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?"
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."