To-day is ours! why do we fear?
To-day is ours! we have it here.
Let's banish business, banish sorrow;
To the gods belongs to-morrow.--Cowley.
I have dreamed
Of bloody turbulence.--Shakspere.
In profound silence will we pass over Sir Osborne's farther
entertainment at the abbey; as well as how Longpole contrived to make
himself merry, even in the heart of a monastery; together with sundry
other circumstances, which might be highly interesting to that class
of pains-taking readers who love everything that is particular and
orderly, and would fain make an historian not only tell the truth, but
the whole truth, even to the colour of his heroine's garters. For such
curious points, however, we refer them to the scrupulously exact
Vonderbrugius, who expends the greater part of the next chapter
upon the description of a flea-hunt, which Longpole got up in his
truckle-bed in the monastery; and who describes the various hops of
the minute vampire, together with all that Longpole said on the
occasion, as well as the running down, the taking, and the manner of
the death, with laudable industry and perseverance. But for the sake
of that foolish multitude who interest themselves in the fate and
adventures of the hero, rather than in the minor details, we will pass
over the whole of the next night much in the same manner as Sir
Osborne, who, sound asleep, let it fleet by in silence undisturbed.
His horses, however, were scarcely saddled, and his four attendants
prepared, the next morning, than he was informed that the Lady Katrine
Bulmer was ready to depart; and proceeding on foot to the great gates
of the abbey, which fronted the high road, on the other side from that
on which he had entered, he found her already mounted on a beautiful
Spanish jennet, with her two women and a man, also on horseback. By
her side stood the abbot, with whom she had now made her peace, and
who, kindly welcoming Sir Osborne, led him to the young lady.
"Sir knight," said he, "I give you a precious charge in this my dead
sister's child; and I give her wholly to your charge, with the most
perfect confidence, sure that you will guide her kindly and safely to
her journey's end. And now, God bless you and speed you, my child!" he
continued, turning to the young lady; "and believe me, Kate, there is
no one in the wide world more anxious for your happiness than your
poor uncle."
"I know it, I know it, dear uncle!" answered the lady; "and though I
be whimsical and capricious, do not think your Katrine does not love
you too." A bright drop rose in her eye, and crying "Farewell!
farewell!" she made her jennet dart forward, to conceal the emotion
she could not repress.
The knight sprang on his horse, bade farewell to the abbot, and
galloped after Lady Katrine, who drew in her rein for no one, but rode
on as fast as her steed would go. However, notwithstanding her
jennet's speed, Sir Osborne was soon by her side; but seeing a tear
upon her cheek, he made no remark, and turning round, held up his hand
for the rest to come up, and busied himself in giving orders for the
arrangement of their march, directing the two women, with Lady
Katrine's man, and Longpole, to keep immediately behind, while the
three attendants given him by the duke concluded the array. The young
lady's tears were soon dispersed, and she turned laughing to her
women, who came up out of breath with the rapidity of their course.
"Well, Geraldine," she cried, "shall I go on as quick? Should I not
make an excellent knight at a just, Sir Osborne? Oh! I could furnish
my course with the best of you. I mind me to try the very next justs
that are given."
"Where would you find the man," said Sir Osborne, "to point a lance at
so fair a breast, unless it be Cupid's shaft?"
"Ah, Sir Osborne Maurice!" answered the lady, "you men jest when you
say such things; but you know not sometimes what women feel. But trust
me that same Cupid's shaft that you scoff at, because it never wounds
you deeply, sometimes lodges in a woman's breast, and rankling there
will pale her cheek, and drain her heart of every better hope."
The lady spoke so earnestly that Sir Osborne was surprised, and
perhaps looked it; for instantly catching the expression of his eye,
Lady Katrine coloured, and then breaking out into one of her own gay
laughs, she answered his glance as if it had been expressed in speech,
"You are mistaken! quite mistaken!" said she, "I never thought of
myself. Nay, my knight, do not look incredulous; my heart is too light
a one to be so touched. It skims like a swallow o'er the surface of
all it sees, and the boy archer spends his shafts in vain; its swift
flight mocks his slow aim. But to convince you, when I spoke," she
proceeded in a lower voice, "I alluded to that poor girl, Geraldine,
who rides behind. Her lover was a soldier, who, when Tournay was
delivered to the French, was left without employment; and after having
won the simple wench's heart, and promised her a world of fine things,
he went as an adventurer to Flanders, vowing that he would get some
scribe to write to her of his welfare, and that as soon as he had made
sufficient, what with pay and booty they would be married; but
eighteen months have gone, and never a word."
