The Cavalcade of America, presented by DuPont, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. The radio play by Garrett Porter, who founded one of the great states of our nation, Pennsylvania. And Cavalcade presents the distinguished Henry Hall. Our cap goers are under the direction of DuPont, maker of better things for better living through chemistry, presents Henry Hall as the Cavalcade of America. An evening late in the year 1667, in a coffeehouse off Fleet Street in the city of London, officials of the court tell you over their cups to listen to the great diarist Samuel Peeps recounting an incident. You mean Mr. Peeps, you pulled mistress Peeps nose? My wife answering me in some way I did not like. I did pull her nose, Sir William, indeed to offend her, though afterward to appease her I denied it. The poor wretch took it mighty ill and I believe she did feel pain and so cried a great while. But by and by I made her friends. But here you are, Sir William, home from the wars and morose as anything. What ails thee? Thee. You talk like a Quaker, Peeps, and what ails me? My son's turned Quaker again and he's in jail again. Or was until I paid his fines. He's coming here. Oh, do Quakers frequent taverns? Aye, my son does, for he still likes clavis. My only hope. My honorable father. And here he is. Welcome my son. A toast to your health and recovery of your senses. I thank thee, father. The things I inherited by taste for good clavis from thee. Thee. And with your hat on too. You'd wear your hat, I wager, before the Duke of York, your patron, even before his majesty. I suppose your father matters least of all. I'm sorry to displease thee, father. Thee and friend James and friend Charles and all of us are equal before God. Hat. Sir William, not that I hold any brief for the Quakers, but I did catch a severe cold once from not wearing my hat while dining. Hats. Hats. Is that all we can discuss, William? William, you were trained to become an ambassador or a minister at court. You've already been a personal dispatcher to the King himself, from his brother the Duke, and you end a Quaker. A belief you can take on and off like your hat. Your job is justified to an extent, father. I did find giving up the world a sacrifice, grander indeed is alluring, but I must obey a greater command, my conscience, and God's will. Why? Why, my son? Because I think, father, I was secretly reached by life. When I came into the silent assemblies of God's people, I felt a strange power among them, and as I gave way to it, I found the evil in me weakening and the good raised. Ah, and now that you're a Quaker, what will you do with yourself? Speak the right that I believe, father, until we have the liberty of conscience we seek. Do that, and you'll end in jail. Ah, you that might have become a minister at court, you'll become a disturber of the King's peace. You'll not find welcome anywhere you go. Perhaps not here, father, but in the free air of a new land, God's people will find a blessed escape from turmoil and persecution. I believe it will be found in America, for there is a land of promise. Wherever you find it will not be under any roof of mine. Be gone. I disinherit you and have done with you. If, if that is thy wish, father, goodbye to thee. It is my wish, William. Then good day to you all. An unhappy spectacle, Admiral. Where will your son end? In the tower of Nougat jail, when I'm no longer here to pay his fine. All right, Master Fenn. You're free to go. And what if I refuse, Jailor? Who says I'm free? The court says so, Will. He may as well give up. Friend Meade and, and Julie, my love. My dear one. What, what means this? Thy father has relented and paid thy fine again, William. Come, dear, free. I will. And our gracious servant, friend Charles, has taken care you shall not be jailed again so easily. Our meeting houses are closed and guarded by royal officers. Well, that is to our advantage. Advantage? I say nothing but disadvantage, Will. What does it mean, William? Why, our advantage to gain all we seek. The freedom we seek over the seas in America. Oh, forgive me, Julie, my love, but America is ever in my thoughts. America? We speak as much of America, William. America is our hope, my friends. There we must go some day and found a new community among ourselves. That is my plan. But Will, a colony like that would be costly and requires favorite court and a favor we have even less than money. Although we lack favorite court, true enough, we have a friendly monarch who loves his merriment. Then Charles will yet pay to be rid of us. So would others, if I'm to judge my eyes. Look, Will, soldiers guarding the entrance to our meeting house. Come with me at once. But William, what is it they would do? First, my beloved, address younger officer of the guard. Good day, friend. Oh, who goes there? A friend. Ah, now look, you, be on about your business. This place is boated and barred by his majesty's orders. So I see, friend, but I assure you I have no intention of forcing entrance. I, uh, I have reason to fear royal displeasure. Who is not? Be on your way, I say. Hold! What are you doing? Well, I just, uh, I just perched atop this ballast tree. Wait, you can't stand up there. It may prove a trick, but I'll try. Friends, gather round, come close, listen to me. Hear the word of God. And David asked the Lord, who shall dwell in thy tabernacle? And the Lord answered him, he that walketh uprightly and speaketh the truth in his heart. Friends, we meet not in our meeting house, for that is forbiddeneth. But cannot men who carry the light within themselves worship God in a street as well? We acknowledge no man our superior, but every man our friend, for we call ourselves, we call ourselves the society of friends. Friends! Hold there! You're under arrest! Why is, why is? I have not defied the royal edict. We're meeting in a public place. Take your hands off this man. Friends, are we going to allow Master Penn to be seized unjustly? No! I arrest both of you in the king's name. Back, back the rest of you. These, these friends did not have order. We'll, we'll go peaceably with you. But why do you arrest us? We've broken the law. I arrest you for breaking the king's peace. You'll answer to the royal majesty. