ames Nayler who had
followed him on his first visit to Swarthmoor, a few weeks previously.
Nayler was one of the most brilliantly gifted of all those early
comrades of George Fox, who were hereafter to earn the name of 'the
Valiant Sixty.' Clouds and sorrows were to separate the two friends in
years to come, but at this time they were united in heart and soul,
both alike given up to the joyful service of 'Publishing Truth.' The
object of their journey was to visit another recent convert, James
Lancaster by name, in his home on the Island of Walney that lies off
the Furness coast.

On the way thither the travellers spent one night at a small town on
the mainland called Cockan. Here, as usual, they held a meeting with
the inhabitants of the place, in order to proclaim the message that
possessed them. Their words had already convinced one of their
hearers, and more converts to the Truth might have followed, when
suddenly, at a low window of the hall where they were assembled, a
man's figure appeared, threatening the audience with a loaded pistol
which he carried in his hand. As this pistol was pointed, first at one
and then at another of George Fox's listeners, all the terrified
people sprang to their feet and rushed through the doors of the hall
as fast as their legs could carry them. Their alarm was natural;
probably most, if not all of them, had seen fire-arms used in grim
earnest before this, for the period of the Civil Wars was too recent
to have faded from anyone's memory.

'I am not after you, ye timid sheep,' shouted the man with the pistol
as the scared people fled past him. 'It is that Deceiver who is
leading you all astray that I have to do with. Come out and meet me,
George Fox,' he shouted, 'if you call yourself a Man.'

There was no need to ask twice. 'Here I am, Friend,' answered a quiet
voice, as the well-known figure, in its wide white hat, long coat,
leather breeches and doublet, and girdle with alchemy buttons,
appeared standing in the doorway. Then, passing calmly through it,
George Fox drew up scarce three paces from his assailant--his body
making a large target at close range that it would be impossible to
miss. The frightened people paused in their flight to watch. Were they
going to see the Quaker slain? The stranger raised his pistol; he
aimed carefully. Not a muscle of Fox's countenance quivered. Not an
eyelash moved. The trigger snapped....

Nothing happened! The pistol did not go off. As if