"What was his name?" asked the knight; "I would wish much to hear."
"Hal Williamson, I think she calls him," said the lady: "but it
matters little; the poor girl has nigh broke her heart for the
unfaithful traitor."
"You do him wrong," said the knight; "indeed, lady, you do him wrong.
The poor fellow you speak of joined himself to my company at Lisle,
and died in the very last skirmish before the death of the late
emperor. With some money and arms, that I expect transmitted by the
first Flemish ship, there is also a packet, I fancy, for your maid,
for I forget the address. From it she will learn that he was not
faithless to her, together with the worse news of his death."
"Better! a thousand times better!" cried Lady Katrine, energetically.
"If I had a lover, I would a thousand times rather know that he was
dead, than that he was unfaithful. For the first, I could but weep all
my life, and mourn him with the mourning of the heart; but for the
last, there would be still bitterer drops in the cup of my sorrow. I
would mourn him as dead to me. I would mourn him as dead to honour;
and I should reproach myself for having believed a traitor, almost as
much as for being one."
"So!" said the knight, with a smile, "this is the heart that defies
Cupid's shaft: that is too light and volatile to be hit by his
purblind aim!"
"Now you are stupid!" said she, pettishly. "Now you are just what I
always fancied a man in armour. Why, I should have thought, that while
your custrel carries your steel cap, you might have comprehended
better, and seen that the very reason why my heart is so giddy and so
light is because it is resolved not to be so wounded by the shaft it
fears."
"Then it does fear?" said Sir Osborne.
"Pshaw!" cried Lady Katrine. "Geraldine, come up, and deliver me from
him: he is worse than the Rochester rioters."
In such light talk passed they their journey, Sir Osborne Maurice
sometimes pleased, sometimes vexed with his gay companion, but upon
the whole, amused, and in some degree dazzled. For her part, whatever
might be her more serious feelings, the lady found the knight quite
handsome and agreeable enough to be worthy a little coquetry. Perhaps
it might be nothing but those little flirting airs by which many a
fair lady thinks herself fully justified in exciting attention, with
that sort of thirst for admiration which is not content unless it be
continually fresh and active. Now, with her glove drawn off her fair
graceful hand, she would push back the thick curls from her face; now
adjust the long folds of her riding-dress; now pat the glossy neck of
her pampered jennet, which, bending down its head and shaking the bit,
would seem proud of her caresses; and then she would smile, and ask
Sir Osborne if he did not think a horse the most beautiful creature in
nature.
At length they approached the little town of Sittenbourne, famous even
then for a good inn, where, had the party not been plagued with that
unromantic thing called hunger, they must have stopped to refresh
their horses, amongst which the one that carried the baggage of Lady
Katrine, being heavily laden, required at least two hours' repose.
The inn was built by the side of the road, though sunk two or
three feet below it, with a row of eight old elms shadowing its
respectable-looking front, which, with its small windows and red brick
complexion, resembled a good deal the face of a well-doing citizen,
with his minute dark eyes half swallowed up by his rosy cheeks. From
its position, the steps by which entrance was obtained, so far from
ascending, according to modern usage, descended into a little passage,
from which a door swinging by means of a pulley, a string, and a large
stone, conducted into the inn parlour.
Here, when Lady Katrine had entered, while the knight gave orders for
preparing a noon meal in some degree suitable to the lady's rank, she
amused herself in examining all the quaint carving of the old oak
panelling; and having studied every rose in the borders, and every
head upon the corbels, she dropped into a chair, crying out--"Oh dear!
oh dear! what shall I do in the mean while? Bridget, girl, bring me my
broidery out of the horse-basket. I feel industrious; but make haste,
for fear the fit should leave me."
"Bless your ladyship!" replied the servant, "the broidery is at the
bottom of all the things in the pannier. It will take an hour or more
to get at it; that it will."
