CHAPTER II.
DISTURBERS OF THE NIGHT.
"I will have the wench." "If you can get her."--_The Coxcomb._
The captain gave instructions, as he and his pupils strode forward. Thetwo boys with the lights were left behind to take shelter in a porch,so that the peace-breakers might advance in the greater darkness. Itwas enough for their purpose that they had the lanterns of the watch toguide them.
The watchmen came trudging on in ranks of two. Presently there couldbe heard, from somewhere among them, a voice of lamentation, protest,and pleading, with a sound of one stumbling against sundry ill-setpaving-stones of the street.
"They have a prisoner," said the captain to his followers. "We'llmake a rescue of this. Remember, lads, no swords to be used on thesedotards; but do as I've told ye."
In another moment, and just when the watchmen seemed about to halt forconsideration, but before their leader had made up his mind to cry,"Stand!" the captain shouted, "Now, boys, now; a rescue! a rescue!"and the roysterers rushed forward with a chorus of whoops.
The watch, composed for the most part of old men, had scarce timeto huddle into a compact form when the gallants were upon them. Theassailants, keeping up their shouting, made to seize the watchmen'sbills, with which to belabour them about their heads and shoulders.One or two were successful in this; but others found their intendedvictims too quick, and were themselves the recipients of blows. Theseunfortunate ones, bearing in mind the captain's directions, essayed tosnatch away lanterns, and to retaliate upon the watchmen's skulls; andwhoever failed in this, rushed to close quarters, grasped an opponent'sbeard, and hung on with all weight and strength.
The captain's operations were directed against the pair who hadimmediate charge of the prisoner. Possessing himself of the bill ofone, whom, by the same act, he caused to lose balance and toppleover, he obtained the other's voluntary retreat by a gentle poke inthe paunch. The prisoner himself proved to be a man of years, andof port; he had a fat, innocent face, and he showed, by his dressand every other sign that became visible when the captain held upa lantern before him, to be a gentleman. What such a guileless,well-fed old person could have done to fall afoul of the night-watch,Captain Ravenshaw could not imagine. For the time, the old person'sastonishment and relief at being set free were too great to permit hisspeaking.
Meanwhile, Master Holyday, having been the last to come up, found themel?e so suddenly precipitated, and so complete without his intrusion,that he stood back looking for a convenient place and time for him toplunge into it. But it seemed impossible for him to penetrate the edgeof the scuffle, or to connect himself with it in any effective way.So he hung upon the skirts; until at last two of the watchmen, beingsimultaneously minded for flight, bore down upon him from out of thehurly-burly. He instinctively threw out his arms to stay their going;whereupon he found himself grappled with on either side, and from thatinstant he had so much to do himself that he lost all observation ofthe main conflict. Nor had the other fighters any knowledge of thisside matter. But their own sport was over ere their wind was out;the watchmen, being mainly of shorter breath and greater prudencethan their antagonists, soon followed the example of flight; and thegallants, soberer by sundry aches, smarts, and bruises, were leftmasters of the field. None of the watch was too much battered to beable to scamper off toward the Poultry.
"A piece of good luck, sir," began Captain Ravenshaw, to the releasedprisoner, around whom the gallants assembled while they compared knocksand trophies. "You had been scurvily lodged this night, else."
"Sirs, I thank ye," replied the old gentleman, finding at last hisvoice, though it was the mildest of voices at best. He was still shakyfrom having been so recently in great fright; but he gathered force ashis gratitude grew with his clearer sense of escape.
"God wot, I am much beholden to ye. You know not what you have saved mefrom."
"To say truth, a lousy hole behind an iron grating were no pleasantplace for one of your quality," said Ravenshaw.
"Oh, 'tis not that so much, though 'twere bad enough," said thegentleman, with a shudder. "'Tis the lifetime of blame that would havefollowed when my wife had heard of it. You must know, sirs, I am acountry gentleman, and I am not known to be in London; my detentionwould be noised about, and when it reached my wife's ears--'sfoot,sirs, I am for ever your debtor in thankfulness!" And he looked hismeaning most fervently.
