 
In 1664 another war broke out between England and Holland, owing to the refusal of the latter to allow the existence of English colonies on the coast of Guinea, where the Dutch had hitherto enjoyed the exclusive trade. Admiral de Ruyter was ordered to destroy these settlements and a declaration of war followed. The Duke of York, then Lord High Admiral of England, believing the services of his friend Admiral Penn indispensable at such a juncture, appointed him to the command of his own flagship with the title of Great Commander. This compelled Sir William to recall young Penn to take charge of the family affairs during his absence. Rumors of Louis the Fourteenth’s favorable disposition toward the Dutch also made him fear for his son’s safety in France. The change wrought in William by his two years’ absence could not fail to delight the admiral. The seriousness of mind which had formerly led him to avoid all worldly pleasures had vanished and was replaced by a youthful vivacity of manner and a ready wit in conversation that were most charming. In appearance too he had improved greatly, having grown into a tall and handsome man, his face marked by an expression of singular sweetness and gentleness, yet full of intelligence and resolution. To prevent any return to his former habits, his father took pains to keep him surrounded by companions of rank and wealth and amid the associations of a court little behind that of France in the matter of license and extravagance. He also had him entered at Lincoln’s Inn as a student of law, a knowledge of which would be indispensable in the lofty position to which he aspired for his son and heir. And why should not these hopes of future distinction be realized? Was he not in high favor not only with the King, but also with the Duke of York, who must succeed to the throne on the death of Charles? Nevertheless, the admiral must still have had doubts as to the permanence of this unexpected and most welcome change, for when he sailed with the Duke of York in March, 1665, he took William with him, feeling it safest, no doubt, to keep him for a time under his own eye and away from all temptation to relapse into his old ways. These prudent calculations were soon upset, however, for three weeks later, when the first engagement with the Dutch fleet took place, young Penn was sent back by the Duke of York with despatches to the King announcing the victory. As the bearer of these tidings he was naturally made welcome at court and remained in London, continuing his law studies. Then came the plague, which broke out in London with such violence as to terrify even the most worldly and force upon them the thought of death. Persons seemingly in perfect health would suddenly fall dead in the streets, as many as ten thousand deaths occurring in a single day. All who were able to escape fled from the city, while those who could not get away shut themselves up in their houses, scarcely venturing forth to obtain even the necessities of life. The terrible scenes which met the eye at every turn quickly banished William’s newly acquired worldliness and turned his thoughts once more to serious things. Religious questions absorbed his whole mind and became of far greater importance to him than those of law, with which he should have been occupying himself. Sir William observed this new change with alarm and displeasure on his return with the fleet, and even more so when his services were rewarded by the King not only by large additions to his Irish estates, but also by promises of still higher preferment in the future. Of what use would these honors be if the son who was to inherit them insisted on embracing a vocation that utterly unfitted him for such a position? Again he cast about for a remedy that should prove as effectual as the sojourn in France had been, and this time he sent his son to the Duke of Ormond, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, whose court, though a gay and brilliant one, was not so profligate as those at Paris and London. The admiral had overlooked one fact, however, in his choice of residence for his son; namely, that there were many Quakers in Ireland. The letters which he carried procured young Penn an instant welcome to court circles in Dublin, where his attractive person and his cleverness soon made him popular. Again he found himself plunged into a whirl of gayety and pleasure, to which he abandoned himself the more readily as it involved no especial reproach of conscience. Soon after his arrival he volunteered to join an expedition commanded by the Duke’s son, Lord Arran, to reduce some mutinous troops to obedience, and bore himself with so much coolness and courage that the viceroy wrote to Sir William expressing his satisfaction with young Penn’s conduct and proposing that he should embrace a military career, for which he seemed so well adapted. Greatly to William’s disappointment, however, the admiral refused his consent, having other plans for the future. There was also work for him now wherein he could utilize his knowledge of law, some question having arisen as to the title of the large estates recently granted the admiral by Charles the Second. The matter having to be settled by law, William was intrusted by his father with the trial of the case, which he succeeded in winning. One day while at Cork, near which his father’s property was situated, he recognized in a shopkeeper of whom he was making some purchases one of the women who had been present at that never-to-be-forgotten meeting held at his father’s house by Thomas Loe. Much pleased at thus discovering an old acquaintance, the conversation naturally turned to religious subjects, and on