A True Hero

A True Hero, by W.H.G.
Kingston

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Title: A True Hero A Story of the Days of William Penn
Author: W.H.G. Kingston
Release Date: May 16, 2007 [EBook #21492]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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HERO ***

Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

A True Hero
A Story of the Days of William Penn
by W.H.G. Kingston

CHAPTER ONE.
The Protectorate had come to an end ten years before the period when
our story commences; and Charles the Second, restored to the throne of
England, had since been employed in outraging all the right feelings of
the people over whom he was called to reign, and in lowering the
English name, which had been so gloriously raised by the wisdom of
Cromwell. The body of that sagacious ruler of a mighty nation had
been dragged out of its tomb among the kings in Westminster, and
hanged on the gallows-tree at Tyburn; the senseless deed instigated by
the petty revenge of his contemptible successor. The mouldering
remains of Blake, also, one of the noblest among England's naval
heroes, had been taken from its honoured resting-place, and cast into an
unknown grave in Saint Margaret's churchyard. Episcopacy had been
restored by those who hoped thus to pave the way for the
re-introduction of Romanism, with its grinding tyranny and abject
superstitions. The "Conventicle Act," prohibiting more than five
persons, exclusive of the family, to meet together for religious worship
according to any other than the national ritual, had been passed, and
was rigidly enforced; the dominant party thus endeavouring to deprive
the people of one of the most sacred rights of man,--that of
worshipping God according to the dictates of conscience. England's
debauched king, secretly a Papist, had sold his country for gold to
England's hereditary foe, whose army he had engaged to come and
crush the last remnants of national freedom, should his Protestant
people dare to resist the monarch's traitorous proceedings. The
profligacy and irreligion of the court was widely imitated by all classes,
till patriots, watching with gloomy forebodings the downward progress
of their country, began to despair of her future fate. Such was the state
of things when, on the morning of the 14th of August, 1670, several
sedate, grave-looking persons were collected at the north end of
Gracechurch Street, in the City of London. Others were coming up
from all quarters towards the spot. As the first arrived, they stood
gazing towards the door of a building, before which were drawn up a
body of bearded, rough soldiers, with buff coats, halberds in hand, and
iron caps on their heads. Several of the persons collected, in spite of the
armed men at the door, advanced as if about to enter the building.

"You cannot go in there," said the sergeant of the party; "we hold it in
the name of the king. Begone about your business, or beware of the
consequences!" In vain the grave citizens mildly expostulated. They
received similar rough answers. By this time other persons had arrived,
while many passers-by stopped to see what was going forward. Among
those who came up was a tall young man, whose flowing locks and
feathered cap, with richly-laced coat, and silk sash over his shoulder, to
which, however, the usual appendage, a sword, was wanting, showed
that he was a person of quality and fashion. Yet his countenance wore a
grave aspect, which assumed a stern expression as he gazed at the
soldiers. He stopped, and spoke to several of those standing round,
inquiring apparently what had occurred. About the same time, another
man, who seemed to be acquainted with many of the persons in the
crowd, was making his way among them. He was considerably more
advanced in life than the first-mentioned person, and in figure
somewhat shorter and more strongly built. Though dressed as a civilian,
he had a military look and air. From an opposite direction two other
persons approached the spot, intending, it seemed, to pass by. The one
was a man whose grizzly beard and furrowed features showed that he
had seen rough service in his time, his dress and general appearance
bespeaking the soldier. His companion was a youth of sixteen or
seventeen years of age, so like him in countenance that their
relationship was evident. From the inquiries they made, they were
apparently strangers.
"Canst tell me, friend, what has brought all these people together?"