No Shame, No Fear

by Ann Turnbull

  That night I lay awake for hours, and it seemed I had no sooner fallen asleep than I was woken by birdsong and saw that it was almost dawn.

  At once a thousand thoughts flew into my mind. Since there was no chance of more sleep, I decided to leave the house before my father woke and tried to prevent me. I rose quietly and washed in last night’s cold water, dressed, and crept downstairs and out the back way.

  I went straight to the printer’s, where Nat, yawning, answered my knock. Susanna was in the kitchen, making up the fire. I kneeled beside her and spoke quietly, telling her what I had arranged with the priest.

  “Oh, Will!” She turned to me, and I saw in her face the same mixture of emotions that I was feeling. We were like two conspirators, and I jumped up as Mary came in.

  “Thou’rt early, Will,” she said.

  “Yes.” I told her about my fears that trouble was planned.

  “If there is trouble the Lord will prevail,” said Mary. She measured oats into an iron pot. “Porridge? Thou’ll eat with us, I hope?”

  “Yes, I thank thee.”

  While the porridge cooked we sat in silence. Mary gave the pot an occasional stir, and Susanna poured beer and passed mugs around, but we did not talk more than was necessary, each of us mentally preparing ourselves for whatever was to come.

  It came sooner than we had expected. We had eaten and were about to leave for Meeting when we heard a banging on the shop door. We all tensed and glanced at each other.

  “Wait here.” Mary went through the print room and into the shop, and I heard her open the door; then came a man’s voice, and the sound of people entering, the scrape of boots and clink of weapons.

  Nat hurried after Mary, but in a moment he was back. “The sheriff’s men,” he whispered. “They come to question us and seize copies of the new pamphlet.”

  “On first-day?” exclaimed Susanna.

  “It’s a ploy, I reckon, to prevent us being at Meeting. Go out through the yard. Thou too, Will. There’s a way along the backs of the houses.”

  “But—” I began. I did not want to run and hide if Mary was accused.

  “Thou can’t help here. I’ll stay. Go quickly, before they stop thee.”

  So we left, Susanna and I, out past the cesspits and middens of the backyards and into a side alley; and from there we ran to Cross Street.

  The children were already there, and I caught Tom’s look of relief when he saw us. The gates to the Seven Stars’ yard were still barred, and the children stood in a small but defiant group in the street outside.

  We drew together, joining hands for support.

  Almost at once a group of youths appeared – the same ones who had attacked us the week before. They began tormenting us, and soon after came the sheriff, with several constables.

  The sheriff’s men moved in fast, striking out with their clubs. This time there was no attempt to declare our meeting illegal or to protect us from the youths, who disappeared. The aim was to break up the meeting with violence. The constables forced their way in among us and laid about them with their clubs, striking even the little ones. I caught Susanna to my side and tried to shield her from the blows. The younger children were screaming. I saw Tom struck as he went to protect his sister, Joe and Isaac beaten back against the gates.

  Susanna had been standing her ground, but when she saw Isaac attacked she broke from me and ran forward. A constable caught her and threw her down hard on the cobbles. As he went to strike her I flung myself between them – giving her time to scramble to her feet. The blow landed on my back, and a kick brought me to my knees. Two men seized me and hauled me upright, and I saw Susanna also held, and heard Sheriff Danson shouting that we were all under arrest.

  He turned on Susanna. “I warned you not to bring these children here again!”

  “I brought no one.” She was breathless from her fall, but defiant. “They came of their own free will to worship God.”

  “You are the ringleader – and you’ll suffer for it.”

  I protested at the unfairness of this. “We have no leader! I am as much to blame as her.”

  Danson turned to me, and a look of irritation crossed his face. “Master Heywood.”

  I was breathing hard and could feel blood trickling from my nose. “Do not ask me to go home,” I said. “I will not. You must arrest me too. This is an outrage against innocent people, against children—”

  “Take them all to Bridewell!” said Danson.