William’s expressing the wish that he might again see and hear the famous preacher, the Quakeress informed him that Loe was then living in Cork and would hold one of his usual meetings the following day. It is needless to say that young Penn was present on that occasion and his Oxford experience was repeated. Loe’s sermon seemed aimed directly at him, for it was on “the faith that overcometh the world and the faith that is overcome by the world.” As the first part of the sermon, wherein the preacher depicted with glowing enthusiasm the splendid fruits of that faith that overcometh, awoke in the young man’s heart memories of the true peace and happiness that had been his so long as he had remained true to his beliefs, so the second part, dealing with the faith that succumbs to worldly temptations, fell like blows upon his conscience. Bitter remorse for his frivolous life of the last few years overwhelmed him, and Loe, to whom he presented himself at the close of the meeting, perceiving his state of mind, did not fail to strengthen the effect of his discourse by the most solemn exhortations. For a time filial duty and worldly ambition struggled against the voice of awakened conscience, but the latter finally triumphed. Penn now became a regular attendant at the Quaker meetings and belonged, in heart at least, to the persecuted sect. In September, 1667, while present at one of these meetings, usually held with as much secrecy as possible, in order to avoid the jeers of the rabble, the place was suddenly invaded by order of the mayor and all the participants arrested. Finding the son of so distinguished a personage as Sir William Penn among the prisoners, the astonished official offered to release him at once if he would promise not to repeat the offence, but Penn refused to enjoy any advantages over his companions and went with them to prison. While there he wrote to the Earl of Orrery, complaining of the injustice of his imprisonment, since the practice of religious worship could be called neither a criminal offence nor a disturbance of the peace. On receipt of this letter an order was given for his immediate release, but the report that he had joined the Quakers quickly spread, calling forth both derision and indignation among his friends at court. When this rumor reached the admiral, who feared nothing so much as ridicule, he promptly ordered his son to join him in London. Finding him still in the dress of a gentleman with sword and plume, he felt somewhat reassured and began to hope that after all he might have been misinformed, but the next day, when he took William to task for keeping his hat on in his presence, the youth frankly confessed that he had become a Quaker. Threats and arguments proving alike useless, the admiral then gave him an hour’s time to consider whether he would not at least remove his hat before the King and the Duke of York, that his future prospects and position at court might not be ruined. But William’s resolution had been fully matured during his imprisonment at Cork, and his conversion was a serious matter of conscience. He was forced to admit to himself therefore that such a concession would be a violation of his principles, and announced at the end of the time that it would be impossible for him to comply with his father’s wishes. At this the admiral’s hitherto restrained anger burst all bounds. Infuriated because all his plans and ambitions for the future were baffled by what seemed to him a mere notion, he heaped abuse and reproaches on his son and finally ordered him from the house with threats of disinheritance. This was a severe test of Penn’s religious convictions. Not only was he passionately devoted to his mother, on whose sympathy and support he could always count, but he also had the deepest respect and regard for his father, in spite of their widely different views, but his conscience demanded the sacrifice and he made it, leaving his home and all his former associations. Now that the die was cast he laid aside his worldly dress and openly professed himself as belonging to the Friends, as they were called, who welcomed him with open arms. It would have fared ill with him, however, accustomed as he was to a life of affluence and ease, had it not been for his mother, who provided him with money from time to time as she found an opportunity. It was not long, however, before the admiral relented, owing chiefly to her efforts in his behalf, and allowed him to return home, though still refusing to see or hold any communication with him. It must indeed have been a crushing blow to the proud and ambitious man of the world to have his son and heir travelling about the country as a poor preacher, for it was about this time, 1668, that William first began to preach. He also utilized his learning and talents by writing in defence of the new doctrines he had embraced. One of these publications, entitled “The Sandy Foundation Shaken,” attracted much attention. In it he cleverly attempted to prove that certain fundamental doctrines of the established church were contrary to Scripture—a heresy for which the Bishop of London had him imprisoned. Indeed his malicious enemies went so far as to claim that Penn had dropped a letter at the time of his arrest, written by himself and containing treasonable matter, but although his innocence on this point was soon established, he was forced, nevertheless, to remain for nine months in the Tower. Even the King, to whom Sir William appealed on his son’s behalf, did not dare to intervene for fear of increasing the suspicion, in which he already stood, of being an enemy to the church. All he could do was to send the court chaplain to visit Penn and urge