CHAPTER XIII.
A RIOT IN CHEAPSIDE.
"Down with them! Cry clubs for prentices!" --_The Shoemaker's Holiday._
Wan and tremulous, after a night of half-sleep varied by ominousdreams, Master Holyday was led by the captain, in the early morning,to the wharf where was to be found the waterman whom Ravenshaw knewhe could trust. The scholar attended in a kind of dumb trance to theinterview between Ravenshaw and the boatman, who was a powerful,leather-faced fellow, one that listened intently, scrutinised keenly,and expressed himself in quick nods and short grunts. Even the unwontedsight of gold in the captain's hands did not stir the unhappy poet tomore than a transient look of faint wonder.
Ravenshaw pulled him by the sleeve to a cook's shop in Thames Street,but the wretched graduate had difficulty in gulping down his food,and scarce could have told whether it was hot pork pie or cold peaseporridge. It went differently with the ale which the captain caused tobe set before them afterward. Holyday poured this down his throat withfeverish avidity, and pushed forth his pot for more. At last Ravenshaw,considering it time for the goldsmith's family to be up, grasped hiscompanion firmly by the crook of the arm, and said, curtly:
"Come!"
The poor scholar, limp and sinking, turned gray in the face, and wentforth with the look of a prisoner dragged to execution. The captainhad to exert force to keep him from lagging behind, as the two wentnorthward through Bread Street. They stopped once, to buy a cheapsword, scabbard, and hanger; which Holyday dreamily suffered theshopman to attach to his girdle. Nearing Cheapside, the doomed bachelorhung back more and more, and when finally they turned into thatthoroughfare, his face all terror, he suddenly jerked from Ravenshaw'shold, and made a bolt toward Cornhill.
But the captain, giving chase, caught him by the collar, in front ofBow church, seized his neck as in a vice, turned him about toward thegoldsmith's house, took a tighter hold of his arm, and impelled himrelentlessly forward. From his affrighted eyes, ashen cheeks, anddragging gait, people in the street supposed he was being taken toNewgate prison by a queen's officer.
"Now, look you," said the captain, with grim earnestness, as theyapproached Master Etheridge's shop, "I durst not go too near the place.I shall leave you in a moment; but I shall go over the way, and takemy post behind the cross, where I can watch the house in safety. Markthis: my hand shall be upon my sword-hilt, and if you try flight, orcome forth unsuccessful, you shall find yourself as dead a poet asVirgil--what though I swing for you, I care not! Come forth not laterthan the stroke of eleven; walk toward the Poultry, and I will joinyou. Keep me not waiting, or, by this hand--Go; and remember!"
He gave the scholar a parting push, and strode across the street; a fewseconds later he was peering around the corner of the cross, and MasterHolyday was lurching into the goldsmith's shop.
The shop, as has been said, extended back to where a passage separatedit from domestic regions of the house; but it was, itself, in twoparts,--a front part, open to the street, and a more private part,where the master usually stayed, with his most valuable wares.
In entering the outer shop, Holyday had to pass the end of a case, atwhich a flat-capped, snub-nosed, solid-bodied apprentice was arranginggold cups, chains, and trinkets.
"What is't you lack?" demanded this youth, squaring up to the scholar.
"God knows," thought Holyday. "My wits, I think." And then he foundvoice to say that he desired speech of Master Etheridge.
The shopman pointed to the open door leading to the farther apartment,and thither Holyday went. The place was mainly lighted by a sidewindow; the poet could not fail to distinguish the master, by his richcloth doublet and air of authority, from the journeymen who sat workingupon shining pieces of plate.
"What is it you lack, sir?" inquired Master Etheridge.
"Sir," replied Holyday, in a small, trembling voice, "I must pray you,bear with me if I speak wildly. I am sick from a sleeping-drug that avillain abused me with three days ago,--one Captain Ravenshaw--"
At this name the goldsmith, who had received elaborate accountsfrom Sir Peregrine of last night's incident in the garden, suddenlywarmed out of his air of coldness and distrust, and began to show asympathetic curiosity which made it easier for Holyday to proceed withhis tale. When the scholar announced who he was, the goldsmith lapsedfor a moment into a hard incredulity; but this passed away as Holyday,not daring to stop now that he had so good an impetus, deftly alludedto his father,--"whom, they say, I scarce resemble, being all my motherin face," quoth he parenthetically,--and hoped that Master Etheridgehad forgiven him his water-spaniel's bite the last time the two hadmet.
