SIR WALTER AS CHAPERON.
That same evening the Devonshire knight, apprised by Master Jeffreys of
the arrival of his forest friends, paid them a visit in the Wood Street
hostelry. He himself had lodgings at Whitehall, near to the court. He
welcomed them most warmly, paid Dorothy many pretty compliments, and
enjoined the hostess to have the greatest care of her precious charge.
"Let but a hair of Mistress Dawe be injured beneath thy roof,
goodwife," said he, with a twinkle in his eye, "and a whole host of
wild fellows from caves and holes in the mighty forest will swarm
hither for revenge. Dark, terrible beings are they, who spend much of
their time in the gloomy depths of the mighty woodland or in the very
bowels of the earth. Wild Irish or Spaniards are nought to them. I
have seen them eat up such folk at a mouthful! This nymph is their
maiden queen. Have a care how ye all treat her!"
The plump hostess, who knew her knight for a merry jester, was yet half
inclined to believe his account of the forest dwellers, and she looked
with added interest upon the blushing Dolly. Master Morgan was quite
to her mind.
"I am a widow," she said in confidence to the captain, "and 'tis a
great comfort to have a fellow of so many inches, and an honest face
atop of them, under one's roof."
The captain agreed, and accepted the invitation of Mistress Stowe (the
hostess) to drink a cup of sack with her in her own parlour.
Sir Walter left his man with the forest folk in the capacity of guide
and counsellor, promising to come again early on the morrow and take
them the round of the city sights. Johnnie went abroad that evening,
down Chepe as far as Cornhill; but Dorothy and the captain preferred to
remain indoors, and Mistress Stowe entertained them with stories of the
great city, telling of the great changes that had taken place of late
years--how scores of churches and religious houses had been pulled down
and hundreds of priests and monks driven out because of the Reformation.
"I have heard my father say," she declared, "that in his time every
second man you met with in the streets of London was monk or priest;
churches stood everywhere, and there was a perpetual ding-dong of bells
from morn till night. Now you will look in vain for a monk; the bells
are grown silent; and the churches are heaps of ruins, or their sites
occupied by warehouses built of their stones. The monasteries and
nunneries are turned into dwelling-places for the rich folk and
favourites of the court."
She told them of the tournaments held in the great street called
"Chepe;" of the pageants on the river; the bull-baiting, bear-baiting,
and morris-dancing, and the plays at the theatres. She had an
entranced audience of two until Morgan and Jeffreys returned from their
ramble.
The next morning about eleven o'clock Sir Walter came in and found the
dinner just served, so he dined with his friends; and then, after a
pipe of tobacco--in which neither the captain nor Morgan ventured to
join him--he took them abroad. Down Chepe they went, past the fine
shops of goldsmith, silversmith, and mercer. The broad thoroughfare
was thronged with gaily-dressed people, afoot and on horseback, and the
apprentices cried their masters' wares so lustily that the place rang
again. 'Twas "What d'ye lack, pretty mistress? Is it gold or jewels,
fal-lals or laces? Buy, buy, gallant sirs; knick-knacks, pretty
things, and gew-gaws for the lady!"
"Bones o' me!" gasped Johnnie, as he wriggled from the clutches of two
persevering apprentices; "an I had the fee-simple of my scrap of land
in the forest in my pocket, these rogues would have it from me in an
afternoon walk. What wouldst thou like, Dolly? Let me buy thee
something."
But Dorothy, who was just in front leaning on the knight's arm, had
eyes more for the crowd than for the brave things displayed in the
shops. Gallant after gallant bowed gracefully to her, for all knew the
famous knight; and the ladies eyed her keenly and critically, wondering
who she might be. It was a proud day for Dorothy. She was quick
enough to notice that her clothing was not quite according to London
fashions; but if she were not as gaily dressed as the ladies who stared
at her, she had the comforting thought that her cavalier was the
best-dressed and handsomest man that walked along Chepe that September
day. So she answered Johnnie's question with, "Buy me whatever thou
wilt; I shall say 'thanks!' But ask me not to make a choice at this
time and from such a bewilderment of riches."
So the young forester shook his head to all pestering salesmen, and
kept his money in his pocket for that day.
By the Royal Exchange on Cornhill Sir Walter was stopped for a moment
by the Lord Mayor, who wanted a little court news on a certain matter
affecting the city. Then on he went again to the Tower. The governor,
a close friend of the knight's, readily admitted the party, and showed
them over the grim old fortress and palace in which, alas! the brave
Raleigh was destined to spend so many lonely years. He seemed to have
some foreboding of this that day, and when the governor was telling
Dorothy stories of some unfortunates who had spent their last days
within the frowning walls, or left them only for the block on Tower
Hill, Raleigh sighed and remarked, "'Tis but a step from a sovereign's
smile and the summer of the court to the gloom and winter of this
place. In dreams I sometimes see myself taking the very fateful step."
This he said aside to Morgan, and the young fellow was so struck by the
tone in which the words were said that they remained fixed in his
memory, and he recalled them with bitter sorrow in after years when the
brave knight's fears had reached their awful fulfilment.
From the Tower steps the knight took a wherry and went up the river as
far as Blackfriars. Shooting the arches of London Bridge gave Dorothy
one quick spasm of fear, for the craft that went ahead of them, being
somewhat clumsily handled, went crash into a pier, spun round, filled
and sank, and left its occupants screaming and struggling in the water.
All were rescued, the boatman himself scrambling nimbly into Raleigh's
boat.
"The tide is not so strong as that which races up the Severn," said
Johnnie; "sure 'tis bad boating that comes to grief here."
"Not so, my master," replied the dripping boatman; "'tis the plaguy
narrowness of these arches and the jutting of the pier foundations that
cause the mishaps. Every fool that has handled an oar cannot shoot
London Bridge."
"That may be," assented the forester; "every stream has its shoals and
currents; nevertheless this Thames tide is to the Severn bore as calf
is to angry bull."
Meanwhile Sir Walter was pointing out objects of interest to his fair
companion. "Yonder building," he said, pointing to a hexagonal
structure on the Surrey side of the river, "is the Globe Theatre. I
must take ye all there some afternoon to hear some pretty comedy of
sweet Will Shakespeare's. Master Morgan hath an ear for poetry, I
believe; he will not snore through the love-making scenes."
Dolly blushed. At Blackfriars steps they landed, went into the city by
the Lud Gate, passed through St. Paul's and out into the Chepe again;
thence to the "Swanne," where the knight took leave of them, promising
to have them down to Whitehall next day if his duties at court gave him
any leisure.
The shops in Chepe were closed; the apprentices ran loose with plenty
of noise and racket. The sober merchants walked out to the Moorfields,
with wife on arm and daughters dutifully following in modest train.
Work was ended. London was taking its evening recreation.