"Why did the watch take you up?" inquired the captain.
"Why, for nothing but being abroad in the streets. The plaguey rascalssaid I was a night-walker, and that I behaved suspiciously. I didnothing but stand and wait at the Standard yonder, for one I had agreedto meet; but when I saw the watch coming I stepped back, to be outof their lantern-light. This stepping back, they said, proved I wasa rogue; and so they clapped hands on me, and fetched me along. Butnow I bethink me, sirs: the person I was to meet--what will she do anshe find me not at the place?" The old gentleman showed a reawakeneddistress, and, turning toward the direction whence the watch hadbrought him, looked wistfully and yet reluctantly into the darkness.
"Oho! She!" quoth the captain. "No wonder your wife--"
"Nay, think no harm, I beg. Nay, nay, good sirs! Sure, 'tis anevil-thinking world. Well, I must e'en bid ye good night, and leaveye my best thanks. Would I might some day repay you this courtesy. Myname, sirs--but no, an ye'll pardon me, I durst not; the very stonesmight hear it, and report I was in London. But if I might know--"
"Surely. We have no wives in the country, that we must keep our doingsfrom, have we, boys? And we are free of the streets of London, aren'twe, boys? My name, sir, is Ravenshaw--Captain Ravenshaw; and thisgentleman--"
He was about to introduce his companions by the names of great personsof the court, when, casting his eyes over the group for the first timesince the link-boys had come up with their torches, he was suddenlyotherwise concerned.
"Why, where's Master Holyday? Where the devil's our scholar?"
The gallants looked from one to another, and then peered into thesurrounding darkness, but saw no one; nor came any answer to thecaptain's shout, "What ho, Holyday! Hollo, hollo!"
"An't please you," spoke up one of the link-boys, "while we waitedyonder, the watchmen ran past us; and methought two of them dragged aman along between them; but 'twas so dark, and they went so fast--"
"Marry, that's how the wind lies," cried the captain. "Gallants, here'smore business of a roaring nature. A rescue! Come, the hunt is up! Tothe cage, boys! We may catch 'em on the way."
Without more ado, Ravenshaw led his followers, link-boys and all, ona run toward the Poultry, leaving the grateful old gentleman in thedarkness and to his own devices.
They hastened to the night-watch prison, but overtook no one on theway; it was clear that the watchmen had made themselves and theirprisoner safe behind doors. An attack on the prison would have beena more serious business than the captain could see any profit in.So, abandoning the luckless scholar to the course of the law, thenight-disturbers made their way back to Cheapside, wondering whatriotous business they might be about next.
"What asses are these!" thought the captain. "They have warm beds togo to, yet they rather wear out their soles upon the streets in searchof trouble. Well, it helps me pass the night, and I am every way thegainer by it; so if puppies must needs learn to play the lion, may theyhave no worse teacher."
When they came to the Standard, that ancient stone structure risingin the middle of the street, they walked around it to see if the oldgentleman was there; but the place was deserted.
"Here were a matter to wager upon, now," observed the captain: "Whetherhe met his mistress after all and bore her away, or whether he foundher not and went wisely to bed."
A few steps farther brought the strollers opposite the mouth ofBread Street. The sound of men's voices came from within this narrowthoroughfare.
"Marry, here be other fellows abroad," quoth the captain. "How if weshould 'light upon occasion for a brawl? Then we should see if we
couldput them down with big words. Come, lads."
They turned into the narrow street and proceeded toward a group whosefour or five dark figures were indistinctly marked in the flickeringglare of a single torch. This group appeared to be circled about aclosed doorway opposite All-hallows Church, at the farther corner ofWatling Street, in which doorway stood the object of its attention.
"Some drunken drab o' the streets, belike," said the captain, in alow voice, to his followers. "We'll feign to know her, and we'll callourselves her friends; that will put us on brawling terms with thosegentlemen. They are gallants, sure, by their cloaks and feathers."
