While the Marquis of Buckingham and his suite were moving towards the
wharf, amid the acclamations of the crowd (for in the early part of his
brilliant career the haughty favourite was extremely popular with the
multitude, probably owing to the princely largesses he was in the habit
of distributing among them), a very different reception awaited those
who succeeded him. The hurrahs and other vociferations of delight and
enthusiasm were changed into groans, hootings, and discordant yells,
when Sir Francis Mitchell came in sight, supported between two stout
myrmidons, and scarcely able to maintain his perpendicular as he was
borne by them towards the wherry in waiting for him near the stairs.
Though the knight was escorted by Captain Bludder and his Alsatian
bullies, several of the crowd did not seem disposed to confine
themselves to jeers and derisive shouts, but menaced him with some rough
usage. Planting themselves in his path, they shook their fists in his
face, with other gestures of defiance and indignity, and could only be
removed by force. Captain Bludder and his roaring blades assumed their
fiercest looks, swore their loudest oaths, twisted their shaggy
moustaches, and tapped their rapier-hilts; but they prudently forbore to
draw their weapons, well knowing that the proceeding would be a signal
for a brawl, and that the cry of "Clubs!" would be instantly raised.
Amongst the foremost of those who thus obstructed Sir Francis and his
party was a young man with a lithe active figure, bright black eyes,
full of liveliness and malice, an olive complexion, and a gipsy-like
cast of countenance. Attired in a tight-fitting brown frieze jerkin with
stone buttons, and purple hose, his head was covered with a montero cap,
with a cock's feather stuck in it. He was armed neither with sword nor
dagger, but carried a large cudgel or club, the well-known and
formidable weapon, of the London 'prentices, in the use of which,
whether as a quarterstaff or missile, they were remarkably expert. Even
a skilful swordsman stood but poor chance with them. Besides this
saucy-looking personage, who was addressed as Dick Taverner by his
comrades, there were many others, who, to judge from their habiliments
and their cudgels, belonged to the same fraternity as himself; that is
to say, they were apprentices to grocers, drapers, haberdashers,
skinners, ironmongers, vintners, or other respectable artificers or
tradesfolk.
Now Dick Taverner had an especial grudge against our two extortioners,
for though he himself, being 'prentice to a bookseller in Paul's
Churchyard, had little concern with them, he was the son of an
inn-keeper--Simon Taverner, of the Emperor's Head, Garlick Hill--who had
been recently mined by their exactions, his licence taken from him, and
his house closed: enough to provoke a less mettlesome spark than Dick,
who had vowed to revenge the parental injuries on the first opportunity.
The occasion now seemed to present itself, and it was not to be lost.
Chancing to be playing at bowls in the alley behind the Three Cranes
with some of his comrades on the day in question, Dick learnt from
Cyprien what was going forward, and the party resolved to have their
share in the sport. If needful, they promised the drawer to rescue his
mistress from the clutches of her antagonists, and to drive them from
the premises. But their services in this respect were not required. They
next decided on giving Sir Francis Mitchell a sound ducking in the
Thames.
Their measures were quickly and warily taken. Issuing from an arched
doorway at the side of the tavern, they stationed some of their number
near it, while the main party posted themselves at the principal
entrance in front. Scouts were planted inside, to communicate with
Cyprien, and messengers were despatched to cry "Clubs!" and summon the
neighbouring 'prentices from Queenhithe, Thames Street, Trinity Lane,
Old Fish Street, and Dowgate Hill; so that fresh auxiliaries were
constantly arriving. Buckingham, with the young nobles and gallants,
were, of course, allowed to pass free, and were loudly cheered; but the
'prentices soon ascertained from their scouts that Sir Francis was
coming forth, and made ready for him.
Utterly unconscious of his danger, the inebriate knight replied to the
gibes, scoffs, and menaces addressed to him, by snapping his fingers in
his opponents' faces, and irritating them in their turn; but if he was
insensible of the risk he ran, those around him were not, and his two
supporters endeavoured to hurry him forward. Violently resisting their
efforts, he tried to shake them off, and more than once stood
stock-still, until compelled to go on. Arrived at the stairhead, he next
refused to embark, and a scene of violent altercation ensued between him
and his attendants. Many boats were moored off the shore, with a couple
of barges close at hand; and the watermen and oarsmen standing up in
their craft, listened to what was going forward with much apparent
amusement.
