“We will, we will!” shouted a hundred voices; and forthwith knots of influential men began to gather together in corners, talking eagerly together, and gesticulating in their excitement.

And all this while Charles, wild-eyed and haggard, was keeping his place on the little platform, and telling his story again and again to the shifting groups who came and went.  Men and women hung upon his words in a sort of horrible fascination.  Others might talk of horrors guessed at, yet unseen; Charles had witnessed the things of which he spoke, and his words sent thrills of horror through the frames of those who heard.  Women wept, and wrung their hands, and the faces of men grew white and stern.

But upon the opposite side of the square another orator was haranguing the crowd.  A young Quaker woman had got up upon some steps, moved in spirit, as she declared, to denounce the wickedness of war, and to urge the townsmen to peaceful methods.  Her shrill voice rose high and piercing, and she invoked Heaven to bless the work of those who would endure all things rather than spill human blood.

But the people had heard something too much of this peaceful gospel.  For long they had upheld the policy of non-resistance.  They had their shops, their farms, their merchandise; they were prosperous and phlegmatic, more interested in local than in national issues.  They had been content to be preached at by the Quakers, and to give passive adhesion to their policy; but the hour of awakening had come.  The agonized cries of those who looked to them for aid had pierced their ears too often to be ignored.  Humanity itself must rise in answer to such an appeal.  They were beginning to see that their peace policy was costing untold human lives, amid scenes of unspeakable horror.

They let the woman speak in peace; they did not try to stop her utterances.  But when a brother Quaker took her place and began a similar harangue, the young men round raised a howl, and a voice cried out: 

“Duck him in the horse pond!  Roll him in a barrel!  Let him be tarred and feathered like an Indian, since he loves the scalping savages so well.  Who’s got a tomahawk?  Let’s see how they use them.  Does anybody know how they scalp their prisoners?  A Quaker would never miss his scalp; he always has his hat on!”

A roar of laughter greeted this sally; and a rush was made for the unlucky orator, who showed a bold front enough to the mob.  But at that moment public attention was turned in a different direction by the appearing upon the steps of the Assembly Rooms of a well-known citizen of high repute, who had until latterly been one of the peace party, but who of late had made a resolute stand, insisting that something must be done for the protection of the western settlers, and for the curbing of the ambitious encroachments and preposterous claims of France.

This grave-faced citizen came out with some papers in his hand, and the crowd was hushed into silence.