The gentlemen were, it seemed, too disdainful of harm to interrupttheir mirth by looking to see who came toward them. The heartlessamusement on their faces, the tormenting tone of the jesting wordsthey spoke, gave an impression somewhat like that of a pack of dogssurrounding a helpless animal which they dare not attack, but whichthey entertain themselves by teasing.
The captain stepped unchallenged into the little circle, and lookedat the person shrinking in the doorway, who was quite visible in thetorchlight.
"'Slight!" quoth the captain. "This is no trull; 'tis a younggentlewoman."
His surprise was so great as to make him for the moment forget the planhe had formed of precipitating a quarrel. The young gentlewoman lookedvery young indeed, and very gentle, being of a slight figure, andhaving a delicate face. She leaned close against the door, at which shehad, as it seemed, put herself at bay. Her face, still wet with tears,retained something of the distortion of weeping, but was neverthelesscharming. Her eyes, yet moist, were like violets on which rain hadfallen. Her lips had not ceased to quiver with the emotion which hadstarted her tears. Her hair, which was of a light brown, was in somedisorder, partly from the wind; for the hood of the brown cloak shewore had been pulled back. It might easily be guessed who had pulledit, for the gentleman who stood nearest her, clad in velvet, and bywhose behaviour the others seemed to be guided, held in his hand alittle black mask, which he must have plucked from the girl's face.
This gentleman was tall, nobly formed, and of a magnificent appearance.His features were ruddy, bold, and cut in straight lines. He woresilken black moustaches, and a small black beard trimmed to two points.
At the captain's words, this gentleman looked around, took full note ofthe speaker in a brief glance, and scarce dropping his smile,--a smilecareless and serene, of heartless humour,--said, calmly:
"Stand back, knave; she is not for your eyes."
The captain had already thought of the inequality between this fragiledamsel and her persecutors; despite his account against womankind, herlooks and attitude had struck within him a note of compassion; and nowher chief tormentor had called him a knave. He remembered the purposewith which he had arrived upon the scene.
"Knave in your teeth, thou villain, thou grinning Lucifer,thou--thou--!" The captain was at a loss for some word of revilementthat might be used against so fine a gentleman without seemingridiculously misapplied. "Thou beater of the streets for stray fawns,thou frighter of delicate wenches!"
"Why, what motley is this?" replied the velvet gallant. "What mummerthat is whole-clad above the girdle, and rags below? what mongrel, whatpatch, what filthy beggar in a stolen cloak? Avaunt, thing!"
The gentleman grasped the gilded hilt of his rapier, as if to enforcehis command if need be.
"Ay, draw, and come on!" roared the captain. "You'll find me yourteacher in that."
At the same moment a restraining clutch was put upon the gentleman'ssleeve by one of his companions, who now muttered some quick words ofprudence in his ear. Whether it was due to this, or to the captain'sexcellent flourish in unsheathing, he of the double-pointed beardpaused in the very movement of drawing his weapon, and a moment laterslid the steel back into its velvet scabbard. In his desistance froma violent course, there was evidently some consideration private tohimself and his friend, some secret motive for the avoidance of a brawl.
"Say you so?" quoth the gentleman, blandly, as if no untoward wordshad passed. "Well, if you can be my teacher, you must be as good arapier-and-dagger man as any in the kingdom, and there's an end on't.Are you that?"
"Sir, you might have tried me, and found out," said the captain,considerably mollified at the other's unexpected politeness, andputting up his sword.
"Why, marry, another time I may have occasion to see your skill--nay, Imean not a challenge; I should enjoy to see you fight any man."
"But what of this gentlewoman, sir?" said the captain, interrogatively.
"Why, you will not dispute, it is my prize, by right of discovery. Youa swordman, and not know the laws of war? Faith, we men of the sea arebetter learned."
"Nay, but is she of the breed to make a prize of? Methinks she looks itnot."
"Pish, man, a pretty thing or so; a citizen's filly, mayhap, that hathearly slipped the halter; she will not tell her name; but what we findloose in the streets after curfew, we know what it is, whatsoever itmay look."
