“Fellow-soldiers， fellow-exiles，” began Endicott， speakingunder strong excitement， yet powerfully restraining it，“wherefore did ye leave your native country？ Wherefore， Isay， have we left the green and fertile fields， the cottages，or， perchance， the old gray halls， where we were bornand bred， the churchyards where our forefathers lieburied？ Wherefore have we come hither to set up ourown tombstones in a wilderness？ A howling wildernessit is. The wolf and the bear meet us within halloo of ourdwellings. The savage lieth in wait for us in the dismalshadow of the woods. The stubborn roots of the treesbreak our ploughshares when we would till the earth. Ourchildren cry for bread， and we must dig in the sands of theseashore to satisfy them. Wherefore， I say again， have wesought this country of a rugged soil and wintry sky？ Wasit not for the enjoyment of our civil rights？ Was it not forliberty to worship God according to our conscience？”
“Call you this liberty of conscience？” interrupted a voiceon the steps of the meeting-house.
It was the wanton gospeller. A sad and quiet smile flittedacross the mild visage of Roger Williams， but Endicott， inthe excitement of the moment， shook his sword wrathfullyat the culprit—an ominous gesture from a man like him.
“What hast thou to do with conscience， thou knave？”
cried he. “I said liberty to worship God， not license to profaneand ridicule him. Break not in upon my speech， or I willlay thee neck and heels till this time to-morrow. Hearkento me， friends， nor heed that accursed rhapsodist. As Iwas saying， we have sacrificed all things， and have cometo a land whereof the Old World hath scarcely heard， thatwe might make a new world unto ourselves and painfullyseek a path from hence to heaven. But what think ye now？
This son of a Scotch tyrant—this grandson of a papisticaland adulterous Scotch woman whose death proved that agolden crown doth not always save an anointed head fromthe block—”
“Nay， brother， nay，” interposed Mr. Williams； “thy wordsare not meet for a secret chamber， far less for a public street.”
“Hold thy peace， Roger Williams！” answered Endicott，imperiously. “My spirit is wiser than thine for the businessnow in hand. I tell ye， fellow-exiles， that Charles ofEngland and Laud， our bitterest persecutor， arch-priest ofCanterbury， are resolute to pursue us even hither. They aretaking counsel， saith this letter， to send over a governorgeneralin whose breast shall be deposited all the law andequity of the land. They are minded， also， to establish theidolatrous forms of English episcopacy； so that when Laudshall kiss the pope’s toe as cardinal of Rome he may deliverNew England， bound hand and foot， into the power of hismaster.”
A deep groan from the auditors—a sound of wrath aswell as fear and sorrow—responded to this intelligence.
“Look ye to it， brethren，” resumed Endicott， withincreasing energy. “If this king and this arch-prelate havetheir will， we shall briefly behold a cross on the spire ofthis tabernacle which we have builded， and a high altarwithin its walls， with wax tapers burning round it at noonday.
We shall hear the sacring-bell and the voices of theRomish priests saying the mass. But think ye， Christianmen， that these abominations may be suffered without asword drawn， without a shot fired， without blood spilt—yea， on the very stairs of the pulpit？ No！ Be ye strong ofhand and stout of heart. Here we stand on our own soil，which we have bought with our goods， which we havewon with our swords， which we have cleared with ouraxes， which we have tilled with the sweat of our brows，which we have sanctified with our prayers to the God thatbrought us hither！ Who shall enslave us here？ What havewe to do with this mitred prelate—with this crownedking？ What have we to do with England？”
Endicott gazed round at the excited countenances ofthe people， now full of his own spirit， and then turnedsuddenly to the standard-bearer， who stood close behindhim.
“Officer， lower your banner，” said he.
The officer obeyed， and， brandishing his sword， Endicottthrust it through the cloth and with his left hand rent thered cross completely out of the banner. He then waved thetattered ensign above his head.
“Sacrilegious wretch！” cried the high-churchman inthe pillory， unable longer to restrain himself； “thou hastrejected the symbol of our holy religion.”
“Treason！ treason！” roared the royalist in the stocks. “Hehath defaced the king’s banner！”
“Before God and man I will avouch the deed，” answeredEndicott. “Beat a flourish， drummer—shout， soldiers andpeople—in honor of the ensign of New England. Neitherpope nor tyrant hath part in it now.”
With a cry of triumph the people gave their sanction toone of the boldest exploits which our history records. Andfor ever honored be the name of Endicott！ We look backthrough the mist of ages， and recognize in the rending ofthe red cross from New England’s banner the first omen ofthat deliverance which our fathers consummated after thebones of the stern Puritan had lain more than a century inthe dust.