him to make amends to the irate Bishop, who was determined he should publicly retract his published statements or end his days in prison. But this the young enthusiast refused to do, replying with the spirit of a martyr that his prison should be his grave before he would renounce his just opinions; that for his conscience he was responsible to no man. This period of enforced idleness was by no means wasted, however. While at the Tower he wrote “No Cross, No Crown,” perhaps the best known and most popular of all his works, wherein for his own consolation as well as that of his persecuted brethren he explained the need for all true Christians to bear the cross. Another, called “Innocence with her Open Face,” further expounded certain disputed passages in the Holy Book that had shared his imprisonment. The manly firmness and courage with which Penn bore his long confinement without allowing his newly adopted beliefs to be shaken forced universal respect and sympathy and even softened his father’s wrath at last. The admiral himself had been having troubles. False accusations made against him by his enemies had so preyed on his mind that his health had given way, and he had been forced to resign his post in the admiralty and retire to private life. He visited his son several times in prison, and his appeals to the Duke of York finally secured William’s release, without the recantation demanded by the Bishop. Further residence in London at that time being undesirable, however, he went back to his father’s estate in Ireland. Here he labored unceasingly for the liberation of his friends in Cork, who were still languishing in prison, and at last had the joy of seeing his efforts crowned with success by securing their pardon from the Duke of Ormond. At the end of eight months he returned again to England at the wish of his father, whose rapidly failing health made him long for his eldest son. He had fully relented toward him by this time and a complete reconciliation now took place, greatly to the joy of all parties. But the year 1670, which brought this happiness to Penn, was also one of trial for him, owing to the revival of the law against dissenters, as all who differed from the doctrines of the established church were called, declaring assemblies of more than five persons for religious purposes unlawful and making offenders punishable by heavy fines or even banishment. Among the thousands thus deprived of liberty and property, being at the mercy of the meanest informer, one of the first to suffer was William Penn. On the fourteenth of August, 1670, the Quakers found their usual place of meeting in London closed and occupied by soldiery. When Penn arrived on the scene with his friend William Mead he attempted to address the assembled crowd, urging them to disperse quietly and offer no resistance, which would be quite useless. But as soon as he began to speak both he and Mead were arrested and taken to prison by warrants from the mayor of London for having attended a proscribed meeting and furthermore caused a disturbance of the peace. The prisoners were tried before a jury on September third. Although the three witnesses brought against them could produce no testimony to confirm the charge, Penn voluntarily confessed that he had intended to preach and claimed it as a sacred right. In spite of all the indignities and abuse permitted by the court, he pleaded his cause so stoutly and so eloquently that the jury pronounced a verdict of not guilty. This was far from pleasing to the judges, who were bent on having Penn punished, so the jury were sent back to reconsider, and when they persisted were locked up for two days without food or water and threatened with starvation unless a verdict were reached which could be accepted by the court. Even this proving ineffectual they were fined for their obstinacy, and refusing to pay these fines were sent to prison, while Penn and his friend Mead, instead of being released, were still kept in confinement for refusing to pay a fine which had been arbitrarily imposed on them for contempt of court. The admiral, however, whose approaching end made him more and more anxious to have his son at liberty, sent privately and paid both fines, thus securing the release of both prisoners. Penn found his father greatly changed. The once proud and ambitious man had experienced the hollowness of worldly things and longed for death. “I am weary of the world,” he said to William shortly before his death. “I would not live over another day of my life even if it were possible to bring back the past. Its temptations are more terrible than death.” He charged his children, all of whom were gathered about him, “Let nothing tempt you to wrong your conscience; thus shall you find an inward peace that will prove a blessing when evil days befall.” He talked much with William, who doubtless did not fail to impress upon his dying father the comfort of a firm religious faith, and before he died expressed his entire approval of the simple form of worship adopted by his eldest and favorite son. Sir William died on the sixteenth of September, 1670. Shortly before the end he sent messages to the King and to the Duke of York with the dying request that they would act as guardians to his son, whom he foresaw would stand greatly in need of friends and protectors in the trials to which his faith would expose him. Wealth he would not lack, for the admiral left an estate yielding an annual income of about fifteen hundred pounds, besides a claim on the royal exchequer for fifteen thousand pounds, which sum he had loaned at various times to the King and his brother. |
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