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. Court of the Lord Mayor of London is now in session. Prisoners, put your hats on. A strange request to quake his friend, but thank you. We will. What mean you with your hats on in my court? Thought a marks fine for contempt of court. Contempt of court? Indeed it is the court we should be fined then. But it was for the court's order we just now put on our hats. Shall I remove your hat? Record a reader charges. William Penn is William Meade. You are charged with conspiracy to disturb the king's peace. Assemble unlawfully in sight to riot and contempt of the said lord, the king and his law. William Meade, how do you plead? Not guilty. William Penn, how do you plead? Not guilty, for I've broken no law. You're a saucy fellow. We broke no law. Will you teach the court what law is? Common law is common right. Silence! Common right is a privilege of Magna Carta. Enough of this. Take him away. Stop his mouth. Put him in the bail dock. Recorder may proceed. Gentlemen of the jury, you've heard the indictment. Witnesses will prove that Mr. Penn did so seek to disturb the peace of his majesty the king, and this you will believe after hearing. Foreman, how does the jury find? We find William Penn guilty of speaking or preaching to an assembly, and William Meade not guilty of speaking. What? The charge is conspiracy to cause a riot. If one prisoner is guilty, so is the other. You shall not be dismissed. Hasn't the court heard the verdict? The jury shall be locked up without meat, drink, fire, or tobacco. I will have an acceptable verdict by the help of God, or the jury shall starve for it. Haven't we, haven't we had a free verdict here? Stop that fellow's mouth. Gentlemen of the jury, you are Englishmen. Hold your tongue there. Yours must be a free verdict. You have a right, friends. Hold fast to it. Lock up the jury. Well Foreman, how does the jury find now? William Penn is guilty of speaking in Grapefruit Street. To an unlawful assembly, huh? No, my lord. So, you're a factious fellow. I'll take a course with you. But my lord, we have done according to our consciences. This Penn has influenced the jury, but Harky gentlemen, I will have an acceptable verdict yet. You make of this jury, and our great charter, a nose of wax. Stop his mouth. Jailer, bring Pettersons taken to the ground. The court, the court will have its verdict. My lords, we find both prisoners not guilty. I am sorry for the jury that they have followed their own judgments rather than the good advice of the court. For this, the court finds each member 40 marks and imprisonment in you get jailed till the fines are paid. And you, William Penn, are to be imprisoned in the same jail for refusing to take off your hat pink contempt of court. I leave you in perfect charity. Your religion persecutes, mine forgives. Send a corporal and a file of musketeers along with him. Don't trouble yourself. I know the way to new get jailed. Dear sweet Nell, give us that passage that stirs our secret heart, that from your last play, the Alma Eda. Sire, what sadness sits upon your royal heart? Have you a grief, and must not I have part? All creatures else the time of love possess, men only clog his happiness. And while he should enjoy his path of bliss, with thoughts of what might be destroys what is. Why, sweet Nell, there's not to worry us here. Except, Sire, your sanctimonious brother James. Hello. Well, James, what is it now? William Penn's in new get jail. Penn in jail again. Oh, when will I be rid of these Quakers? When? Perhaps, my lord, when you can sign him to the block. Oh, Nell, Nell, I love your sweet carelessness, because you never mix in foreign politics, nor force a minister of state upon me. Keep to your role, sweet Nell. Amen, Sire. William Penn's a disturbing fellow, James, he and his Quaker friends. Oh, why can't he be like his father, the Admiral? These Quakers are all nuisances, but they say this was a particularly outrageous case, Charles. The Inns, of course, are quite aroused over it. Well, James let the busy bodies arouse themselves. Appeal from the gouty Lord Mayor to the King's benches, no doubt they have. Justice will be done. And what then? William Penn will be free again and in jail again, like a very jack-in-the-box. Why not just get rid of our Master Penn, Sire? How can I? Even if I got rid of Penn, I'd have his Quakers about my ears till kingdom come. But, sweet Nell, mind my words. Well then, brother, I say tolerate William Penn. However, I'd like him better at a distance. But I'll find a way, I promise you, to rid my realm of William Penn. Almost arrived. William