"Then give me what is at the top, whatever it is," said the lady;
"quick! quick! quick! or I shall be asleep."
Bridget ran out, according to her lady's command, and returned in a
moment with a cithern or mandolin, which was a favourite instrument
among the ladies of the day, and placing it in Lady Katrine's hand,
she cried, "Oh, dear lady, do sing that song about the knight and the
damsel!"
"No, I won't," answered her mistress; "it will make the man in armour
yawn. Sir knight," she continued, holding up the instrument, "do you
know what that is?"
"It seems to me no very great problem," replied Sir Osborne, turning
from some orders he was giving to Longpole; "it is a cithern, is it
not?"
"He would fain have said, 'A thing that some fools play upon, and
other fools listen to,'" cried Lady Katrine: "make no excuse, Sir
Osborne; I saw it in your face. I'm sure you meant it."
"Nay, indeed, fair lady," replied the knight, "it is an instrument
much used at the court of Burgundy, where my days have lately been
spent. We were wont to hold it as a shame not to play on some
instrument, and I know not a sweeter aid to the voice than the
cithern."
"Oh, then you play and sing! I am sure you do," cried the giddy girl.
"Sir Osborne Maurice, good knight and true, come into court, pull off
your gauntlets, and sing me a song."
"I will truly," answered the knight, "after I have heard your
ladyship, though I am but a poor singer.'"
"Well, well!" cried Lady Katrine, "I'll lead the way; and if you are a
true knight, you will follow."
So saying, she ran her fingers lightly over the strings, and sang.
LADY KATRINE'S SONG.
Quick, quick, ye lazy hours,
Plume your laggard wings;
Sure the path is strew'd with flowers
That love to true love brings.
From morning bright,
To fading light,
Speed, oh, speed, your drowsy flight!
If Venus' courier be a dove,
As ancient poet sings,
Oh! why not give to absent love
At least the swallow's wings,
To speed his way,
The live-long day,
Till meeting all his pain repay?
Thus sang Lady Katrine; and it may well be supposed that the music,
the words, and the execution, all met with their full share of praise,
although Bridget declared that she liked better the song about the
knight and the damsel.
"Now, your promise, your promise, sir knight!" cried the lady, putting
the instrument in Sir Osborne's hands; "keep your promise as a true
and loyal knight."
"That I will do, to my best power," said Sir Osborne, "though my voice
will be but rough after the sweet sounds we have just heard: however,
to please Mistress Bridget here, my song shall be of a knight and a
damsel, though it be somewhat a long one."
THE KNIGHT'S SONG.
The night was dark, and the way was lone,
But a knight was riding there;
And on his breast the red-cross shone,
Though his helmet's haughty crest upon
Was a lock of a lady's hair.
His beaver was up, and his cheek was pale
His beard was of auburn brown;
And as night was his suit of darksome mail,
And his eye was as keen as the wintry gale,
And as cold was his wintry frown.
Oh! sad were the tidings thy brow to shade,
Sad to hear and sad to tell;
That thy love was false to the vows she had made,
That her truth was gone, and thy trust betray'd
By her thou lovest so well.
Now fast, good knight, on thy coal-black steed,
That knows his lord's command,
For the hour is coming with fearful speed
When her soul the lady shall stain with the deed,
And give to another her hand.
In the chapel of yon proud towers 'tis bright,
'Tis bright at the altar there;
For around in the blaze of the tapers' light
Stand many a glittering, courtly knight,
And many a lady fair.
But why are there tears in the bride's bright eyes?
And why does the bridegroom frown?
And why to the priest are there no replies?
For the bitter drops, and the struggling sighs,
The lady's voice have drown'd.
That clang! that clang of an armed heel!
And what stately form is here?
His warlike limbs are clothed in steel,
And back the carpet heroes reel,
And the ladies shrink for fear.
And he caught the bride in his mailed arms,
And he raised his beaver high;
"Oh! thy tears, dear girl, are full of charms,
But hush thy bosom's vain alarms,
For thy own true knight is nigh!"
And he pull'd the gauntlet from his hand,
While he frown'd on the crowd around,
And he cast it down, and drew his brand,
"Now any who dare my right withstand,
Let him raise it from the ground."
