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of our acquaintance: Mark Ashton, a carpenter; and Francis Palmer, who was servant to a notary.
    When the meeting for worship was over, we talked about our Friends in Newgate. Edmund Ramsey, a city merchant who sometimes attended our meetings, had heard a rumour that the authorities would make another attempt to embark the prisoners on sixth-day – and that they would be better prepared this time, and send more officers.
    â€œWe must make a presence,” said Joseph Law. “Pray, and exhort them, and give comfort to our Friends.”
    â€œI say we should hire boats,” said John Turner. He’d know the boatmen, I realized, since he worked on the waterfront. “With boats we can follow the barge out to the ship, and be there with our Friends until the very last moment.”
    This was seized upon eagerly, especially by the wives and mothers of some of the prisoners.
    Joseph Law agreed to spread the word among other meetings, and John Turner undertook to hire three boats for the twenty or so people from our meeting who wanted to go.
    I had some anxiety about whether I should join them. I’d resolved to stay clear of trouble this year, if I could, so as to be sure of getting to Shropshire to marry Susanna. And yet, for the first time since our plans to leave London had been disrupted, I felt some excitement and enthusiasm. It would be a show of support for our Friends, but it would also carry an enticing edge of risk; and Nat was going, and all the other young men. I didn’t want to be left behind with the elders. And it was not illegal to hire a boat. I said I’d go.
    When the day came, my employer stayed to mind the shop, but I went, with his permission, down to the wharf at Blackfriars.
    We waited till the prisoners were on the barge and it had been cast off before going aboard our own boats. Nat and I were in the smallest boat, along with John Turner, Rachel Chaney and two women Friends supporting her, Sarah Chandler and Rebecca Edge.
    The day was warm, but as we moved out onto the river I felt the cool wind ruffling my clothes. Rachel was calmer today, her face pale and set. Nobody believed the prisoners could escape transportation now, so she must have known she would be seeing her husband probably for the last time.
    The women sat with their arms around Rachel, and we three young men stood together at the other side of the boat. The boatman was an acquaintance of John’s, a rough-spoken man with no patience for the workings of so-called justice. He provided a commentary on the idiocy of prison officers, turnkeys, judges and soldiers as we swung out into the current and followed the crowded barge.
    Other small boats with more Friends aboard came out from the Southwark side, and more still as we passed the Tower. I began to feel exhilarated, as if we were setting off on an adventure; and I guessed the other two felt the same. Only the presence of the unhappy young woman restrained our spirits.
    Then Rachel cried out, “God help us! Soldiers!”
    From the Tower, we saw several boatloads of soldiers setting out. The sight of them in their red coats, with sunlight glinting on their muskets, struck alarm into me and – no doubt – deadly fear into Rachel. They had clearly been sent to make sure the prisoners were all got aboard this time.
    As one of their boats drew closer a captain shouted to us to be gone.
    â€œTurn back! We have orders to sink you if you obstruct us!”
    I knew they’d have no mercy if we got in their way. The dirty Thames slapped at the sides of our boat, unpleasantly close. Sarah Chandler began to pray aloud, so that our Friends might hear, and the rest of us joined in.
    The coarse jeers and laughter of the soldiers carried across the water.
    â€œCanting dogs! Holy Joes! Be off!”
    â€œAnd take your whores with you!”
    â€œDrown the fools!”
    We ignored the abuse. Our boatman began to swear in return, but Sarah laid a