IN WHICH THE HERO IS FOUND TO BE A PERSON OF NO DESCENT WHATEVER.
AT ten o’clock the soldiers came and reported themselves to their
commander. One of them, presumably the officer in charge, was closeted
with the Captain in the library for no less a time than an hour and
a quarter. The others meantime put their jaded horses up, procured
some food, and retired to rest themselves. At a few minutes to twelve
o’clock, as the Mountain could not go to Mahomet, owing to some
question of his knee, Mahomet went to the Mountain. At that hour a spy
posted on the stairs informed me that my papa, the Earl, hopped--gout
and all--to the Captain in the library. Meantime Emblem and myself were
discussing the situation, behind locked doors, exhaustively, but with a
deal of trepidation. She, it seemed, had just come into the possession
of a piece of news of a very alarming kind. It was to the effect that
the Captain, not wishing to disturb his knee, had passed the night in
his chair in front of the library fire. And that apartment opened in
the entrance hall, and was near the very flight of stairs up which the
prisoner had passed. It was thus all too probable that he had heard
incriminating noises towards the hour of four.
“Emblem,” says I, “that man is the devil. At every turn he pops up to
thwart us.”
And before that day was out I was moved to speak of him in even
stronger terms. At present, what to do with the prisoner was our chief
concern. He must be smuggled away that night, if possible; but the
situation was desperately complex. First, he must be provided with a
horse, and then with money, not to mention an open road, and a suitable
disguise. ’Twould be no kindness whatever--indeed, would merely be
sending him to his doom--to despatch him a fugitive to the open moors
again in the middle of the night unless he were provided with the
amplest resources for escape.
Yet, while I speculated on the pros and cons of his position, and the
skilfullest means of aiding him, a thought that was never absent long
caught me painfully in the breast. What of my papa, the Earl? If the
prisoner were not retaken in a week, that dear old gentleman would
make acquaintance with the Tower. I was in a truly horrid case. The
fugitive was in my hands; a word to his Majesty of the shattered knee,
and the Earl, my papa, was safe. But having gone so far, how could I
deliver that child over to his enemies? His lean, white look had made
too direct a claim upon my kindness. His youth, his sad condition, his
misfortunes had made me very much his friend. Had he not confided to me
the custody of his life? And must I repay the trust reposed in me by
betraying him to his foes? It appeared that my vaunted heartlessness
had deserted me when needed most. I was involved in this hard problem,
and casting contumely on Mrs. Polly because she could not suggest
any kind of solution to it, when a knock upon the door disturbed our
council. Emblem rose, unlocked the door, and admitted little Pettigrew,
the page. He was the spy who had been posted on the stairs, also at the
keyhole of the library door at favourable intervals. The information
that he brought completely terrified us both.
I dismissed him as soon as it was given, for it was not wise that he
should glean too much.
“Emblem,” says I, on Pettigrew’s departure, “that settles it. That
leaves absolutely nothing to be done. I wish that Captain was at the
bottom of the sea!”
For the result of the interview between the Captain and the Earl was
this: the house was about to be searched from the bottom to the top,
and every room and cupboard was to be overhauled, since the Captain,
having taken the evidence of his men, and having heard strange sounds
in the night himself, had put two and two together and was now
heavily suspecting me. My papa was not loth to do so either, and at
the suggestion of the soldier, had issued strict instructions that
no person under any pretext whatever was to leave the house until a
thorough examination had been made.
The prisoner was as good as lost. There was not a place anywhere in
which a man could be concealed. Emblem proposed between a bed and
mattress, but I scouted that as not sufficiently ingenious. I suggested
a clothes chest for a hiding-place, but Emblem was not slow to advance
a similar objection.
“Well,” says I, “it is a matter for the lad himself. We will bear this
hard news to him and see what his own wits are worth.”
Accordingly we repaired together to the chamber in which he was still
asleep. There was yet an hour or two before us in which to act, as the
soldiers were at present indulging in their earned repose. A couple of
shakes upon the shoulder and the rebel was rubbing his eyes and looking
at us. By the utter bewilderment of his face he had evidently lost all
cognisance of where he was, and I could not refrain from laughter as he
gazed from me to Emblem, from Emblem to his luxurious couch, and then
back again to me.