But the knights drew back in fear and dread,
And the bride clung to his side;
And her father, lowly bending, said,
In the Holy Land they had deem'd him dead,
But by none was his right denied.
"Then now read on, sir priest," he cried,
"For this is my wedding-day;
Here stands my train on either side,
And here is a willing and lovely bride,
And none shall say me nay.
"For I'll make her the lady of goodly lands,
And of many a princely tower;
And of dames a train, and of squires a band,
Shall wait at their lady's high command,
In the Knight of de Morton's bower."
"Alack! alack!" cried Lady Katrine, as Sir Osborne concluded, "you are
not a knight, but a nightingale. Well, never did I hear a man in
armour chirrup so before! Nay, what a court must be that court of
Burgundy! Why, an aviary would be nothing to it! But if the master
sings so well," she continued, as Longpole entered, bearing in Sir
Osborne's casque and shield, "the man must sing too. Bid him sing,
fair knight, bid him sing; he will not refuse to pleasure a lady."
"Oh, no! I am always ready to pleasure a lady," answered Longpole;
who, as he went along, though he had found it impossible to help
making a little love to Mistress Geraldine, had, notwithstanding,
noted with all his own shrewd wit the little coquettish ways of her
mistress. "But give me no instrument, my lady, but my own whistle; for
mine must not be pryck-song, but plain song."
THE CUSTREL'S SONG.
Young Harry went out to look for a wife,
Hey, Harry Dally!
He said he would have her in virtues rife,
As soft as a pillow, yet keen as a knife,
With a hey ho, Harry!
The first that he met with was quiet and glum,
Hey, Harry Dally!
But she'd got a bad trick of sucking her thumb,
And when he cried "Mary!" the never would come,
With a hey ho, Harry!
The next that he came to was flighty and gay,
Hey, Harry Dally!
But she would not be play'd with, although she would play,
And good-humour was lost if she'd not her own way,
With a hey ho, Harry!
The next that he tried then was gentle and sweet,
Hey, Harry Dally!
But he found that all people alike she would treat,
And loved him as well as the next she should meet,
With a hey ho, Harry!
The next that he thought of was saucy and bold,
Hey, Harry Dally!
But he found that he had not the patience sevenfold
That could bear in one person a jade and a scold,
With a hey ho, Harry!
So, weary with searching for wedlock enow,
Hey, Harry Dally!
He thank'd his good stars he had made no rash vow,
And, like the old woman, went kissing his cow,
With a hey ho, Harry!
"The saucy knave!" cried Lady Katrine, laughing. "Out upon him!
Bridget, Geraldine, if ye have the spirit of women, I am sure ye will
not exchange a word with the fellow the rest of the journey? What!
could he not make his hero find one perfect woman? But here comes our
host with dinner, for which I thank heaven! for had it been later, my
indignation would have cost me my appetite."
As soon as the horses were refreshed, Sir Osborne, with his fair
charge, once more set out on the longer stage, which he proposed to
take ere they paused for the night. The news which he had received at
Sittenbourne leading him to imagine that the tumults at Rochester,
having been suffered, by some inexplicable negligence, to remain
unrepressed, had become much more serious than he at first supposed,
he determined to take a by-way, and, avoiding the town, pass the river
by a ferry, which Longpole assured him he would find higher up; but
still this was longer, and would make them later on the road; for
which reason he hurried their pace as much as possible, till they
arrived at the spot where the smaller road turned off, at about two
miles' distance from Rochester.
It was a shady lane, with, on each side, high banks and hedges,
wherein the tender hand of April was beginning to bring forth the
young green shrubs and flowers; and as the knight and lady went along,
Nature offered them a thousand objects of descant which they did not
fail to use. Their conversation, however, was interrupted after a
while by the noise of a distant drum, and a variety of shouts and
halloos came floating upon the gale, like the breakings-forth of an
excited multitude.
As they advanced, the sounds seemed also to approach.
"My casque and lance," said Sir Osborne, turning to Longpole. "Lady,
you had perhaps better let your jennet drop back to a line with your
women."
"Nay, I will dare the front," said Lady Katrine; "a woman's presence
will often tame a crowd."
