A True Hero | Page 2

answered the man addressed, a well-to-do artisan, "or `Quakers,' as the world calls them, because they bid sinners exceedingly to quake and tremble at the word of the Lord. To my mind they are harmless as to their deeds, though in word they are truly powerful at times. The bishops and church people do not like them because they declare that God can be worshipped in the open air, or in a man's own home, as well as in the grandest cathedral, or `steeple house,' as they call the church. The Independents are opposed to them, because they deem ministers unnecessary, and trust to the sword of the Spirit rather than to carnal weapons; while the wealthy and noble disdain them, because they refuse to uncover their heads, or to pay undue respect to their fellow-men, however rich or exalted in rank they may be. They have come to hold a meeting in yonder house, where the soldiers are stationed; but as speaking will not open the doors, they will have to go away again disappointed."
"If they are the harmless people you describe, that seems a hard case," observed the stranger. "By what right are they prohibited from thus meeting?"
"I know not if it is by right, but it is by law," answered the artisan. "You have doubtless heard of the `Conventicle Act,' prohibiting all religious worship, except according to the established ritual. The `Friends' alone hold it in no respect, and persist in meeting where they have the mind!"
"What! do all the other dissenters of England submit to such a law?" exclaimed the stranger.
"Marry do they," answered the artisan. "They pocket the affront, and conform in public to what is demanded, satisfying their consciences by worshipping together in private. Do you not know that every head of a family is fined a shilling on every Sunday that he neglects to attend the parish church? You can have been but a short time in England not to have heard of this."
"Yes, indeed, my friend. My son and I landed but yesterday from a voyage across the Atlantic; and, except from the master and shipmen on board, we have heard but little of what has taken place in England for some years past."
"Then take my advice, friend," said the artisan. "Make all the inquiries you please, but utter not your opinions, as you were just now doing to me, or you may find yourself accused of I know not what, and clapped into jail, with slight chance of being set free again."
"Thank you, friend," said the stranger; "but will all these people submit to be treated thus by those few soldiers? By my faith, it's more than I would, if I desired to enter yonder house of prayer."
While this conversation was going on, the number of people in front of the Quaker's meeting-house had greatly increased; and though the greater number appeared quietly disposed, there were evidently some hovering about, and others now elbowing their way through the crowd, who were inclined to create an uproar. At this juncture, the young gentleman who has already been described, stepping on one side of the street where the pavement was highest, took off his hat. "Silence, I pray you, dear friends; I would speak a few words," he said, in a rich musical voice. "We came here purposing to enter yonder house, where we might worship God according to the dictates of our consciences, and exhort and strengthen one another; but it seemeth to me that those in authority have resolved to prevent our thus assembling. We are men of peace, and therefore must submit rather than use carnal weapons; and yet, friends, having the gift of speech, and the power of the pen, we must not cease to protest against being thus deprived of the liberty which Englishmen hold so dear."
CHAPTER TWO.
While the young man was speaking, the stranger and his son had worked their way close to the stout soldier-like man who has been described. The stranger's eye fell on his countenance. He touched his son's shoulder. "An old comrade in arms!" he whispered. "A truer man than Captain William Mead,--trusty Bill Mead, we used to call him,--never drew sword in the cause of liberty. If I can but catch his eye and get a grip of his honest hand, I will ask him who that young man can be,--a brave fellow, whoever he is." In another instant the two old comrades had recognised each other.
"What, Christison! Nicholas Christison! is it thou?" exclaimed Captain Mead, examining the stranger's countenance. "Verily, I thought thou wast no longer in the land of the living; but thou art welcome, heartily welcome. Come with me to my house in Cornhill, at the sign of the `Spinning Wheel,' and thou shalt tell me where thou hast