Forged in the Fire by Ann Turnbull Page A

with others in the street in a riotous and unlawful manner, to the terror of the people, and in so doing had incited an affray.
    I denied this, and said there was no unlawful congregation; that we were walking peacefully in the street.
    â€œIn a group of twenty or more?” the mayor said.
    I knew it would not advance our cause to explain why so many of us had been there, so I merely repeated the truth, that we were walking to our homes.
    I was found guilty of the offence and fined five pounds, which I refused to pay, and was therefore committed once again to Newgate for two months or until I should pay.
    I thought of Susanna, of our plans to marry. Had I been alone I might have been tempted to pay, and go free. But Friends never paid such fines on principle, and I knew John and Francis would be steadfast in the truth. They followed, gave similar responses, and were committed with me.
    Now that he had us back in his power, Sadler continued to single the three of us out for punishment. He beat and ridiculed us, and forced us to lie in a place that was always damp from water seepage. Francis, who had never had strong health, developed a cough that he could not shake off.
    Sadler took against me in particular – I think because he believed I set myself above him. James Martell would bring me in news-books with essays on philosophy and religion. On one occasion Sadler tore up one of these, declaring it to be lies and filth. I guessed he could not read and so resented me.
    I was thankful, next day, that Sadler was not about when Nat came with a letter from Susanna. There was nothing I longed for more, and I snatched it from Nat in my eagerness. Later, I sat a little apart from John and Francis, and broke the seal and unfolded it. Susanna did not know where I was, or even if I was alive or dead, but she had continued to write to me all summer. Her letter reminded me that there was a happy, everyday life I might one day return to. She’d often made me laugh with tales of small disasters in the print shop, or the sayings of her friend Em; today it was the long-winded ramblings of one of our earnest Hemsbury Friends. I smiled as I read it, knowing him well.
    John watched me fold the letter and tuck it inside my shirt.
    â€œThy girl?” he asked.
    â€œYes.” I sighed. “We should have been married by now.”
    â€œThis will end,” he said. “Never fear.”
    Throughout our imprisonment, the bond grew between Francis, John and me. We took good care of each other. Francis was eighteen years old, one of a family who were all Friends of Truth. John had come to Friends by reason of his own inner searching and prayer. He was a strong but gentle man, who could read little but was never seen without a Bible. He was the wisest of the three of us, and knew how to reason with guards and violent prisoners without either antagonizing them or giving ground.
    He took especial care of Francis, whose health had deteriorated, making sure he ate enough and was protected as much as possible from the damp. But Francis grew weaker. One day he woke restless and shivering, complaining of a fearsome headache. By evening he burned with fever.
    John took me aside. “I fear it may be the plague. We must do what we can for him – and pray.”
    We stayed close to Francis, caring for him, and hoping against all reason that John was wrong, until the buboes – proof of plague – were found, and the guards came to take him away. By this time the cell was in uproar and Francis was crying out in agony.
    â€œLet us go with him!” John pleaded.
    â€œNo one except the sick is allowed in there.” They shut the door on us.
    â€œBut he’ll have no friend!” I shouted. “No one!” I beat on the door.
    We never saw Francis again. Together we kneeled and prayed for him. His family came, his mother distraught and hardly able to stand, sobbing that she would go in and care for all those