After having thus spoken, she went away, and returned to her lodging, which was at one captain Rich’s house, who coming home, said, that the deputy was so sad and melancholy, after she had been with him, that he could not go to bowls, or to any other pastime.
Barbara having now performed her service at Dublin, went to Cork, where she had some relations and acquaintance; but great were her sufferings thereabout; for she was imprisoned almost wherever she came, being moved to follow those of her acquaintance, into several steeple-houses: yet wherever her mouth was opened, there was some that received her testimony. Once she was made to speak in a market-place, where a butcher swore he would cleave her head; and having lifted up his cleaver to do it, there came a woman behind him, and catching his arms, stopt him, till the soldiers came and rescued Barbara. Many of her acquaintance, with whom she formerly had been very conversant, were now afraid of her; for sometimes she spoke so awfully to them in their houses, that it made them tremble; and some said she was a witch; and, running away, their servants turned her out of doors. After having been there some time, she returned home to Bristol; but it was not very long ere she was moved to go to Ireland again; and being come near Dungarvan, the ship foundered near the shore: the master and the passengers got into the boat, save one man and a woman, who were cast away; and Barbara who was still in the cabin, was almost stifled by waves that beat in upon her; yet at length she got upon the deck. The master in the meanwhile being come ashore, called to her, that if she would leap down, he and another would venture to come into the water to save her. Accordingly they came up to their necks, and she leaping down, they caught her; but being entangled in the ropes in leaping down, she was drawn from them again: but presently a wave came rolling and beat the ship outward, which was their preservation; for if it had beaten inward, it might have killed them all three; she was thus caught again, and drawn to shore. Then she went to Dublin, where coming into the court of justice, she spoke to the judges, and exhorted them to righteousness. But this was taken so ill, that she was put into prison, where she lay upon straw on the ground, and when it rained, the wet and filth of the house of office ran in under her. Being arraigned at the bar, she was required to plead guilty or not guilty. She answered that there was no guilt upon any one’s conscience for what was done in obedience to the Lord God. But she not answering in that form of words they bid her, was sent back to prison again, where she suffered much. In the meanwhile, there happened a singular instance, which I cannot pass by with silence.
At that time there was in prison an inn-keeper, with his family, being accused of a murder: now the brother of him that was either murdered, or lost, could not enjoy some land, except he could prove that his brother was dead; and in order thereto, he brought a fellow into the prison, who said, he would prove that the man was killed at such an inn, and buried under a wall: and he accused the inn-keeper and his wife, their man and maid, and a smith, to be guilty of this murder; they being already in prison. Barbara having heard of this, found means to go to this desperate fellow: and asked him how he could conceal this murder so long, when he was, according to law, as guilty of it as any of them, if what he said were true. At this question he trembled so exceedingly, that his knees struck one against another; and he confessed that he never before saw the people with his eyes, nor ever was at the place in his life, nor knew anything of it, but only he was drawn in by the man that was to have the land, and was persuaded to witness the fact. Other prisoners heard this confession also, and Barbara sent to the deputy, desiring him to send down his priest, that he might hear the said confession. The priest came, and the fellow confessed the same to him as he had done to Barbara; and he once also confessed the same before the judge. But afterwards he eat his words; for the man that had induced him, came every day, and made him drink plentifully, and also caused the jailer to lock up Barbara, that she might not come to him. Then she wrote to the inn-keeper, and his wife, and man, and judge Pepes, and told him the day of his death did draw nigh, wherein he must give an account of his actions; and that therefore he ought to take heed, that he did not condemn innocent people, having but one witness, in whose mouth so many lies were found, the others all saying they were innocent. For all that, the judge went on, and condemned all the accused, and the accuser also, as conscious to the crime. Hereupon a priest came to speak with the maid that was condemned, and was in the same prison with Barbara, but she would not see him, saying, ‘Nay, he can do me no good; I have done with man for ever: but God, thou knowest that I am innocent of what they lay to my charge.’ But, however, they were all hanged, and the witness first, probably for fear he should have made another confession after he had seen the others hanged.
Now some friends of Barbara, viz. Sir William King, colonel Fare, and the lady Brown, hearing she was in prison, came to see her, and afterwards went to the aforementioned judge, to get her released: but when they came to him, he told them, that he was afraid of his life. At which they laughed, and said, they had known her from a child, and there was no harm in her at all. And being all very earnest to get her liberty, they at last obtained it. Then she went to the steeple-house where this judge was, and cleared herself of him. He being come home, went to bed, and died that night. The noise of which sudden death being spread, it made people say, that Barbara had been a true prophetess unto him.
She now went to Limerick, where she was put into prison, but after a while being released, she took shipping for England again; and at sea was robbed of all that she had, by a privateer, who, coming on board, took the master away, until he should pay them a sum of money, for the ship and goods; but she came safe to England. She travelled at her own charge, paying for what she had.
But leaving her, I will return to Miles Halhead, who, as he was following the plough, in the beginning of this year, felt a motion to go to London. Taking York and Hull in his way, and passing thence through Lincolnshire and Leicestershire, he came to the city of London, from whence, after some stay, he went to Bristol with Thomas Salthouse, and so to Exeter and Plymouth, where he suffered much persecution, and was imprisoned. He writ about that time a letter to his wife, which I think worth the while to insert here, and was as followeth.
‘Anne Halhead,
‘My dear heart, my dear love in the bowels of love, in the Lord Jesus Christ, salutes thee and my children. My soul, my soul is poured forth in love to thee daily, and the breathings, of my soul to my Father is for thee, that thou mayest be kept in the fear of the Lord, and in his counsel daily, that so thou mayest come to rest and peace, that is laid up for all that fear him, and walk in obedience to the light that Jesus Christ