The girl now spoke for the first time since the captain had seen her.Her voice, though disturbed by her feelings, was not shrill like achild's, but had the fulness of blossoming womanhood, and went with thesmoothness common to well-bred voices.
"I was never in the streets at night before," she said, sobbingly."There was one I was to meet, who was waiting for me at the Standard inCheapside."
"Eh!" quoth the captain, with a suddenly increased interest.
"Some gallant 'prentice, belike," said the gentleman in velvet, withhis singular smile of gaiety and cruelty. "Some brave cavalier of theflat cap, whom we frighted off."
"'Twas not so!" cried the girl. "He was not frighted off. I was goingto him, and was near the place, but I could not see him yet, 'twas sodark. And then the watch came, with their lanterns, and I stood still,so they might not observe me. But I saw them go to the Standard, andtake my--my friend that waited for me. I knew not what to do, and so Istayed where I was, all dismayed. And then, but not till the watch hadgone away with him, came you cruel gentlemen and found me. So he wasnot frighted by you. Alas, if he had but seen me, and come to meet me!"
"But he was soon free of the watch," said the captain, wondering whatsuch a damsel should have to do in surreptitiously meeting such aworshipful old married gentleman. "Came he not back to the place? 'Tisa good while since."
"How know you about him?" queried the girl, with wonder.
"'Tis no matter," said the captain, forgetting for the nonce to brag ofan exploit. "He ought to have come back to the place to seek you; hewas no true man, else."
"Belike he did, then," said the girl, quickly, with hope suddenlyrevived.
"Nay, 'tis certain he waits not at the Standard; we came from there butnow. Doubtless his taking up by the watch gave him his fill of waitingthere. He seemed a man with no stomach for night risks."
"Then," said the girl, mournfully, "he must have come back after I hadrun from these gentlemen. Then he would think I could not meet him;'twas past the time we had set. Oh, villains, that I should run fromyou, and miss my friend, and yet be caught at last! He would give allup, and go to his inn, and back to the country at daybreak. All's overwith me! Oh, ye have much to answer for!"
"How prettily it cries!" quoth the handsome gentleman.
"Faith, sir," said the captain, good-humouredly, "let's see an 'twilllaugh as prettily. How if we led this dainty weeper to her friend'sinn, and roused him out? Perchance then we shall have smiles for theseshowers. Where does he lie, little mistress?"
"Alas, I know not. 'Twould be near the river, I think."
"Oho, that he might take boat quicker," said the gentleman. "And nowwill he fly without thee at daybreak, say'st thou? Never sorrow,sweetheart; I'll boat thee to Brentford myself to-morrow."
"There be scores of inns near the river," said the captain to the girl."But we might make trial at some of them, an we knew by what name tocall for your friend."
"Nay, that I'll never tell! I know not i
f he would give his true nameat the inn. Alas, what shall I do?"
"Why, come to the tavern and make merry," said Velvet Suit, "as we havebeen inviting you this half-hour."
"I'll freeze in the streets sooner!"
"Is there need of that, then?" asked the captain. "Hast no place inLondon to go to? Came you not from some place to meet your friend?"
"From my father's house, of course."
"Then why not go back to it? What's to fear? 'Twas late when you cameforth, was it not? I'll wager thy people were abed. Did they know youmeant to play the runaway?"
"'Tis not like they know it yet," she replied, a little relieved fromcomplete dismay, but still downhearted.
"And sure the way you came by must be open still," went on the captain.
"I locked the door behind me; but I left the key where I can find it,if you gentlemen will let me go. You will, sirs; I'll thank ye so much!I am undone every way, else."
"Of course we'll let you go," said the captain, decisively, withan oblique eye upon the velvet gallant. "We'll be thy body-guard,forsooth; we'll attend thee to thy door."
"Nay, let me go alone, I beg!"
"Why, would you risk more dangers?"
"I have not far to go. Pray, pray, follow me not! Pray, let me beunknown to ye, good sirs! Think, if my mishap this night were noisedabout, and my name known--think, if my father were to hear it!"
