CHAPTER VIII
_"And the man that is drunk is as great as a king."_
An old English inn! What spot on earth is more hospitable, even thoughits floor be bare and its tables wooden? There is a homely atmosphereabout it, with its cobwebbed rafters, its dingy windows, its bigfireplace, where the rough logs crackle, and its musty ale. It has everbeen a home for the belated traveller, where the viands, steaming hot,have filled his soul with joy. Oh, the Southdown mutton and the roastsof beef!
If England has given us naught else, she should be beloved for herwealth of inns, with their jolly landlords and their pert bar-maids andtheir lawns for the game of bowls. May our children's children find themstill unchanged.
In a quaint corner of London, there stood such an inn, in the days ofwhich we speak; and it lives in our story. When it was built, no oneknew and none cared. Tradition said that it had been a rendezvous forconvivial spirits for ages that had gone. A sign hung from the door, onwhich was a boar's head; and under it, in Old English lettering, mighthave been deciphered, if the reader had the wit to read, "Ye Blue BoarInn."
It was the evening of a certain day, known to us all, in the reign ofgood King Charles. Three yesty spirits sat convivially enjoying thewarmth of the fire upon the huge hearth. A keg was braced in the centreof the room. One of the merry crew--none other, indeed, than Swallow, aconstable to the King--sat astride the cask, Don Quixote-like. In placeof the dauntless lance, he was armed with a sturdy mug of good old ale.He sang gaily to a tune of his own, turning ever and anon forapprobation to Buzzard, another spirit of like guild, who sat in asemi-maudlin condition by the table, and also to the moon-faced landlordof the inn, who encouraged the joviality of his guests--not forgettingto count the cups which they demolished.
Swallow sang:
_"Here's a health unto his Majesty, with a fa, la, fa, Conversion to his enemies with a fa, la, fa, And he that will not pledge his health, I wish him neither wit nor wealth, Nor yet a rope to hang himself-- With a fa, la, fa, With a fa, la, fa."_
The song ended in a triumphant wave of glory. The singer turned towardthe fellow, Buzzard, and demanded indignantly:
"Why don't ye sing, knave, to the tune of the spigot?"
"My gullet's dry, Master Constable," stupidly explained his companion,as he too buried his face in the ale.
"Odsbud, thou knowest not the art, thou clod," retorted the constable,wisely.
"Nay; I can sing as well as any man," answered Buzzard, indignantly, "anI know when to go up and when to come down." He pointed stupidly,contrary to the phrase, first to the floor and then to the ceiling.
The landlord chuckled merrily, imitating him. "When to go up and when tocome down!" he repeated with the same idiotic drawl and contradictorygesture.
"Go to, simple," replied Swallow, with tremendous condescension ofmanner. "Thy mother gave thee a gullet but no ear. Pass the schnapps."
He arose and staggered to the table.
"Good Master Constable, how singest thou?" sheepishly inquired Buzzard,as he filled Swallow's tankard for the twentieth time.
"Marry, by main force, thou jack-pudding; how else?" demanded Swallow,pompously. He reseated himself with much effort astride the cask. "Oh,bury me here," he continued, looking into the foaming mug, and thenburied his face deep in the ale.
His companions were well pleased with the toast; for each repeated itafter him, each in his turn emphasizing the "me" and the "here"--"Oh,bury _me here!"_ "Oh, bury _me here!_"--Buzzard in a voicemany tones deeper than that of Swallow and the landlord in a voice manytones deeper than that of Buzzard. Indeed, the guttural tones of thelandlord bespoke the grave-yard.
The three faces were lost in the foam; the three sets of lips smacked inunison; and the world might have wagged as it would for these threejolly topers but for a woman's voice, calling sharply from the kitchen:
"Jenkins, love!"
"Body o' me!" exclaimed the landlord, almost dropping his empty tankard."Coming, coming, my dear!" and he departed hastily.
The constable poked Buzzard in the ribs; Buzzard poked the constable inthe ribs.
"Jenkins, love!" they exclaimed in one breath as the landlord returned,much to his discomfiture; and their eyes twinkled and wrinkled as theypoked fun at the taverner.
"Body o' me! Thou sly dog!" said the constable, as he continued to twithim. "Whence came the saucy wench in the kitchen, landlord? A dimpledcook, eh?"
The landlord's face grew serious with offended dignity as he attemptedto explain.
"'Tis my wife, Master Constable," he said.
"Marry, the new one?" inquired Swallow.