"You are with a band of soldiers," said Sir Osborne, hearing the
clamour approaching, "and must obey command. What! horse; back, back!"
and laying his hand on the lady's bridle, he reined it back to a line
with her women. "Longpole, advance!" cried the knight. "Left-hand
spear of the third line to the front! Archers behind, keep a wary eye
on the banks: shoot not, but bend your bows. I trust there is no
danger, lady, but 'tis well to be prepared. Now, on slowly."
And thus opposing what defence they could between Lady Katrine and the
multitude, whose cries they now heard coming nearer and nearer, Sir
Osborne and the two horsemen he had called to his side, moved forward,
keeping a wary eye on the turnings of the road and the high banks by
which it was overhung.
They had not proceeded far, however, before they descried the
termination of the lane, opening out upon what appeared to be a
village-green beyond; the farther side of which was occupied by a
motley multitude, whose form and demeanour they had now full
opportunity to observe.
In front of all the host was a sort of extempore drummer, who with a
bunch of cocks' feathers in his cap, and a broad buff belt supporting
his instrument of discord, seemed infinitely proud of his occupation,
and kept beating with unceasing assiduity, but with as little regard
to time on his part as his instrument had to tune. Behind him, mounted
on a horse of inconceivable ruggedness, appeared the general with, a
vast cutlass in his hand, which he swayed backwards and forwards in
menacing attitudes; while, unheedful of the drum, he bawled forth to
his followers many a pious exhortation to persevere in rebellion. On
the left of this doughty hero was borne a flag of blue silk, bearing,
inscribed in golden letters, _The United Shipwrights_; and on his
right was seen a red banner, on which might be read the various
demands of the unsatisfied crowd, such as, "Cheap Bread," "High
Wages," "No Taxation," &c.
The multitude itself did indeed offer a formidable appearance, the
greater part of the men who composed it being armed with bills and
axes; some also having possessed themselves of halberts, and even some
of hackbuts and hand-guns. Every here and there appeared an iron jack,
and many a 'prentice-boy filled up the crevices with his bended bow;
while half a score of loud-mouthed women screamed in the different
quarters of the crowd, and, with the shrill trumpet of a scolding
tongue, urged on the lords of the creation to deeds of wrath and
folly.
The multitude might consist of about five thousand men: and as they
marched along, a bustle, and appearance of crowding round one
particular spot in their line, led the knight to imagine that they
were conducting some prisoner to Rochester, in which direction they
seemed to be going, traversing the green at nearly a right angle with
the line in which he was himself proceeding. "Hold!" said Sir Osborne,
reining in his horse. "Let them pass by. We are not enough to deal
with such numbers as there are there. Keep under the bank; we must not
risk the lady's safety by showing ourselves. Ah! but what should that
movement mean? They have seen us, by heaven! Ride on then; we must not
seem to shun them. See! they wheel! On, on! quick! Gain the mouth of
the lane!"
Thus saying, Sir Osborne laid his lance in the rest, and spurred on to
the spot where the road opened upon the green, followed by Lady
Katrine and her women, not a little terrified and agitated by the
roaring of the multitude, who, having now made a retrograde motion on
their former position, occupied the same ground that they had done at
first, and regarded intently the motions of Sir Osborne's party, not
knowing what force might be behind.
As soon as the knight had reached the mouth of the road he halted, and
seeing that the high bank ran along the side of the green guarding his
flank, he still contrived to conceal the smallness of his numbers by
occupying the space of the road, and paused a moment to watch the
movements of the crowd, and determine its intentions.
Now, being quite near enough to hear great part of an oration which
the general whom we have described was bestowing on his forces, Sir
Osborne strained his ear to gather his designs, and soon found that
his party was mistaken for that of Lord Thomas Howard, who had been
sent to quell the mutiny of the Rochester shipwrights.
"First," said the ringleader, "hang up the priest upon that tree, then
let him preach to us about submission if he will; and he shall be
hanged, too, in his lord's sight, for saying that he, with his
hundreds, would beat us with our thousands, and let his lord deliver
him if he can. Then some of the men with bills and axes get up on the
top of the bank: who says it is not Lord Thomas? I say it is Lord
Thomas; I know him by his bright armour."