"Ay, true," said the captain. "Go alone, but on condition, if you seeharm ahead, you turn back to us; you must cry for help, too. And so wegive our words of honour not to--"
"Softly, softly, Master Meddler," broke in the handsome gentleman. "Benot so free with your betters' words of honour. I know not what hathallowed you to live so long after thrusting in upon this company--"
But again he was checked by the man at his elbow. This was abroad-breasted man of medium height, who seemed, as well as hisplain dark cloak would show, to be of solid, heavy build; as for hisface, its lower part was so covered by a thick, spade-shaped beard,and the upper part so concealed by the brim of a great Spanish hat,purposely pulled down over the eyes, that one could not have obtaineda sufficient glimpse for future recognition. He spoke to his gaycompanion in a brief whisper, but his words had instant weight.
"Tush! 'tis not worth bloodshed," said the gay gentleman, havingheard him. "Let the wench go; what is one fawn among so many? But oncondition. I crave more of your acquaintance, Sir Swordman; we may cometo a fight yet, with better reason; so my friends and I will let thegirl go hang, an you and your party come drink with us."
"We are your men there," replied the captain, warming up within, atsuch a happy issue; "but the taverns are barricaded at this hour."
"I know where the proper knock will open doors to us. 'Tis agreed,then. Wench, go your ways; good night!"
He moved aside to let her pass, and the girl, stepping from thedoorway, with a single look of thanks to the captain, ran swiftlytoward Cheapside. She was out of the range of the torchlight in amoment. As soon as her figure was invisible in the night, the gentlemanin velvet left his companion, and, taking the captain fraternally bythe arm, started toward Knightrider Street.
Ravenshaw, yielding in spite of an inclination to stay and listen forany distant sign of alarm from the girl, strode mechanically along;he heard his own followers and the gentleman's friends coming closebehind, and starting up conversations. Lighted by the two link-boys andthe other torch-bearer, the party at length stopped before a taverndoor in Thames Street.
The handsome gallant knocked a certain number of times, and, while hewaited for answer, the party huddled into a close group before thedoor. Every face was now in the torchlight, and the captain cast aglance over the little company. Suddenly a strange look came into hisface.
"What's this?" he said to the gentleman, quickly. "Where's your otherfriend--he with the hat pulled over his eyes?"
For answer, the gentleman gave a curious smile, showing white teeth;and his eyes sparkled mockingly.
"Death and hell! Gods and devils!" cried the captain, roaring inearnest, and whipping out his sword. "He slunk back and followedthe maid, did he? Ye'd trick me, would ye? Now, by the belly of St.George--" At this point, though the velvet gallant had swiftly drawnin turn, the group having opened a clear space at the captain's firstexclamation, Ravenshaw broke off to another thought. "Nay, we'll goafter that hound first; the scent's warm yet; and then we'll look toyou. Come, lads of mine!"
He dashed through the group, and headed for Cheapside; his four pupilsand the two link-boys tarried not from following him. The othergentlemen looked to their leader for direction; whereupon he, as thetavern door opened, put up his sword and, laughing quietly, led theminto the house.
"They'll be rare dogs an they catch Jerningham," quoth he. "The fools!their noise would warn him even if they should chance upon his track."
The captain and his companions found Bread Street and Cheapside black,silent of human sounds, and, wherever they carried their lights, emptyof human forms. They traversed two or three of the side streets, andlistened at the corners of others, but without result. Where, in thisnight-wrapped London, did the two objects of their search now drawbreath?
If the girl had indeed not had far to go, she was probably safe; and ifshe were safe the man's doings mattered little. So, and as the gallantswere beginning to show signs of weariness, the inspiriting effect oftheir last wine having died out, the captain piloted them back to thetavern at whose door he had left his quarrel scarce begun.