Penn. Here, our friend. Here, hold the lantern for me. I have an order of the court of the King's Bench, which it's my bound and duty to read to you. Proceed, friend jailer. Be it known of all those present greetings at the tree of His Majesty's court of King's Bench, whereas the procedure of the Lord Mayor was arbitrary, capricious, and contrary to the people's ancient and just liberties, guaranteed by Magna Carta. God is good. It is ordered that the illegally held appellant juryman be released forthwith in accordance with the inalienable rights of subjects of His Majesty Charles Rex, whom God preserve. I thank thee, jailer. O Lord, thy ways are mysterious. But I thank thee for restoring to liberty those who were imprisoned because of me. Thou art ever with us, O Lord. Amen. Well, if you're done praying, you can go. Come along. Here's some friends awaiting you. William, my beloved. Julie and friend Meade. God is good. Thee art free. I am free, but more important, my jurymen are free. Juries may no longer be led by the nose. They are free to bring in verdicts according to their understanding and their own consciences. It is a great stronghold for us in England, Will. I and in America, as we shall make certain friend Meade and as the King shall soon know now. Why are thee so certain of all this, William? I am a certain of it as of anything, Julie. We Quakers will soon have a colony in America and an opportunity to preach and practice freedom. Though he does not yet know it, the King will summon me and grant this to me. How will this come about, Will? Strangest of all, through my late father, Sir William. William, I'm glad they made peace with our father before he died. Aye, Julie. He and I differed much during our lives, yet we were never far apart. Least of all, it is death. As proof of his forgiveness, Julie, my father left me one thing. God bless him. A debt of 16,000 pounds owed him by the King. So I have petitioned him and now await his royal summons. Friend Charles shall yet pay for our holy experiment in America. Be it love or jealousy, it is such a crime that I'm forewarned to trust a second time. No, then, my prayers to Evan shall never cease. To crown your arms in war, your wars with peace. Thank you, thank you, sweet Nell. Did you know, my friends, that I have turned player and dramatist as well? You have devised a play, Charles. Aye, James, with a prologue and an epilogue, though not yet in rhyme. Your Majesty, by your command, Master William Penn awaits audience. Let friend William wait a moment. No, then, our royal play concerns affairs of state, these being peace within our realms, the maintenance thereof. I should remark that this is my prologue. Now the villain of our peace, the disturber of our peace, is none other than young William Penn. Bravo, my lord. Thank you, sweet Nell. There will be swordplay, I promise you, in this witty play, for it is a battle of wits. And it is Penn himself who unwittingly offers the occasion for a little pleasantry by petitioning us to repay a bagatelle of 16,000 pounds owed by us to his late father. A bagatelle, Charles? What kind of pleasantry is this? Oh, you will soon discover, James, for here's our plot. In the end, we'll grant his prayer for its just claim, but for a while we'll keep him in suspense over it until we've converted a nuisance into a loyal subject, a creditor into our debtor. And now we bid our victim enter. Your Majesty, William Penn. Enter, friend William. We welcome thee. I thank thee, friend Charles. Friend William, we presume it would be useless to have thy hat, if not off, at least less firmly set upon my head. I intend, no disrespect, friend Charles. I know, I know, principal. Still, there's an opposite principal to maintain, that someone in my presence removes his hat. So, I insist on bearing my own locks. We have, friend William, considered thy prayer in the matter of 16,000 pounds sterling. We are reluctant to grant it. But, friend Charles, thee would not be so reluctant, if he knew what a great thing I have in mind to do with it. Ah, we can very well imagine, and the very thought disturbs us. Turn our realm upside down with Quaker pamphlets, street rioting, all. But not in riotous living, friend Charles. May the consequences you fear are the very ones I would avoid by my plan. What's that? Come, if we thought we could exact guarantees of good behaviour from you, and turn you and your Quakers into law-abiding citizens, we might relent. How do you intend spending this money? I pray my father's account be closed otherwise than with money, friend Charles. Then, there's to be no strain on my purse, eh? What sort of trick is this? No trick, friend Charles. A grant of land. Land? Aye. Ah, well, that's a different matter. Yes, indeed, we have to study it. This is unexpected. The land I have in mind, friend Charles, is remote, and thousands of Quakers would go there with me. I can promise thee. What is the name of this place your heart is set upon? I have a name in mind, friend Charles. It is the land in America lying between the colonies of Maryland and New York, lying westward from Jersey, far beyond the distant mountains. Hmm. This goes better for my brother James has some claim upon this land, in which case he'd pay the debt, not I. Do you object, James? Why, no, Charles. You're welcome to it, Master Pinn. But what will you Quakers do with this new colony? There we shall have room for a great and holy