  They took even the youngest ones. I could not reach Susanna, but saw her ahead of me, pushed and harried by the constables. No one struggled, and no one showed tears. They took us through back alleys – I think to avoid townsfolk who might be moved to sympathy. Some who did see us cried shame on our guards, but in general people were at church or within doors and the streets were empty.

  I saw now that the authorities thought to have broken the meeting once and for all. The youths had given them their excuse to label us riotous and disorderly; the raid on the print works – unheard of on the Lord’s day – had prevented Mary from being here, Mary being the person they found most formidable and difficult to deal with. What was left, they thought, was a clutch of children who could be terrified into submission with beatings and imprisonment.

  I had never been inside the Bridewell before. The yard, which contained a stocks and whipping post, was awash with filth: rotting food and the contents of a blocked and overflowing cesspit. As the soldiers handed us over to our jailers I managed to reach Susanna and take her hand. We all tramped through the filth of the yard, watched by the inmates.

  Two ragged women cackled at sight of us.

  “Here come the Quakers!”

  One of them, with a nod towards me, called out to Susanna, “Does he keep his hat on in bed?”

  Susanna ignored them and kept hold of my hand. I tried not to let my disgust at our situation show in my face, but must have failed.

  “It’s not so bad here,” she said. “Not as bad as the Castlegate. And we will probably be out in the morning.”

  I felt ashamed. “I should be comforting thee.”

  “No. It’s new to thee.”

  “I’m glad I am here.”

  And I meant it. At last I had forced them to stop treating me like an alderman’s son.

  Once inside, we were separated and saw no more of each other. Susanna and the younger children were put to work picking oakum, but Tom and I were sent to join a group of men who were breaking up stones. It was heavy work, and we soon tired, but if we stopped the overseer beat us. We were fed twice that day on gruel and coarse bread, and given a ration of beer. As I worked, I thought: I must learn to endure this; it could be far, far worse. And I remembered how Daniel Kite had been manacled and chained for weeks in a damp, stinking hole.

  The day was hard, the night foul with coughings and pukings, mouldy straw and the squeaking of rats. Tom and I huddled together. I thought I’d never sleep, such was my fear and revulsion, but I dozed an hour or so before dawn and woke, stiff, to harsh voices calling us to work.

  We were not let out till noon. I caught occasional glimpses of the children, but did not see Susanna and had no chance to seek her out. Then, as the inmates were shuffling off to queue for their bread and beer, we found we were free to go. The jailer jerked a thumb at Tom and me. “You two: out! You’re released.”

  We stumbled into the yard. I ached all over from the stone-breaking. The children were assembling there, along with other people who were to be released. I looked around for Susanna – at first casually, expecting to see her, then with increasing concern. I scanned the crowd, the yard, the entrances to workrooms. My heart began to beat faster. Susanna was not there.

  I found Abigail. “Abby! Where is Susanna?”

  “Oh, Will!” She turned a stricken face to me. “The sheriff’s men came in the morning and took her away. They said she was to be put in the stocks.”

  “The stocks?” I looked around wildly. The stocks were empty.<
br />
  “Not here,” said Abigail. “The public stocks. In the marketplace. They say she is our leader and a troublemaker and must be punished.”

  Susanna

  They didn’t tell me till the morning what was to happen. The first I knew was when the constables summoned me. When I was told that I was to suffer three hours in the stocks, I heard my voice rise in a wail as I cried out, “Why? What have I done?”

  The constable in charge held an official-looking paper. “You are charged with holding an illegal meeting and with encouraging and leading others into defiance of the law.”

  The children pressed forward to support me.

  “You must take us all!” said Abigail – and I loved her for that, for I knew she was not brave by nature. A clamour of voices broke out, the children protesting, the jailers forcing them back as the two constables seized me, one holding each arm, and marched me out.

  Isaac broke free and ran after us. “Take me instead!”

  The jailers dragged him back, and he called out, “Su, don’t fear, we will come and stand beside thee!”

  But the constable in charge told me, “Your friends are to remain here till noon.”

