 
William Penn was descended from an old English family which, as early as the beginning of the fifteenth century, had settled in the county of Buckinghamshire in the southern part of England, and of which a branch seems later to have moved to the neighboring county of Wiltshire, for in a church in the town of Mintye there is a tablet recording the death of a William Penn in 1591. It was a grandson and namesake of this William Penn, and the father of our hero, however, who first made the family name distinguished. Brought up as a sailor by his father, the captain of a merchantman, with whom he visited not only the principal ports of Spain and Portugal, but also the distant shores of Asia Minor, he afterward entered the service of the government and so distinguished himself that in his twentieth year he was made a captain in the royal navy. In 1643 he married Margaret Jasper, the clever and beautiful daughter of a Rotterdam merchant, and from this time his sole ambition was to make a name for himself and elevate his family to a rank they had not hitherto enjoyed. In this he succeeded, partly by policy, but also unquestionably by natural ability; for although the name of Penn is scarcely enrolled among England’s greatest naval heroes, yet at the early age of twenty-three he had been made a rear-admiral, and two years later was advanced to the rank of vice-admiral—this too at a time when advancement in the English navy could only be obtained by real merit and valuable service. Penn’s father was also shrewd enough to take advantage of circumstances and turn them to his profit. Although at heart a royalist, he did not scruple to go over to the revolutionists when it became evident that the monarchy must succumb to the power of the justly incensed people and Parliament; and when the head of Charles the First had fallen under the executioner’s axe and Oliver Cromwell had seized the reins of government, Admiral Penn was prompt to offer his homage. Cromwell on his part may have had some justifiable doubts as to the sincerity of this allegiance, but knowing Penn to be an ambitious man of the world, he felt reasonably sure of winning him over completely to the side of the Commonwealth by consulting his interests. He had need of such men just then, for the alliance between England and Holland, which he was endeavoring to bring about, had just been frustrated by the passage by Parliament of the Navigation Act of 1651, requiring that foreign merchandise should be brought to England on English vessels only. This was a direct blow at the flourishing trade hitherto carried on by the Dutch with English ports, and a war with Holland was inevitable. As this must of necessity be a naval war, Cromwell was quite ready to accept the services of so able and experienced an officer as William Penn. The young admiral fully justified the Protector’s confidence, for it was largely owing to his valor that the war, during which ten great naval battles were fought, ended in complete victory for the English. Scarcely less distinguished were his services in the subsequent war with Spain, when he was given the task of destroying that country’s sovereignty in the West Indies. He conquered the island of Jamaica, which was added to England’s possessions, but was unable to retrieve an unsuccessful attempt of the land forces assisting him to capture the neighboring island of Hispaniola. He had been shrewd enough to make terms with Cromwell before sailing for the West Indies. In compensation for the damages inflicted on his Irish property during the civil war he was granted an indemnity, besides the promise of a valuable estate in Ireland, and the assurance of protection for his family during his absence. It was well for Penn that he did so, for on his return he was summarily deprived of his office and cast into prison—ostensibly for his failure to conquer Hispaniola. The real reason, however, for this action on the part of Cromwell was doubtless due to his knowledge of certain double dealing on the part of Penn, who, shrewdly foreseeing that the English Commonwealth was destined to be short-lived and that on the death of Cromwell the son of the murdered King would doubtless be restored to the throne, had secretly entered into communication with this prince, then living at Cologne on the Rhine, and placed at his disposition the entire fleet under his command. The offer had been declined, it is true, Charles at that time being unable to avail himself of it, but it had reached the ears of Cromwell, who took this means of punishing the admiral’s disloyalty. That our hero should have been the child of such a father proves the fallacy of the saying, “The apple never falls far from the tree.” His mother, fortunately, was of a very different and far nobler stamp. She seems to have felt no regret at her son’s religious turn of mind, for later, when the father, enraged at his association with the despised Quakers, turned him out of doors, she secretly sympathized with the outcast and supplied him with money. This son, our William Penn, was born in London on the fourteenth of October, 1644, as his father was floating down the Thames in the battleship of which he had just been placed in command. For his early education he was indebted entirely to his mother, his father’s profession keeping him away from home most of the time. From what is known of her, this must have been of a kind firmly to implant in the child’s heart the seeds of piety, for such a development of spirituality can only be ascribed to impressions received in childhood. William was only eleven at the time of his father’s disgrace, but old enough to understand and share his mother’s distress at the misfortune which fell like a dark shadow across his youthful gayety. Even then the boy may have realized how little real happiness is to be found in a worldly career, and how poor