experiment, a Christian republic in America, a pattern for the rest of the world. I have a frame of government in mind for the new world, and governments like clocks go from the motion men give them. They are made by and ruled by men, so by them ruined also. Wherefore, governments rather defend upon men than men upon governments. Quaker Bedlam, you'll end by putting yourselves into and out of jail. Nay, friend Charles, for its first principle will be that every person may worship God according to his own belief. I fear it is easy to promise the earth to the meek, but friend William, it is hard for them to inherit it. What shall you call this savage utopia? I hadn't thought to call it New Wales. Oh, no, no, the Welsh should never allow the theft of their name by Quakers. Well then, since it is a forested land, what does he think of the name Sylvania? Any forest can be named Sylvania. Why not make it Pennsylvania? Nay, that smacks of vanity, friend Charles, to put my name to it. Ah ha, you are vain, friend William, to think we meant to honour you. We mean to honour your father, the late Admiral. After all, his money is paying for Pennsylvania. So, if it's satisfactory, we proclaim the matter ended. So be it, we quit as friends. Yay, friend Charles, for he has granted us a haven in a wilderness where we may yet make a new world where all may serve God as they choose. If our holy experiment in Pennsylvania succeeds, we have thee to thank. And so, good-bye. I leave thee in perfect charity. Good-bye, friend William. Come, Zaya, give us the epilogue you promised. Epilogue, I had one composed, or thought I did. But there goes William Penn. And with him lies the ending of our little play, not with me, and not here in the gardens of Whitehall, but beyond the seas, in that forest wilderness of Pennsylvania. The Cavalcade of America thanks Henry Hall and the Cavalcade players for their performance of Voice in the Wilderness, our story of William Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania. And our department brings you news of chemistry at work in our world. Today, as in the days of William Penn, we build cities where there's a supply of good water. If we need more water, we go after it. New York City right now is going 85 miles for it. Deep underground, 1,500 feet down in some places, 6,000 men are blasting a tunnel through shale, limestone, and granite to the watershed of the Catskill Mountains, 85 miles from the city. They began the tunnel in 1936. When they finish, about 1944, the new Delaware Aqueduct will bring residents of New York City 540 million gallons of water a day. Driving through these water tunnels, one tool is invaluable. It is a chemical tool, dynamite. Tens of thousands of pounds of DuPont dynamite are digging the Delaware Aqueduct, and the new Continental Divide Tunnel in Colorado, another great American water diversion project. In Colorado, two crews of men, one working from the east, one working from the west, and one working from the west, are driving a 13-mile irrigation tube under the Continental Divide. More than 340,000 cubic yards of very hard rock must be moved, and some of it is so hard that the engineers call it the iron dike. Dynamite handles these jobs. Bringing you water and seeing to it that the water he brings you is pure and safe is another of the chemists' jobs. In the settling basin, flakes of aluminum sulfate form a fine mesh chemical sieve. This settles slowly down through the water and picks up the particles of mud, carrying them to the bottom. As it settles, it also helps to remove many bacteria. After filtering, there may still be bacteria in the water and possibly a taste. In hilly wooded country, the taste may be that of autumn leaves that have fallen into the brooks. To kill the bacteria, the chemist adds a slight amount of chlorine. Frequently, a little ammonia is added to the water along with the chlorine. The ammonia assists the chlorine in this purification, and together these chemicals also tend to clear the water of any tastes before it leaves the water works for its final journey to your home. DuPont chemists have helped with the problem of water supply for many years. DuPont dynamite helps to build the aqueducts of America. DuPont aluminum sulfate clarifies the water, and copper sulfate inhibits the growth of water plants in reservoirs. DuPont chlorine destroys bacteria, and DuPont ammonia helps to solve the problem of taste. Here is one more service that touches the lives of all of us every day, summed up in the words of the DuPont pledge, better things for better living through chemistry. And now the star of next week's program, William Johnstone of the Cabalcade Players. Our play next week is called Black Rust. It is the little known but exciting story of a man named Mark Carlton, who single-handed wiped out a plague that was devastating the great wheat lands of America's middle west. We hope you'll join us for this broadcast next week. Supporting Henry Hall as William Penn were the Cabalcade Players. King Charles II was George Colores, Nell Gwynn was Agnes Morehead, Lord Mayor was Alfred Shirley, and James was Karl Swenson. The two men who played for the Cabalcade Players were the Cabalcade Players, Nell Gwynn was Agnes Moorhead, Lord Mayor was Alfred Shirley, and James was Carl Swenson. On the cavalcade of America, your announcer is Clayton Collier, sending best wishes from DuPont. This is the National Broadcasting Company.
