“I profess, brother Williams,” Captain Endicott would say, after they had been talking of this matter, “it distresses a Christian man’s heart, to see this idolatrous Cross flying over our heads.  A stranger beholding it, would think that we had undergone all our hardships and dangers, by sea and in the wilderness, only to get new dominions for the Pope of Rome.”

“Truly, good Mr. Endicott,” Roger Williams would answer, “you speak as an honest man and Protestant Christian should.  For mine own part, were it my business to draw a sword, I should reckon it sinful to fight under such a banner.  Neither can I, in my pulpit, ask the blessing of Heaven upon it.”

Such, probably, was the way in which Roger Williams and John Endicott used to talk about the banner of the Red Cross.  Endicott, who was a prompt and resolute man, soon determined that Massachusetts, if she could not have a banner of her own, should at least be delivered from that of the Pope of Rome.

Not long afterwards there was a military muster at Salem.  Every able-bodied man, in the town and neighborhood, was there.  All were well armed, with steel caps upon their heads, plates of iron upon their breasts and at their backs, and gorgets of steel around their necks.  When the sun shone upon these ranks of iron-clad men, they flashed and blazed with a splendor that bedazzled the wild Indians, who had come out of the woods to gaze at them.  The soldiers had long pikes, swords, and muskets, which were fired with matches, and were almost as heavy as a small cannon.

These men had mostly a stern and rigid aspect.  To judge by their looks, you might have supposed that there was as much iron in their hearts, as there was upon their heads and breasts.  They were all devoted Puritans, and of the same temper as those with whom Oliver Cromwell afterwards overthrew the throne of England.  They hated all the relics of Popish superstition as much as Endicott himself; and yet, over their heads, was displayed the banner of the Red Cross.

Endicott was the captain of the company.  While the soldiers were expecting his orders to begin their exercise, they saw him take the banner in one hand, holding his drawn sword in the other.  Probably he addressed them in a speech, and explained how horrible a thing it was, that men, who had fled from Popish idolatry into the wilderness, should be compelled to fight under its symbols here.  Perhaps he concluded his address somewhat in the following style.

“And now, fellow soldiers, you see this old banner of England.  Some of you, I doubt not, may think it treason for a man to lay violent hands upon it.  But whether or no it be treason to man, I have good assurance in my conscience that it is no treason to God.  Wherefore I have resolved that we will rather be God’s soldiers, than soldiers of the Pope of Rome; and in that mind I now cut the Papal Cross out of this banner.”

And so he did.  And thus, in a province belonging to the crown of England, a captain was found bold enough to deface the King’s banner with his sword.