  I looked around, desperate, for Will, but he was nowhere to be seen. I was set apart, alone, and thought I would faint from fear. The stocks are the punishment I have always most dreaded – more than beating, or even prison. To be shamed in public, jeered at, pelted with rubbish… I shan’t be able to bear it, I thought. I’m not like my parents, not like Mary; my faith is not strong enough. And I began to sob as they led me away.

  Before, when I had been marched through the streets, it had been with friends. We had walked together boldly, proudly, and let the taunts pass over us. This time it was different. I saw people stop and stare, a child point and look up to question his mother. And I knew how thieves and whores and other outcasts must feel as they are dragged to punishment, alone and friendless.

  The market was busy when we arrived: maids and housewives out with their baskets; awnings flapping in the breeze; stalls laden with bread, fish, cabbages, onions. We moved through it all and came to the open space where the stocks stood. There were three sets, all empty; so I was to be alone.

  They took me to an end set, unlocked the bars, pushed me down on the cobbles.

  “I will sit,” I said, struggling to regain some dignity. “You need not force me.”

  And I sat and put my legs obediently into the two curved spaces. Even so, they manhandled me, one of them putting his hands on my legs and pushing up my skirts so that my calves and the tops of my stockings were exposed, before bringing down the bar and locking it. My arms were put into the top section and that too was locked in place. Then, as if attention enough had not been drawn to me, one of them shouted a proclamation of my crime so that all knew of it. And then they left me there, a prisoner.

  I had stopped crying. The tears were all inside me but I knew I must not show them. I was a witness for the truth and would have them think I suffered gladly. All around, people had heard the proclamation, and faces turned to look: curious, mostly; some cruel, some sympathetic, but many indifferent – for after all this was nothing much as far as they were concerned, a minor punishment, something to be seen every day. I tried to look back at them without flinching.

  I thought of Will, of how we had planned to be married this evening. And I thought: He will be released at noon, and come straight here, and see me like this; and the thought was unbearable.

  At first no one threw anything. Then some children appeared, little grinning boys of seven or eight years. They didn’t care who I was or what I’d done. I’d been put there for their amusement, and they soon found the means. A spatter of fish-heads came first, smacking into my face and slithering down. Then cabbage leaves, mud, horse dung, that hit me full in the face so that I had to shake my head and blink to see, causing them much merriment. After a while they became a nuisance to traders and were chased away; and a man came and wiped the dung from my face and took the opportunity to slip a hand inside my bodice. Instinctively I moved my right arm, but it was trapped, and he laughed.

  I became aware of pain, which grew worse. Under my buttocks the cobbles were hard, and no matter how I shifted about I could not find ease. My shoulders ached, and there was pain all along the backs of my legs, which were fixed and unable to bend.

  But the worst pain was the humiliation. A dog came nosing around, stopped, and urinated against my trapped left leg. Some youths laughed at the sight, and I thought I would die of shame. I knew I must take my attention away from my plight if I was to endure it. I remembered the time when I saw the scars on Mary’s back and asked her, “How can thou bear to be shamed like that in public?” And Mary had said, “I wait upon God.”

  So I closed my eyes and shut out the faces and with it my shame; I tried also to shut out the physical pain. Thoughts crowded in and clamoured to be heard: thoughts of Will, of our marriage, of London, of what my parents would say, of what dangers might be to come. But I knew I should not dwell on them now. I let them go. I turned towards the inward light and withdrew into it. A long way off, it seemed, there was mocking laughter. Someone spat in my face; a woman’s voice hissed, “You people should be hanged!” I kept my eyes closed, and imagined the light expanding within me. And at last I reached a state of peace; I knew that I could overcome all things and that nothing devised by man could hurt or shame me while I was held in the love of God.

  Three hours I stayed there. Mostly folk ignored me, though a few could not resist making taunts or throwing rubbish. I tried to remain in that place where such things could not reach me.