"'Tis not the old one, Master Swallow," replied the old hypocrite,wiping away a forced tear. "Poor soul, she's gone, I know not where."
"I' faith, I trow she's still cooking, landlord," consolingly repliedthe constable, with tearful mien, pointing slyly downward for thebenefit of Buzzard and steadying himself with difficulty on the cask.
"Bless Matilde," said the landlord as he wiped his eyes again, "I had ahard time to fill her place."
"Yea, truly," chuckled Swallow in Buzzard's ear, between draughts,"three long months from grave to altar."
"A good soul, a good soul, Master Swallow," continued the landlord, withthe appearance of deep affliction.
"And a better cook, landlord," said Swallow, sadly. "Odsbud, she knew agooseberry tart. Patch your old wife's soul to your new wife's face, andyou'll be a happy man, landlord. Here's a drop to her."
"Thank ye, Master Constable," replied the landlord, much affected. Helooked well to the filling of the flagon in his hand, again wiped a tearfrom his eye and took a deep draught to the pledge of
"The old one!"
Swallow, with equal reverence, and with some diplomacy, placed hisflagon to his lips with the pledge of
"The new one!"
Buzzard, who had not been heard from for some time, roused sufficientlyto realize the situation, and broke out noisily on his part with
"The next one!"
A startled expression pervaded the landlord's face as he realized themeaning of Buzzard's words. He glanced woefully toward the kitchen-door,lest the new wife might have overheard.
"Peace, Buzzard!" Swallow hastened to command, reprovingly. "Would yeraise a man's dead wife? Learn discretion from thy elders, an thouhop'st to be a married man."
"Marry, I do not hope," declared Buzzard, striking the table with hisclenched hand. He had no time for matrimony while the cups wereoverflowing.
There was a quick, imperative knock at the door. The constable, Buzzardand the landlord, all started up in confusion and fear.
"Thieves," stammered Swallow, faintly, from behind the cask, from whichhe had dismounted at the first sign of danger. "They are making off withthy tit-bit-of-a-wife, landlord."
"Be there thieves in the neighbourhood, Master Constable?" whispered thelandlord, in consternation.
"Why should his Majesty's constable be here else?" said Swallow,reaching for a pike, which trembled in his hand as if he had the ague."The country about's o'er-run with them; and I warrant 'tis thy newwife's blue eyes they are after." He steadied himself with the pike andtook a deep draught of ale to steady his courage as well.
Buzzard started to crawl beneath the table, but the wary constablecaught him by his belt and made a shield for the nonce of his tremblingbody.
The landlord's eyes bulged from their sockets as if a spirit from thenether regions had confronted him. The corners of his mouth, whichascended in harmony with his moon-face, twitched nervously. "Mercy me,sayest thou so?" he asked.
MISTRESS NELL FINDS HAPPINESS.]"And in thine ear," continued Swallow, consolingly, "and if thou see'stOld Rowley within a ten league, put thy new huswife's face under lockand key and Constable Swallow on the door to guard thy treasure."
It was not quite clear, however, what the constable meant; for "OldRowley" was the name of the King's favourite racehorse, of Newmarketfame,
and had also come to be the nickname of the King himself. Charlesassumed it good-naturedly. Assuredly, neither might be expected as avisitor to Ye Blue Boar.
There came a more spirited knock at the door. The constable sought aniche in the fireplace, whence he endeavoured to exclude Buzzard, whowas loath to be excluded.
"Pass the Dutch-courage, good landlord," entreated Swallow, in a hoarsewhisper.
The landlord started boldly toward the door, but his courage failed him."Go thou, Master Constable," he exclaimed.
"Go thou thyself," wisely commanded Swallow, with the appearance of muchbravery, though one eye twitched nervously in the direction of thekitchen-door in the rear, as a possible means of exit. "There's no needof his Majesty's constable till the battery be complete. There must bean action and intent, saith the law."
"Old Rowley!" muttered the landlord, fearfully. "Good MasterConstable--" he pleaded. His face, which was usually like a roast ofbeef, grew livid with fear.
Swallow, however, gave him no encouragement, and the landlord once morestarted for the door.
On the way his eye lighted on a full cask which was propped up in thecorner. Instinct was strong in him, even in death. It had been tapped,and it would be unsafe to leave it even for an instant within reach ofsuch guests. He stopped and quickly replaced the spigot with a plug.
There was a third knock at the door--louder than before.
"Anon, anon!" he called, hastily turning and catching up the half-filledflagon from the table. He disappeared in the entry-way.
