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are gathering at Blackfriars. Come if you can. I’m spreading the word.”
    He hurried away. James appeared, with Agnes trotting alongside, full of the importance of her mission.
    â€œI must go there,” James said. “And you too, Will? Agnes will help mind the shop, won’t thou, my good girl?”
    He left Cecily in charge, and the two of us made our way to Blackfriars Wharf, where we found many Friends gathered, and a barge waiting.
    Nat and his employer, Amos Bligh, were among the crowd.
    â€œNat!” I called. And when we reached each other I asked, “Is it true? They’ve found a captain?”
    â€œThey have. Fudge, his name is – master of the
Black Spread-Eagle
. Says he’d transport anyone, even his own family. The ship lies at Bugby’s Hole. They will take the prisoners out to it on the barge.”
    A murmur ran through the crowd of waiting Friends. The prisoners were coming: a line of them, guarded by turnkeys and officers. As they passed, people came to their windows and out of shops to stare and jeer – more often at the prison officers than the prisoners. Most of the prisoners were men, but there were perhaps a score of women among them.
    I recognized several people from our meeting – in particular a young man Nat and I had become friends with: Vincent Chaney, a silversmith, who had been in prison several months. I was shocked by his appearance. He’d always been a slight man, but now he was gaunt, with a straggling beard; dirty and defeated-looking. His wife, Rachel, broke suddenly from the crowd and flung herself towards him, crying out his name in such grief that the people in the shop doorway behind me tutted in sympathy, and a woman called out, “Let her say farewell to her man! Poor girl!”
    Vincent turned, his eyes seeking Rachel.
    But the officers seized her and pushed her roughly aside. She collided with Nat, who stood beside me, and he caught her and gave her into the care of her women friends, where she collapsed in uncontrollable weeping.
    By now the prisoners were beginning to board the barge. Though they did nothing to resist, they held back and had to be forced and prodded aboard with a good deal of foul language, while the people around shouted at the officers. We Friends were mostly silent, although a few spoke out. Elizabeth Wright began to preach that the city was cursed for its wickedness. “Repent! Repent!” she cried. And Joseph Law fell to his knees in prayer on the cobbled road, and was kicked and beaten until he got up.
    But at last all were aboard, and the barge was cast off and proceeded downriver. We stood and watched its progress until we could see no more – the ship’s mooring at Bugby’s Hole being far away, beyond Deptford Reach.
    We all began to disperse, shocked and distressed, talking together.
    James told Rachel Chaney he was hopeful. “They have yet to get them aboard ship,” he said. “They may have found a master, but few seamen have much stomach for this work.”
    It turned out he was right, for next morning we heard that only four of the prisoners had been got aboard, and those with much difficulty, since they would not move themselves and must be dragged or carried. The master had been absent, and the seamen, despite threats and curses, had refused to help in any way. At last the officers had admitted defeat and brought the remaining prisoners back to Newgate. But we knew they would try again.
    Two weeks later – on the first fourth-day in August – another day of prayer was ordered to be held throughout the city. My employer closed our shop, and we all went to the Bull and Mouth meeting, where we found Friends assembled in large numbers. We half feared an assault by the authorities, but there was none; perhaps even they were at prayer.
    Nat was there; and Rachel Chaney with her child, a little girl of perhaps a year and a half; and some other younger Friends