"And I say you lie, Timothy Bradford!" cried Longpole, at the very
pitch of his voice, much to the wonder and astonishment of Sir Osborne
and his party. "Please your worship," he continued, lowering his tone,
"I know that fellow; he served with me at Tournay, and was afterwards
a sailor. He's a mad rogue, but as good a heart as ever lived."
"Oh, then, for God's sake! speak to him," cried Lady Katrine from
behind, "and make him let us pass; for surely, sir knight, you are not
mad enough, with only six men, to think of encountering six thousand?"
"Not I, in truth, fair lady," answered the knight. "If they will not
molest us, I shall not meddle with them."
"Shall I on, then, and speak with him?" cried Longpole. "See! he heard
me give him the lie, and he's coming out towards us. He'd do the same
if we were a thousand."
"Meet him, meet him, then!" said the knight; "tell him all we wish is
to pass peaceably. The right-hand man advance from the rear and fill
up!" he continued, as Longpole rode on, taking care still to maintain
a good face to the enemy, more especially as their generalissimo had
now come within half a bow-shot of where they stood.
As the yeoman now rode forward, the ringleader of the rioters did not
at all recognise his old companion in his custrel's armour, and began
to brandish his weapon most fiercely; but in a moment afterwards, to
the astonishment of the multitude, he was seen to let the point of the
sword drop, and, seizing his antagonist's hand, shake it with every
demonstration of surprise and friendship. Their conversation was quick
and energetic; and a moment after, Longpole rode back to Sir Osborne,
while the ringleader raised his hand to his people, exclaiming, "Keep
your ranks! Friends! These are friends!"
"Our passage is safe," said Longpole, riding back; "but he would fain
speak with your worship. They have taken a priest, it seems, and are
going to hang him for preaching submission to them. So I told him if
they did they would be hanged themselves; but he would not listen to
me, saying he would talk to you about it."
"Fill up my place," said the knight; "I will go and see what can be
done. We must not let them injure the good man."
So saying he raised his lance, and rode forward to the spot where the
ringleader waited him; plainly discerning, as he approached nearer to
the body of the rioters, the poor priest, with a rope round his neck,
holding forth his hands towards him, as if praying for assistance.
"My shield-bearer," said he, "tells me that we are to pass each other
without enmity; for though we are well prepared to resist attack, we
have no commission to meddle with you or yours. Nevertheless, as I
understand that ye have a priest in your hands, towards whom ye
meditate some harm, let me warn you of the consequences of injuring an
old man who cannot have injured you."
"But he has done worse than injured me, sir knight," said the
ringleader; "he has preached against our cause, and against redressing
our grievances."
"Most probably not against redressing your grievances," said Sir
Osborne, "but against the method ye took to redress them yourselves.
But listen to me. It is probable that the king, hearing of your wants
and wishes, he being known both for just and merciful, may grant you
such relief as only a king can grant; but if ye go to stain yourselves
with the blood of this priest, which were cowardly, as he is an old
man; which were base, as he is a prisoner; and which were
sacrilegious, as he is a man of God, ye cut yourselves off from mercy
for ever, and range all good men amongst your enemies. Think well of
this!"
"By the nose of the tinker of Ashford!" said the man, "your worship is
right. But how the devil to get him out of their hands? that's the
job; however, I'll make 'em a 'ration. But what I was wanting to ask
your worship is, do you know his grace the king?"
"Not in the least," was the laconic reply of the knight.
"Then it won't do," said the man; "only, as merry Dick Heartley said
you were thick with the good Duke of Buckingham, I thought you might
know the king too, and would give him our petition and remonstrance.
However, I'll go and make them fellows a 'ration: they're wonderful
soon led by a 'ration." And turning his horse, he rode up to the front
of the body of rioters, and made them a speech, wherein nonsense and
sense, bombast and vulgarity, were all most intimately mingled. Sir
Osborne did not catch the whole, but the sounds which reached his ears
were somewhat to the following effect:
"Most noble shipwrights and devout cannon-founders, joined together in
the great cause of crying down taxation and raising your wages! To you
I speak, as well as to the tinkers, tailors, and 'prentices who have
united themselves to you. The noble knight that you see standing
there, or rather riding, because he is on horseback: he in the
glittering armour, with a long spear in his hand, is the dearly
beloved friend of the great and good Duke of Buckingham, who is the
friend of the commons and an enemy to taxation."