The brave representatives of the King's law craned their necks, but theycould hear nothing. As the silence continued, courage was graduallyrestored to them; and, with the return of courage, came the desire forfurther drink.
Swallow again seized his pike and staggered toward the entry-way toimpress his companion with his bravery.
Buzzard caught the spirit of the action. "Marry, I'd be a constable,too, an it were to sit by the fire and guard a pretty wench," he said.His face glowed in anticipation of such happiness as he glanced throughthe half-open door to the kitchen, where the landlord's wife reigned.
"Egad, thou a constable!" ejaculated Swallow, contemptuously, throwing awithering glance in the direction of his comrade. "Thou ignoramamus! OldRowley wants naught but brave men and sober men like me to guard thelaw. Thou art a drunken Roundhead. One of Old Noll's vile ruffians. Ican tell it by the wart on thy nose, knave."
"Nay, Master Constable," explained Buzzard, with an injured look at themention of the wart, "it will soon away. Mother says, when I was a rosybabe, Master Wart was all in all; now I'm a man, Master Nose is crowdingNeighbour Wart."
Swallow put his hands on his knees and laughed deeply. He contemplatedthe nose and person of his companion with a curious air and grew mellowwith patronage.
"Thy fool's pate is not so dull," he said, half aloud, as he lighted along pipe and puffed violently. "Thy wit would crack a quarter-staff.'Sbud, would'st be my _posse?_
This was, indeed, a concession on the part of the constable, who wasover-weighted with the dignity of the law which he upheld.
"Would'st be at my command," he continued, "to execute the King's_Statu quos_ on rogues?"
"Marry, Constable Buzzard!" exclaimed the toper, gleefully. "Nay, and Iwould!"
"Marry, 'Constable' Buzzard!" replied Swallow, with tremendousindignation at the assumption of the fellow. "Nay, and thou would'stnot, ass! By my patron saint--"
As the constable spoke, Buzzard's eye, with a leer, lighted on the caskin the corner. He bethought him that it had a vent-hole even though thelandlord had removed the spigot. He tiptoed unsteadily across the room,and proceeded with much difficulty to insert a straw in the smallopening. He had thus already added materially to his maudlin condition,before Swallow discovered, with consternation and anger, the temporaryadvantage which the newly appointed _posse_ had secured.
The cunning constable held carefully on to his tongue, however. Hequietly produced a knife and staggered in his turn to the cask,unobserved by the unsuspecting Buzzard, whose eyes were tightly closedin the realization of a dream of his highest earthly bliss.
In an instant, the straw was clipped mid-way and the constable wasenjoying the contents of the cask through the lower half, while Buzzardslowly awakened to the fact that his dream of bliss had vanished andthat he was sucking a bit of straw which yielded naught.
"Here, knave," commanded Swallow, between breaths, pushing the otherroughly aside, "thou hast had enough for a _posse_. Fill my mug,thou ignoranshibus."
Buzzard staggered toward the table to perform the bidding. "The flagon'sempty, Master Constable," he replied, and forthwith loudly called out,"Landlord! Landlord!"
The constable dropped his straw and raised himself with difficulty tohis full height, one hand firmly resting on the cask.
"Silence, fool of a _posse_" he commanded, when he had poisedhimself; "look ye, I have other eggs on the spit. To thy knee, sirrah;to thy knee, knave!"
Buzzard with difficulty and with many groans unsuspectingly obeyed thecommand. Swallow lifted the cask which not long since he had been ridingand which had not as yet been tapped upon the shoulder of his kneelingcompanion. There was another groan.
"'Tis too heavy, good Master Constable," cried Buzzard, in soredistress.
"Thou clodhopper'" yelled Swallow, unsympathetically. "An thou cannotmaster a cask of wine, thou wilt never master the King's law. To thekitchen with thee; and keep thy eyes shut, thou knave of a_posse_." The constable made a dive for his pike and lantern, andenforced his authority by punctuating his remarks with jabs of the pikefrom behind at his powerless friend, who could scarce keep his legsunder the weight of the cask.
As Buzzard tottered through the kitchen-door and made his exit, theconstable, finding his orders faithfully obeyed, steadied himself withthe pike to secure a good start; and then, with long staggering strides,he himself made his way after the _posse_, singing loudly to hisheart's content:
_"Good store of good claret supplies everything And the man that is drunk is as great as a king."_
Mistress Nell: A Merry Tale of a Merry Time Page 9