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restraining hand on his arm and, with some reluctance, he fell silent.
    Now our spirits rose. As we passed Horsleydown, and then Wapping, more and more little boats left the shore on either side; and we recognized in them the plain black hats and sober clothes of Friends. Meetings from all over London and Middlesex had members on the barge, and soon a small flotilla of boats followed in its wake and outnumbered the soldiers. The prisoners on the barge, seeing us all, must have felt supported; and I began to believe that by sheer weight of numbers and the power of prayer we might yet change the course of events.
    And so we continued around the bend in the river and out beyond Deptford to Bugby’s Hole.
    When we saw the
Black Spread-Eagle
a cry of despair broke from Rachel. The ship was as grim as her name: painted in peeling black, and with a filthiness about her that could be seen even at this distance and that brought a foul smell towards us on the wind. No one knew what trade Fudge had been engaged in, but I felt, with an instinctive revulsion, that this might have been a slave ship – for I knew that English ships did engage in that evil trade; and Fudge was clearly a man without honour or human sympathy.
    The barge had now come alongside the ship, and we heard the shouts and commands of prison officers and soldiers. The soldiers climbed swiftly aboard the barge. The prisoners were herded to the side, and the seamen, who had assembled on the deck of the
Black Spread-Eagle
, were commanded to assist.
    Rachel stood up, craning to see her husband.
    It soon became apparent that the seamen would not cooperate. They stood idle, and would neither prevent nor assist the operation. The master could be seen swearing and exhorting them to no avail. The prisoners, for their part, would not go willingly aboard. They did not resist, but let their bodies become limp, so that the soldiers and prison officers struggled to lift and move them. Meanwhile our flotilla of Friends’ boats surrounded the scene, and we prayed aloud and called out words of encouragement.
    The soldiers grew rougher. Some got aboard the ship. Others beat the prisoners with the butts of their muskets, forced them to the side and heaved them up and over the rail onto the ship, where they were seized by those aboard. The violence increased as the prisoners continued to fall limp to the deck rather than go meekly to their fates. People were dragged on board, buffeted and scraped against the bulwark and hurled onto the deck, where the master drove them below. Women were treated as roughly as men, and with deliberate disrespect. I saw one young woman pulled aboard upside down, her skirts over her head, the soldiers leering as her buttocks and thighs were exposed. A man was caught by one arm and leg, swung, and thrown down on top of her before she could rise.
    There was wailing as well as prayer and encouragement from Friends aboard our little boats as many saw those they loved beaten, injured and degraded.
    Rachel cried out when her husband appeared, dragged by his armpits to the edge of the barge. He was dealt with quickly. A soldier heaved him up, and another on the
Black Spread-Eagle
hauled him on board backwards.
    â€œVincent!” Rachel screamed.
    But in a moment he was gone, driven down into the hold of that foul ship.
    Rachel turned a face of anguish to us. “It is a death ship. I shall never see him again.”
    The two women tried to comfort her. “Have faith, Rachel, have faith.”
    But I feared Rachel was right; and even if her husband did survive, it would be more than seven years before she saw him again. My own separation from Susanna was nothing by contrast.
    It took over an hour to get the fifty or more prisoners aboard. Such violence had been used that we feared some of them could now be lying below with broken limbs.
    At last all was done. The soldiers returned to their boats and sailed back to the Tower, the small boats full