A True Hero | Page 2

said
the elder man to a by-stander.
"Most of these people are `Friends,' as they call themselves," 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