  It was perhaps two hours into my ordeal that I opened my eyes and saw Mary and Nat making their way towards me through the crowd. They had only just heard that I was there. They came and squatted on either side of me and we endured the mockery and rubbish together.

  After a long time Mary’s hand touched my cheek. “They come to release thee,” she said.

  I looked up and saw the constables coming – and then, behind them, Will, pushing through the crowd, his face a mask of distress. He arrived as they began to free me, and Nat hurried to calm and restrain him. The top bar was lifted and my arms freed, and then the lower one. My legs were so stiff I could scarcely move. I got onto my hands and knees and Mary helped me to stand.

  Will cried out, “Susanna!” and came towards me, but I shrank from him, unable to bear that he should touch me in my besmirched condition. I hid my face in Mary’s shoulder.

  Mary began to lead me away. Behind me I heard Will protesting, and Nat urging him to wait. “We’ll go to the Mintons’, Will, get washed and decent, help the children…” And I heard Isaac’s voice too, and Abigail’s.

  “Nat will see to them,” said Mary. “Let’s get thee home; then all will be better.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. I felt suddenly too weak to do anything for myself.

  Back in our kitchen, Mary heated water and found clean clothes for me while I sat by the fire, trembling with shock. The little striped cat jumped on my lap and I stroked it and let its purring comfort me.

  When there was enough warm water, Mary filled a tub and put a bag of lavender in to scent it; she brought a wash-ball and a jug, and hung a clean linen towel to warm by the fire. She helped me to undress, for I was still shaking and could hardly bear to touch my soiled clothes. Then she went upstairs for her own wash while I took off my shift and stepped into the tub. I crouched and scooped up water with the jug and poured it over my head and washed my hair, rinsing it clean again and again. I washed all over and then sat in the water with my knees bent, releasing the stiffness and letting the scented steam warm me. Gradually I stopped shaking.

  When I stepped out the towel warmed me more, and I rubbed myself briskly and turned a rosy pink. I was sitting in a clean shift, drying my feet, when Mary came down.

  “Thank thee for the bath,” I said. It was a rare pleasure for me to wash in that way; a bowl on the
washstand was all I usually had.

  “Did it help thee feel better?”

  I managed a smile. “Like a lady.”

  “Well, be a lady. Thou need not work this afternoon.”

  “I’ll empty this tub!”

  “No. I’ll do that. Dry thy hair; don’t catch cold.”

  She went into the print room, and I sat by the fire with my head dropped forward and spread out my hair with my fingers, trying to smooth out the many tangles caused by the washing. And all the time I was thinking: about the ordeal I had endured, and the discovery that had come out of it, of the love of God and the power of the spirit. And I thought about Will, and what I must find the strength to do.

  A while later I heard voices, and jumped up as I recognized Will’s.

  Mary came in, shut the door behind her, and said, with a half-smile of exasperation, “Will is here and insists on seeing thee! May I send him in?”

  “I’m not dressed!”

  I was still in my shift, no stays, my hair loose and damp. Mary picked up the clean skirt and I stepped into it; she fastened it while I put on my bodice.

  “There! Thou’rt decent enough,” she said.

  I was still lacing the bodice when he came in.

  We ran and clung together without words. I wanted never to let go. With his arms around me, my head against his beating heart, I felt safe. No indignity, no punishment, could hurt me now.

  When I looked up I saw that his face was wet with tears.

  “Don’t cry,” I said. “I’m not hurt. No harm’s done.”

  He dashed a hand across his face. “I should have been there. I should have been with thee.”

  “But I have survived. See? I am strong.” I bit my lip to stop it trembling.

  “Oh, Su!”

  We kissed, and I tasted tears and did not know if they were mine or his.

  “Thou’rt beautiful like this,” he said. “Thy hair, thy dress loose…”

  He kissed my face, and then my neck, and I felt with a small shock of pleasure his warm hands on my breasts, inside my shift. There was a soft, unfolding feeling low in my belly, and as we kissed and pressed against each other I remembered that this was to have been our wedding day.