“Mr. Christophero Sly,” says I, “how doth your lordship find yourself?”
“Good Madam Wife,” says he, “I find myself blithe as a pea, I thank
you.”
This reply was evidence of three things. First, that my voice had
recalled him to his present state; second, that his deep sleep had
restored him wonderfully; third, that he was no fool. The third was the
most pleasing to me. He had now slipped from the bed, and was standing
in his stocking feet before us with a degree of humility and pride
that looked mightily becoming.
“Madam,” he says, with a boy’s simplicity, which was a great contrast
to what I had been used to, “I shall not try to thank you, because I’m
not good at words. But wait, madam, only wait, and you shall not lack
for gratitude.”
It was most amusing to witness this frail and tender lad go striding up
and down the chamber, looking fierce as any giant-killer. The vanity of
boys is a very fearful thing.
“I am afraid I shall, poor Master Jack,” says I next moment in a
falling voice, “for I am here to tell you that the soldiers are in this
house; that as soon as they have taken a little rest they will search
it from the bottom to the top, and leave not a stick unturned; and that
as matters stand there is not a power on earth that now can save you.”
He took this cruel news with both fortitude and courage.
“Well, then, madam,” says he, walking up and down the room again, but
this time with his face unpleasant, “if it is not to be that I shall
give you gratitude, at least I think I can show you what a good death
is. For at the worst it will be a better one than Tyburn Tree.”
“Then you are not afraid of death?” I asked.
I thought I saw his white face grow more pallid at the question, but
his answer was: “No, oh no! At least--do you suppose, madam, that I
would tell you if I were?”
This was charming candour, and I laughed outright at it, and said:
“I never saw the boy that was afraid of anything whatever.”
“I am not a boy,” he answered, proudly.
“You have vanity enough for three, sir; but ere you perish, boy, there
is one thing I must learn. Captain Grantley gives me to understand that
you are the son of a baker. Is that so? For I think you are far too
delightful to be anything so plebeian.”
“Ah, no!” he sighed, “not even that. I never was the son of anybody.”
“Dear me!” says I, “how singular! I must assume then that you came upon
this earth like manna from the skies?”
“When I was a fortnight old,” says he, “I was left upon the doorstep of
a priory. I have never seen my parents, and I do not even know their
names.”
“But you are called Anthony Dare!” says I.
“The fathers called me Anthony after their patron saint; they called me
Dare for daring to howl upon the doorstep of a priory.”
“They have given you the most appropriate name they could possibly
have found,” says I, in admiration of his open, candid face and his
courageous eyes, “for if I read your countenance aright, my lad, you
dare do anything whatever.”
“I think I might dare,” says he, and tightened his thin lips.
“Then if you think you dare, you had better kiss me,” says I, haughtily.
’Twas the tone I had withered princes with. I drew up all my inches,
and I am not a little woman; I set back my head; I put a regal lift
into my chin; I looked upon him from a snow-capped altitude; and again
and again my eyes did strike him with disdain. I did not think the man
was made who could have kissed me then. For ’twas not an invitation,
you understand; it was a flat defiance.
He sent a look at me, and then recoiled with something of a shiver. He
sent another and fell into a kind of trembling, and I could see that
fear of me was springing in his eyes. My will was matched against his
own; and it was now a case of mastery. But ’twas his that did prevail.
A third time he came with his fiery look; I quailed before it, and next
instant his lips had known my cheek.
“My lad,” says I, and I was shaking like a leaf, “I think you are
formed for greatness. Do you know that there is not another man in
England who could have dared that deed?”
“And strike me pale!” says he, “don’t ask me to dare it any more. I
much prefer the whipping-post.”
And whiter than before he sat upon the bed in a condition pretty much
the equal of my own.
“What, you’ve known the whipping-post?” I cried. “What adventures you
have had! And brought up in a priory. Now tell me all about ’em.”