Here loud cries of "Long live the Duke of Buckingham!" "God bless the
duke!" interrupted the speaker; but after a moment he proceeded. "He,
the noble knight, is not Lord Thomas Howard; and so far from wishing
to attack you, he would wish to do you good. Therefore he setteth
forth and showeth--praise be to God for all things, especially that we
did not hang the priest!--that if we were to hang the priest, it would
be blasphemous, because he is an old man; and rascally, because he is
a man of God; and moreover, that whereas, if we do not, the king will
grant us our petition. He will infallibly come down, if we do, with an
army of fifty thousand men, and hang us all with his own hands, and
the Duke of Buckingham will be against us. Now understand! I am
not speaking for myself, for I know well enough that, having been
elected your captain, and ridden on horseback while ye marched on
foot, I am sure to be hanged anyhow; but that is no reason that ye
should all be hanged too; and, therefore, I give my vote that Simon
the cannon-founder, Tom the shipwright, and long-chinned Billy the
tinker, do take the priest by the rope that is round his neck, and
deliver him into the hands of the knight and his men, to do with as
they shall think fit. And that after this glorious achievement we
march straightway back to Rochester. Do you all agree?"
Loud shouts proclaimed the assent of the multitude; and with various
formalities the three deputies led forth the unhappy priest, more dead
than alive, and delivered him into the hands of Longpole: after which
the generalissimo of the rioters drew up his men with some military
skill upon the right of the green, leaving the road free to Sir
Osborne. The knight then marshalled his little party as best he might,
to guard against any sudden change in the minds of the fickle
multitude; and having mounted the poor exhausted priest behind one of
the horsemen, he drew out from the lane, and passed unmolested across
the green into the opposite road, returning nothing but silence to the
cheers with which the rioters thought fit to honour them.
Their farther journey to Gravesend passed without any interruption,
and indeed without any occurrence worthy of notice. Lady Katrine and
Sir Osborne, Geraldine and Longpole, mutually congratulated each other
on the favourable termination of an adventure which had commenced
under such threatening auspices; and every one of the party poured
forth upon his neighbour the usual quantity of wonder and amazement
which always follows any event of the kind. The poor priest, who had
so nearly fallen a victim to the excited passions of the crowd, was
the last that sufficiently recovered from the strong impressions of
the moment to babble thereupon.
When, however, his loquacious faculties were once brought into play,
he contrived to compensate for his temporary taciturnity, shouting
forth his thanks to Sir Osborne Maurice from the rear to the front,
declaring that the preservation of his life was entirely owing to his
valour and conduct; that it was wonderful the influence which his sole
word possessed with the multitude, and that he should never cease to
be grateful till the end of his worldly existence.
Sir Osborne assured him that he was very welcome; and remarked, with a
smile, to Lady Katrine, who was laughing at the priest's superfluity
of gratitude, that in all probability it was this sort of exuberance
of zeal that had brought him into the perilous circumstances in which
they had at first found him.
"But can zeal ever be exuberant?" demanded Lady Katrine, suddenly
changing her tone; and then fixing the full light of her beautiful
dark eyes upon the knight, she added, "I mean in a friend."
"It can," said Sir Osborne, "when not guided by prudence. But I do not
think a fool can be a friend."
"Come, sir knight, come!" said the lady; "let us hear your idea of a
friend."
"A friend," replied the knight, smiling at her earnestness, "must be
both a wise man and a good man. He must love his friend with
sufficient zeal to see his faults and endeavour to counteract them,
and with sufficient prudence to perceive his true interests and to
strive for them. But he must put aside vanity; for there is many a man
who pretends a great friendship for another merely for the vain
purpose of advising and guiding him, when, in truth, he is not capable
of advising and guiding himself. The man who aspires to such a name
must be to his friend what every man would be to himself, if he could
see his own faults undazzled by self-love and his own interests
unblinded by passion. He must be zealous and kind, steady and
persevering, without being curious or interfering, troublesome or
obstinate."
"Would I had such a friend!" said Lady Katrine, with a sigh, and for
the rest of the way she was grave and pensive.