He found the tavern door barred; and no amount of knocking andshouting sufficed to open it. The tired gallants were yawning, leaningagainst one another (they dared not lean against the tavern, lestsomething might be dropped upon them from an upper window), and talkingof bed. Therefore the captain drew off to a safe distance from thetavern, and thus addressed his following:
"Ye have had but a poor lesson in swaggering to-night, masters.To be true roaring boys, we should have forced a brawl on thosegallants--rather for the brawl's sake than for the girl's. To help thehelpless hath nought to do with true swaggering, save where it may bea pretext. But this lambkin looked so tender, I forgot myself, andbehaved discreetly, seeing her cause was best served that way. Theessence of roaring is not in concern for the cause, but in putting downthe enemy. If you be in the wrong, so much the greater your credit as abully. And now, if we wait for those cozeners to come forth--"
"Oh, let 'em come forth and be damned," said Master Clarington,sleepily. "I'm for bed. Light me to my lodging, boy. Who'll keep mecompany to Coleman Street?"
As the three other young gentlemen had, at the time, their citylodgings in that direction, they were quite ready to avail themselvesof Master Clarington's initiative in yielding to the claims offatigue. The captain was not such a fool as to risk their favour byopposing their decision, seeing how their zest for adventure had oozedout of them. He therefore accompanied them northward through Bow Lanewith outward cheerfulness. On the way, he considered within himselfwhether or not to fish for an invitation to a night's lodging, or forthe loan of money to pay for a bed himself. He bethought him thatman was fickle, particularly in the case of would-be daredevils whosoon grew sleepy on their wine; if he would retain the patronage ofthese four, he must not go too far upon it at first. He had too muchexperience to sacrifice to-morrow's pound for to-night's shilling. So,when he came to Cheapside, where his companions should turn eastward,he stopped, and said:
"I must wish ye good night here, gentlemen. You will be at the Windmillagain to-morrow, mayhap?"
"What?" said Master Maylands, carelessly. "Go you no farther our way?Where lodge you, then?"
"Oh, I lodge out Newgate way," replied the captain, vaguely. "A goodnight to ye all! Ye'll find me at the Windmill after dinner. Merrydreams, lads! Faith, I shall be glad to get under cover; the wind ishigher, methinks."
A chorus of good nights answered him drowsily, and he was left indarkness, the link-boys going with the four gentlemen, who hung uponone another's arms as they pl
odded unsteadily along.
The captain trudged westward in Cheapside, in mechanical obedience tothe suggestion pertaining to his lie.
"I should better have got myself taken up of the watch," he mused, ashe gathered his new cloak about him, and made himself small againstthe wind. "Then I should have lain warm in the Counter. That scholaris a lucky fellow. But that would have lost me the opinion of my foursparks. Well, it shall go hard but they continue bountiful. Cloak,doublet, and bonnet already--a good night's booty. 'Tis well I found'em in the right degree of drink. As for that wench--I was an ass,I should have let those roysterers have their way of her; 'twouldhave served my grudge against the sex. But such a child--! Hey! Whatfellow comes here with the lantern and the wide breeches? An it be aconstable, I'll vilify him, and be lodged in the Counter yet. How now,rascal!--what, Moll, is it thou, up to thy vixen tricks again?"
The newcomer, who now faced Ravenshaw and held up a lantern to see himthe better, wore a man's doublet and hose, and a sword; but a carefulscrutiny of the bold features would have revealed to any one that theywere those of a sturdy young woman, of the lower class. The daughterof Frith, the shoemaker of Aldersgate, had yet to immortalise herselfas Moll Cutpurse, but she had some time since run away from domesticservice and taken to wearing men's clothes.
"Good even, Bully Ravenshaw," quoth she, in a hoarse, vigorous voice."Why do you walk the night, old roaring boy?"
"For want of a lodging, young roaring girl."
"Is it so? Look ye, then; I'm abroad for the night, on matters of mineown. Here's my key; 'tis to the back yard gate of the empty house inFoster Lane, where the spirit walks. Dost fear ghosts?"
"Fear ghosts? Girl, I make 'em!"
"Then you'll find in that yard a penthouse, wherein is a feather-bedupon boards. 'Tis a good bed--I stole it from a brewer's widow."
And so the captain lodged that night in a coal-house, thankfully.
Captain Ravenshaw; Or, The Maid of Cheapside. A Romance of Elizabethan London Page 5