“Three times to the whipping-post,” says he, “twice to the pillory,
twice to Edinburgh Tolbooth, and once a broken leg, and various
embroilments, and strange accidents by sea and land.”
“Oh! my lad,” says I, “if we had but time, what would I not give to
hear your life recited? But the whipping-post? What’s it like? Do you
know, I’ve been nearly tempted there myself, for it must be a very
unique sensation.”
“It is something like kissing you, madam, only nothing like so painful.”
This incorrigible rogue said this with the sobriety of a cardinal.
“And now,” says he, “I won’t tell you one other solitary thing till you
have appeased my hunger. I am famishing.”
“What!” says I, “you who are to die in half an hour requiring a meal!”
I was astonished that the imminence of death did not affect him. But
then I had no need to be, for there was scarce a trait in his strange
character they did not pass quite outside of my experience.
“Now tell me more about your life,” says I, “you charming young
adventurer.”
His answer was a droll expression; and he shook his head and placed a
finger on his lips to remind me of his vow of silence. And he would
not speak another word of any kind until I had sent Emblem to smuggle
up some food and to enquire whether the soldiers had yet begun their
search.
When she had gone, I said: “Suppose, my lad, you proved, after all,
to be a person of high consideration, deserted by your parents for
State reasons or matters of that sort. We read of such things in the
story-books, you know.”
“Not I,” says he, with his delicious gravity. “I know quite well I am
not that. I am a person of low tastes.”
Here he sighed.
“They might be the fruits of your education,” says I, tenaciously,
for I love aught that seems at all romantic or mysterious. “Let me
hear them, sir, for I believe I am well fitted to pronounce a verdict
thereupon.”
“For one thing,” says he, “I am fond of cheese.”
“How barbarous!” says I.
“And I prefer to drink from pewter.”
“’Tis a survival of the Vandal and the Goth,” says I.
“And velvet frets me. I cannot bow; I cannot pirouette; I cannot make a
leg; and I have no gift of compliment.”
“Mr. Dare,” says I, “you are indeed a waif, and not a high-born
gentleman. Mr. Dare, your case is hopeless.”
But so heavy a decision sat upon him in the lightest manner, for he
heard the feet of the approaching Emblem and the rattle of dishes on a
tray. She, too, had evidently formed a low opinion of his tastes, for
she had brought him the rudest pigeon pie and the vulgarest pot of ale
you ever saw.
“I hope, my wench,” says I, sharply, “you let no one in the kitchen
see you procure these things. They will say I have a diabetes else.”
“’Deed, no, my lady,” she replied; and then in a confidential whisper,
“the soldiers are not yet begun their search. I have had a word with
Corporal Flickers, who is on duty. He hath told me privily that by
the Captain’s orders their investigation is to be postponed till four
o’clock, as they are in such urgent need of food and sleep.”
“And what gave you Corporal Flickers for this news?” says I, frowning
at her.
Emblem puckered up her lips and looked puritanically prim.
“Only a look,” says she demurely, “and a very indifferent imitation of
one of your own, ma’am.”
Meantime the condemned rebel had swallowed half the pigeon-pie and
drunk a pint of ale. I watched him in polite surprise, and the thought
came to me that if his fighting was as fierce as was his appetite, six
men would be none too many to retake him. Having at last dispatched his
meal, he said:
“Madam, do you know that I feel quite wonderfully better? Fit for
stratagems and devilry, in fact. And, lord knows, they’ll be required.”
“They will, indeed,” says I. “But stratagems--you talk of stratagems,
now let me think of ’em.”
I seldom lacked for a certain fertility in inventions. I began to put
it to the test. To sit tamely down and watch this fine lad perish was
by no means what I was prepared to do. Having pledged myself so deeply
to his affair, I would see him through with it.
“Madam,” he broke in on my thoughts, “two feet of straight and honest
steel is worth a mile of strategy. Give me a sword, and bother your
head no more about me.”
“’Tis bloody mindedness,” says I; “and you such a tender, handsome boy!”
