in the day-time, that we might be all together, and ready when called for; but we had liberty of going in and out for lodging, and what necessaries we wanted; no keeper being

over us, but what we set ourselves to look to the door, and that too many Friends might not be out at once, and those were not to stay out too long. We saw it was convenient that Friends should go out by two and two, to walk the streets; for it was a strange thing to people to hear of Quakers. Once it fell to my lot to be at the door, (though the door was always open, that such who would, might come and see us; with several of whom we had reasonings and disputes about the way of truth and righteousness) there came one, who appeared something like a gentleman, and asked me, whether he might see the Quakers; I desired him to walk up along with me, and he should see them. When I had brought him up to the room where Friends were walking, I told him, those were they. He answered, "these be Christians like ourselves, but where are the Quakers ?" I told him, these were they that were called Quakers. He asked me whether I was one of them; I told him I was one so called. I had an opportunity to declare to him the way of Truth, and that the name of Quaker was given to us in scorn and derision; and he departed very friendly. Some people were so blind and dark in those days, that they looked upon us to be some strange creatures, and not like other men and women. They would gather much about us in the town, and we had good opportunities to speak of the things of God to them. But I was pretty much with the jailor, waiting when his trial would be; and when it came, I went with him, and stood somewhat near him, which he was very glad of. The jury cleared him, being not found guilty of a wilful escape; which was gladness to him and satisfaction to us. And when the assizes were near at an end, the judge returned us to one Justice Holland, except William Gibson, to whom the judge put it, whether he would go home, if he were discharged; but he could not make the judge such a promise as he required, so he was committed again to the same prison; but we were freely and friendly discharged, having had good service in

that town, and the Lord was with us, and brought us safe home, to the comfort of our families and ourselves; and we have cause to bless and praise the name of the Lord for ever, for all his mercies and goodness to us all along, in the time of our afflictions and persecutions. We could say, "Surely God is good to Israel, and unto all them that draw nigh unto him with an upright heart."

In the year 1662, a farther concern came upon me about meetings in this country. One that was convinced in the prison of Montgomery, when I was there, viz. Cadwalader Edwards, who lived near Dolobran, promised me that we should have his house to keep a meeting in. I went to know whether he would perform his promise, which he readily granted; and I appointed the day and time with him, which he gave notice of to his neighbours thereabouts. I being destitute of a friend to accompany me to the meeting, depended upon the Lord, that he would provide a suitable companion to go with me. And my wife going to Shrewsbury, I told her of the meeting, and desired her to speak to Friends there of it, that if there were any public Friend there, he might come home along with her. There happened to be Richard Moor of Salop, a worthy and faithful labourer in the gospel, who came along with her to our house in Welch-Pool. This was in the Ninth Month, 1662. A day or two after, we went to the meeting, where came in Charles Lloyd of Dolobran, who was formerly in commission of the peace, and had been in election to be high-sheriff of that county, and also several of his wellmeaning neighbours, some of them were professors, belonging to the same people that I formerly belonged to. The Lord was not wanting, but afforded unto us his good presence; life and power came from him, that reached to the hearts and understandings of most of the people then present, who gave testimony to the truth, life and power of God, that appeared with us that time; and in the love, fear, and life of Truth we parted.