Hastily descending the steps, Captain Bludder placed himself near the
wherry intended for the knight, and called to the others to make short
work of it and bring him down. At this juncture the word was given by
Dick Taverner, who acted as leader, and in less than two minutes, Sir
Francis was transferred from the hands of his myrmidons to those of the
'prentices. To accomplish this, a vigorous application of cudgels was
required, and some broken pates were the consequence of resistance; but
the attack was perfectly successful; the myrmidons and Alsatians were
routed, and the 'prentices remained masters of the field, and captors of
a prisoner. Stupefied with rage and astonishment, Captain Bludder looked
on; at one moment thinking of drawing his sword, and joining the fray;
but the next, perceiving that his men were evidently worsted, he decided
upon making off; and with this view he was about to jump into the
wherry, when his purpose was prevented by Dick Taverner, and a few
others of the most active of his companions, who dashed down the steps
to where he stood. The captain had already got one foot in the wherry,
and the watermen, equally alarmed with himself, were trying to push off,
when the invaders came up, and, springing into the boat, took possession
of the oars, sending Bludder floundering into the Thames, where he sunk
up to the shoulders, and stuck fast in the mud, roaring piteously for
help.
Scarcely were the 'prentices seated, than Sir Francis Mitchell was
brought down to them, and the poor knight, beginning to comprehend the
jeopardy in which he was placed, roared for help as lustily as the
half-drowned Alsatian captain, and quite as ineffectually. The latter
was left to shift for himself, but the former was rowed out some twenty
or thirty yards from the shore, where, a stout cord being fastened to
his girdle, he was plunged head-foremost into the river; and after
being thrice drawn up, and as often submerged again, he was dragged on
board, and left to shiver and shake in his dripping habiliments in the
stern of the boat. The bath had completely sobered him, and he bitterly
bemoaned himself, declaring that if he did not catch his death of cold
he should be plagued with cramps and rheumatism during the rest of his
days. He did not dare to utter any threats against his persecutors, but
he internally vowed to be revenged upon them--cost what it might. The
'prentices laughed at his complaints, and Dick Taverner told him--"that
as he liked not cold water, he should have spared them their ale and
wine; but, as he had meddled with their liquors, and with those who sold
them, they had given him a taste of a different beverage, which they
should provide, free of cost, for all those who interfered with their
enjoyments, and the rights of the public." Dick added, "that his last
sousing was in requital for the stoppage of the Emperor's Head, and
that, with his own free will, he would have left him under the water,
with a stone round his neck."
This measure of retributive justice accomplished, the 'prentices and
their leader made for the stairs, where they landed, after telling the
watermen to row their fare to the point nearest his lodgings; an order
which was seconded by Sir Francis himself, who was apprehensive of
further outrage. Neither would he tarry to take in Captain Bludder,
though earnestly implored to do so by that personage, who, having in his
struggles sunk deeper into the oozy bed, could now only just keep his
bearded chin and mouth above the level of the tide. Taking compassion
upon him, Dick Taverner threw him an oar, and, instantly grasping it,
the Alsatian was in this way dragged ashore; presenting a very woful
spectacle, his nether limbs being covered with slime, while the moisture
poured from his garments, as it would from the coat of a water-spaniel.
His hat had floated down the stream, and he had left one boot sticking
in the mud, while his buff jerkin, saturated with wet, clung to his skin
like a damp glove.
Leaving him to wring his cloak and dry his habiliments in the best way
he could, the leader of the 'prentices collected together his forces,
and, disposing them in something like military array, placed himself at
their head, and marched towards the tavern, where they set up a great
shout. Hitherto they had met with no interruption whatever. On the
contrary, the watermen, bargemen, and others, had cheered them on in
their work of mischief; and the crowd on shore appeared rather friendly
to them than otherwise. Flushed with success, the riotous youths seemed
well disposed to carry their work of retribution to extremities, and to
inflict some punishment upon Sir Giles proportionate to his enormities.
Having ascertained, from their scouts, that no one connected with the
usurious knight had come forth, they felt quite secure of their prey,
and were organising a plan of attack, when intelligence was brought by a
scout that a great disturbance was going on inside, in consequence of a
young gentleman having been arrested by Sir Giles and his crew, and that
their presence was instantly required by Madame Bonaventure.
On hearing this, Dick Taverner shouted--"To the rescue! to the rescue!"
and rushed into the house, followed by the 'prentices, who loudly echoed
his cries.
"_Par ici, Messieurs! Par ici!_--this way, this way!" vociferated
Cyprien, who met them in the passage--"the bowling-alley--there they
are!"
But the Gascon's directions were scarcely needed. The clashing of swords
would have served to guide the 'prentices to the scene of conflict.