“I am not tender; I am not handsome; I am not a boy,” says he.
“You are the very handsomest lad I ever saw,” says I, mischievously,
“and Mrs. Polly Emblem knows it also. She looks on you as sweetly as
though you were a corporal.”
“Bah!” he cries, “do you suppose, madam, that I will let a parcel of
women pet me like a terrier pup. I was born for better things, I hope.”
“For the whipping-post, the pillory, the Tolbooth, you saucy rogue,”
says I, laughing at his anger, and the way he treated one of the
foremost ladies in the State. “But you know you are very handsome,
now,” says I, in a very coaxing manner.
“To be handsome,” he replied, “a man must be six feet high; splendid
wide shoulders; slender hips, and muscles made of steel. No, I am
not handsome. I am only a little fellow; five feet five inches is my
height; my frame hath no more consistency than your own. See how my
shoulders slope, and my very voice is thin and feminine.”
“Why, certainly it is,” says I, “but still you are very handsome.”
“’Tis untrue,” says he, determined to prevail and doing so, for he was
of that disposition that whatever he wished he obtained, and whatever
he undertook he performed; “but, madam, if it will be a satisfaction
to you, I may say, that for my size I possess an arm that merits your
attention. Observe these muscles, madam. They are flexible.”
And I laughed aloud, when he pushed his sleeve up suddenly and laid his
forearm bare. He bent it and made its fibres rise, and before he would
be content I had to grip it with an appearance of great interest.
But the catalogue of his dimensions and his feminine resemblance was
to put me in possession of one of the bravest stratagems that ever was
conceived.
“I have it!” I exclaimed, in a tone of victory. “I have it! I have
discovered a device that shall fit you like a glove.”
“I do not want a device,” says he; “give me an honest sword, and a
sturdy courage. They are worth all your pussy-cat tricks.”
“You have a feminine exterior,” says I, “and I possess the clothes and
the arts that can adorn it. In half an hour you shall become a most
ravishing girl.”
“I will not, by thunder!” he exclaimed, with gleams of purple in his
face. “I will go to Tyburn rather.”
“Well, think about it,” says I, coaxingly, “and remember this is your
only chance of life. I do believe that I may save you thus. Besides, a
boy of your height will make a very fine, tall woman.”
This it was that moved him to the scheme. In a moment was he reconciled.
“Tall!” cries he. “Well, it’s worth trying anyhow. And at least there’s
room in a woman’s what-do-you-call-’ems to stow a pistol and a bit of
ammunition?”
I assured him that there was.
Thereupon Emblem and I set about at once to prepare him for this
disguise. The more I considered it, the more positive did I grow of
its success. Our present mode seemed to have been invented to assist
our audacious plan. Every lady of pretension must have her powder, her
patch, and her great head-dress. The hooped skirt was then the fashion
too. I placed the most elegant one I had at his disposal. That is to
say, the biggest, for the larger they were the more “tonnish” they were
considered. Indeed, the petticoat I procured him was of such capacity
that it fitted over his masculine clothes with ease, and abolished
the necessity for underlinen, as his shirt and breeches fulfilled
its duties admirably. We got him into this rich silk dress, with
convolvulvi and mignonette brocaded on it, in the shortest space of
time. The bodice, though, was a different affair. He had to remove his
coat and vest ere we might venture to put it on at all. Then he had to
be dragged into it by main force, till it seemed that a miracle alone
had saved the seams from bursting.
“Huh!” he sighed, “I cannot breathe. This is less humane than hanging.”
“But not so ignominious,” says I.
“Well, I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” says he. “For surely ’tis of
the very depth of degradation for a lusty man like me to be put in
petticoats, and made a woman of.”
“Wretch!” says I. Mrs. Polly Emblem, being employed at that moment in
pinning a gold brooch into the collar of his bodice, by misadventure
stuck it cleverly in his throat.