are they whose whole thoughts are centred on the things of this life. The admiral’s imprisonment did not last long, however. A petition for pardon having been sent to the Protector, he was released and retired with his family to bury his blighted ambitions on the Irish estate near Cork which he had received as a reward for his achievements in the war with Holland. Two more children had been born to them in the meantime, a daughter, Margaret, and a second son, who was named Richard. Here, amid the pleasures and occupations of a country life to which he devoted himself with the greatest zest and enjoyment, young William grew into a slender but stalwart youth. When it became time to consider his higher education, for which there were no suitable opportunities at home, it was decided to send him to Oxford—a plan which was deferred for a time, however, owing to an event which was of more concern to Admiral Penn than his son’s education, since it opened fresh fields for his ambition. This was the death of Oliver Cromwell on September 3, 1658. The news revived Penn’s still cherished plans for assisting in the restoration of Charles the Second, thereby laying the foundation of a new and brilliant career at the court of the young King, whose favor he had already propitiated by his offer of the fleet. These schemes he did not dare to put into immediate execution for fear of involving himself in fresh troubles, the parliamentary party still being in power and Cromwell’s son Richard chosen as his successor. But no sooner had the latter, realizing his inability to guide affairs with his father’s strong hand, resigned the honor conferred upon him, no sooner was it announced that Parliament had received a message from Charles the Second and was favorably inclined toward his restoration to the throne, than the aspiring admiral lost not a moment in hastening over to Holland to be among the first to offer homage to the new King. The knighthood which he received from that grateful monarch served only as a spur to still greater zeal in his interests, to which he devoted himself with such success that he not only won over the navy to the royal cause by his influence with its officers, but having accomplished his election to Parliament, was thus able to assist in the decision to recall the exiled sovereign. Again he was among the first to carry this news to Holland, thereby establishing himself still more firmly in the King’s favor. Not till these affairs were settled and a brilliant future assured for himself and his family did Sir William find time to think of his son, who was accordingly sent to Christ Church, Oxford. The young man must have soon discovered the deficiencies of his previous education and realized that he was far behind other students of his own age, but he applied himself to his studies with such diligence that he made rapid progress and earned the entire approbation of his instructors, while his amiability and kindness of heart, as well as his skill in all sorts of manly sports, made him no less popular with his fellow students. But skilful oarsman, sure shot, and good athlete as he was, he never lost sight of the deeper things of life. Indefatigably as he devoted himself to acquiring not only a thorough knowledge of the classics, but also of several modern languages, so that he was able to converse in French, German, Dutch, and Italian, he showed an even greater fondness for the study of religion. He was especially interested in the writings of the Puritans, which were spread broadcast at this time, glowing with Christian zeal and denouncing the efforts made by the court to introduce Catholic forms and ceremonies into divine worship in the universities as well as elsewhere. Feeling it a matter of conscience to protest against these innovations, Penn, with a number of his fellow students, reluctantly determined to resist the orders of the King, with whom his father stood in such high favor, but whose dissolute life could win neither respect nor loyalty from the earnest and high-minded youth. About this time there appeared at Oxford a man whom William had already seen as a child and who even then made a deep impression on him. This was Thomas Loe, a follower of Fox, the Quaker whose teachings he was endeavoring to spread throughout the country. He had visited Ireland for this purpose and, doubtless at the suggestion of Sir William’s pious lady, was asked to hold a meeting at their house. The eleven-year-old William never forgot the effect produced by this sermon. Even his father, not usually susceptible to religious feeling, was moved to tears, and the boy thought what a wonderful place the world would be if all were Quakers. Now that this same Thomas Loe had come to Oxford, what could be more natural than that the young zealot, already roused to opposition and imbued with Puritan ideas, should attend these Quaker meetings with companions of a like mind? Strengthened in his childish impressions and convinced that divine truth was embodied in Loe’s teachings, Penn and his friends refused to attend the established form of service, with its ceremonies, for which they openly expressed their abhorrence and contempt. He was called to account and punished by the college authorities for this and for attending the Quaker meetings, but it only added fuel to the flame. Indignant at this so-called violation of their principles, against the injustice of which they felt it a sacred duty to rebel, they began to hold meetings among themselves for devotional exercises, and only awaited a pretext for open revolt. This was soon furnished by an order from the King prescribing the wearing of collegiate gowns by the students. The young reformers not only refused to wear them, but even went so far as to attack those who did and tear the objectionable garments off from them by force—a proceeding which naturally led to