We made him a bust with a pad of wool. His hair was a matter for
nice consideration. He wore it long, and of a yellow colour; and,
although of a coarse male quality, it was profuse enough to occupy his
shoulders. Emblem, however, was a past mistress in the manipulation
of a head-dress. It shook me with laughter, yet thrilled me with
pleasure too, to witness the degree of mastery with which she seized
that ungovernable mane, that was no more curly than is a grey rat’s
tail, and twisted it to her own devices. She packed it up with pins
and divers arts known only to the coiffeuse, enclosed it in one of my
commodes, and made the whole of such a height and imperial proportion
that even I would not have disdained to wear it publicly.
There now remained the question of his tell-tale hands and feet. But
the difficulties they presented were very well got over. His form
being cast in so slight a mould, it was not strange that they were of
quite a delicate character; and when a pair of long mittens had been
stretched across his hands to hide their natural roughness, there
remained small chance of detection on their account.
But his feet were a somewhat more serious affair. My own shoes were
outside the question utterly. When Emblem mischievously produced a
pair, and suggested that he should try them on, his face was worthy of
remark.
“What, those!” says he. “I might have tugged ’em on when I was four
weeks old, but I’ll swear at no time thereafter.”
Emblem then produced a pair of hers. They fared but slightly better,
she being a very dainty creature, a fact of which she was very well
aware. Thereupon she repaired below-stairs to discover if any of the
maids could lend assistance. In the end she returned in triumph with a
not inelegant pair the cook went to church on Sundays in. She being one
of the most buxom members of her tribe, they promised well.
It was a squeeze, but the lad found a way inside them, and walked
presently across the room to allow us to judge of the general effect.
“A little more rose-pink upon his cheeks,” says I, “a rather darker
eyebrow, a higher frill about his throat, a deeper shade of vermilion
on his lips, two inches more ascension in his bust, and we shall have
the rogue a rival to myself.”
Emblem, most enthusiastic in the cause, brimful of mirth, and with
a pardonable vanity in her own accomplished hand, worked out these
details to a miracle. A touch or two and Venus was superseded.
He looked into the mirror, and saw his image there, and kissed the
glass to show how deeply the picture there presented had wrought upon
his susceptibilities.
“A deuced fine girl!” says he. “Faith! I think I’ll marry her!”
“You are wedded to her for a day or two, at least,” says I.
The lad made the most charming picture. Those rare eyes of his were
roving in a very saucy way; his features were alert and delicate, yet
strong, and emphasized in delightful fashion by Mrs. Polly Emblem’s
inimitable art. His clothes were very cunningly contrived, and he had a
graceful ease of person that in a measure disguised the absence of soft
curves. Besides, that enormous hoop petticoat was very much his friend,
as it stood so far off from his natural figure that it created a shape
of its own accord.
“My dearest Prue, how are you?” cries I with warmth, and pretending to
embrace him.
“So my name is Prue?” says he, “a proper name, I vow.”
“Then ’ware lest you soil it with an impropriety,” says I, disapproving
highly of the way in which he walked. “You are to impersonate my
friend the Honourable Prudence Canticle. She is very fond of hymns.
She thinks a lot about her soul, and is a wonderfully good young
creature. But my dearest Prue, is that how Pilgrim walked upon
his progress? Pray correct it, for it is indeed most immodest and
unwomanlike. In four strides you have swaggered across the room.”
“All right, dear Bab,” says he, with an impudence that I itched to box
his ears for. “But I so detest you niminy piminy fine ladies, with your
affectations and your foibles. Therefore, I remove my manners from you
as far as possible. I spurn your mincing footsteps, dear. Besides, I am
on the narrow and the thorny track, and the bigger strides I take the
sooner I shall have walked across it.”
“You must contrive to modulate your voice in a different key to that,”
says I, his mentor. “You must become far less roguish and impertinent;
you must manipulate your skirts with a deal more of dexterity; and,
above all, I would have you imitate my tone. The one you are using
now is bourgeois, provincial, a very barbarism, and an insult to ears
accustomed to refinement.”
“Lard, Bab,” says the wicked dog, “give me a chaney arange, or a dish
of tay, for I’m martal tharsty.”
“Prue,” says I, “let me proceed to read you the first lesson.”