their expulsion after an official examination, during which Penn had spoken boldly and unreservedly in his own and his companions’ defence. The effect of this on the worldly and ambitious father may easily be imagined. He had looked to his eldest son, on whom he had built such high hopes, to carry on his aspiring schemes after his own death, and totally unable to comprehend how a mere youth could be so carried away by religious enthusiasm, the disgrace of William’s expulsion from the university was a bitter blow to his pride. It was but a cold reception therefore that the young man met with on his return to the paternal roof. For a long time his father refused even to see him, and when he did it was only to overwhelm him with the bitterest reproaches. He sternly commanded him to abandon his absurd religious beliefs and break off all communication with his Oxford associates, and when William respectfully but firmly refused to do this until he should be convinced of their absurdity, the admiral, accustomed as an officer to absolute obedience, flew into such a passion that he seized his cane and ordered his degenerate son out of the house. On calmer reflection, however, he became convinced of the uselessness of such severity, for William, he discovered, though moping about, dejected and unhappy, was still keeping up a lively correspondence with his Quaker friends, so he resolved to try other methods. Knowing by experience the power of worldly pleasures to divert the mind of youth and drown serious thought in the intoxication of the senses, he determined to resort to this dangerous remedy for his son, whose ideas of life, to his mind, needed a radical change. He therefore arranged for William to join a party of young gentlemen of rank who were about to set out on a tour of the continent, first visiting France and its gay capital, reckoning shrewdly that constant association with young companions so little in sympathy with Quaker ideas and habits would soon convert his son to other views. Or if this perhaps did not fully accomplish the purpose, the allurements of Paris, where King Louis the Fourteenth and his brilliant court set such an example of luxury and licentiousness, could not fail to complete the cure. Little to young Penn’s taste as was this journey, and especially the society in which he was to make it, he did not care to renew his father’s scarcely cooled anger by opposing it, nor was life at home under existing circumstances especially pleasant or comfortable. He yielded therefore without protest to his father’s wishes and set out for Paris with the companions chosen for him, well provided with letters of introduction which would admit him to the highest circles of French society. The correctness of the admiral’s judgment proved well founded, and the associations into which he had thrown his son only too well fitted to work the desired change. In spite of his inward resistance young Penn found himself drawn into a whirl of gayety and pleasure for which he soon grew to have more and more fondness and which left him no time for serious thought. He was presented to the King and became a welcome and frequent guest at that dissolute court. The life of license and luxury by which he was surrounded and against which he had almost ceased to struggle failed, however, entirely to subdue his better nature, as the following incident will show. Returning late one evening from some gathering wearing a sword, as French custom demanded, his way was suddenly stopped by a masked man who ordered him to draw his sword, demanding satisfaction for an injury. In vain Penn protested his innocence of any offence and his ignorance even of the identity of his accuser, but the latter insisted that he should fight, declaring Penn had insulted him by not returning his greeting. The discussion soon attracted a number of auditors, and under penalty of being dubbed a coward by refusing to cross swords with his adversary, Penn was obliged to yield. But if, as is not unlikely, the whole affair was planned by his comrades to force him to use arms, a practice forbidden among the Quakers, the youth who undertook the role of challenger was playing rather a dangerous game; for among his other acquirements Penn had thoroughly mastered the art of fencing and quickly succeeded in disarming his adversary. Instead of pursuing his advantage, however, as the laws of duelling permitted, the spectators were astonished to see him return the rapier with a courtly bow to his discomfited foe and silently withdraw. He might yield to the prevailing custom so far as to draw his sword, but his conscience would not permit him to shed human blood. THE DUEL It was with the greatest satisfaction that Sir William learned of the change that had been wrought in his son, and to make it yet more permanent and effectual he ordered him to remain abroad, extending his travels to other countries. He was now in a position to afford this, as through the favor of the King’s brother, the Duke of York, he had received an important and lucrative post in the admiralty, but he would gladly have made any sacrifice to have his son return the kind of man he wished him to be. But the father’s hopes ran too high. Although outwardly become a man of the world, William had by no means lost all serious purpose in the vortex of Parisian life, for he spent some time at Saumur, on the Loire, attracted thither by the fame of Moses Amyrault, a divine, under whose teaching he remained for some time and of whom he became a zealous adherent. From there, by his father’s orders, he travelled through various parts of France and then turned his steps toward Italy in order to become as familiar with the language as he already had with French, and to cultivate his taste in art by a study of the rich treasures of that country. |
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