"Aha! I knew it was a water-spaniel," said Master Etheridge,triumphantly. "The rogue would have it a terrier." This hasty speechrequired that the goldsmith should relate how the impostor had playedupon him and his household; at which news Master Holyday had to openhis eyes, and feign great astonishment and indignation. He found thiskind of acting easier than he had supposed, and was beginning to feellike a live, normal creature; when suddenly his mind was brought backto the real task before him by Master Etheridge, saying:
"Well, the rascal failed of his purpose here, whatever it was; and now'twill please the women to see the true after the counterfeit. Thisway, pray--what, art so ill? Tom, Dickon, hold him up!"
"Nay, I can walk, I thank ye," said poor Holyday, faintly, andaccompanied his host into the passage, and up the stairs to the largeroom overlooking Cheapside. No one being there, the goldsmith wentelsewhere in search of his wife, leaving the scholar to a discomfitingsolitude. He gazed out of the window at the cross, and fancied he sawthe edge of a hat-brim that he knew, protruding from the other side.He cursed the hour when he had fallen in with Ravenshaw, and wished anearthquake might swallow the goldsmith's house.
When he heard Master Etheridge returning, and the swish of a femininegown, he felt that the awful moment had come. But it was only thegoldsmith's wife, and she proved such a motherly person that he foundit quite tolerable to sit answering her questions. Presently MasterEtheridge was called down to the shop, and his wife had some sewingbrought to her, at which she set to work, keeping up with Holyday aconversation oft broken by many long pauses.
Each time the door opened, the scholar trembled for fear MistressMillicent would enter. But as time passed and she came not, a new fearassailed him,--that he might not be able to see her at all, and thatthe dread stroke of eleven should bring some catastrophe not to beimagined. He was now as anxious for her arrival on the scene as he hadfirst dreaded it. His heart went up to his throat when the door openedagain; and down to his shoes when it let in nobody but Sir PeregrineMedway.
The old knight inspected Holyday for a moment with the curiosity dueto genuine ware after one has been imposed upon by spurious; and thenhe dropped the youth from attention as a person of no consequence, andasked for Mistress Millicent.
"Troth," said Mistress Etheridge, "the baggage must needs be keepingher bed two hours or so; said she was not well. She has missed herlesson on the virginals. I know not what ails her of late. I'm sure'twas not so with me when I was toward marriage,--but she sha'n't mopelonger in her chamber. Lettice!" she called, going to the door, andgave orders to the woman.
Holyday breathed fast, and stared at the door. After a short whileMillicent entered, with pouting lips, crimson cheeks, and angry eyes;she came forward in a reluctant way, and submitted to the tremulousembrace of the old knight. Not until she was free of his shaking armsdid she take note of Master Holyday, and then she looked at him withthe faintest sign of inquiry.
As for the scholar, a single glance had given him a sweeping senseof her beauty; daunted by it, he had dropped his eyes, and he darednot raise them from the tips of her neatly shod feet, which showedthemselves beneath the curtain of her pink petticoat.
"'Tis my daughter, Master Holyday," said Mistress Etheridge, "and soonto be Sir Peregrine's lady." Holyday bowed vaguely at the pretty shoes,and cast a vacuous smile upon the old knight.
/> "What, another Master Holyday?" said Millicent, in an ironical mannersuited to her perverse mood.
"The true one," replied her mother; "that rogue cozened him as he didus. Well, 'twas a lesson, Master Holyday, not to prate of your affairsto strangers."
"The rogue shall pay for giving me the lesson," ventured Holyday,bracing himself to play his part.
Mistress Millicent looked as if she doubted this.
"I know he is a much-vaunted swordman," added Holyday, catching herexpression; "but I have some acquaintance with steel weapons myself."
His small, unnatural voice was at such variance with his words, thatMillicent looked amused as well as doubting. He felt he was not gettingon well, and was for sinking into despair; but the thought of Ravenshawwaiting behind the cross, hand on hilt, acted as a goad, and raised thewretched poet to a desperate alertness.
Master Etheridge came in, holding out his hollowed palm. At sight ofits contents Mistress Millicent turned pale, and caught the back of achair. Sir Peregrine bent his eyes over them gloatingly, and took themup in his lean fingers.
"The wedding-ring, sooth," he said. "Good lack, 'twas speedy work,father. But which of the two is it?"
"Which you choose," replied the goldsmith. "They are like as twins. Ihad the two made to the same measurement; 'tis so small, one of themwill be a pretty thing to keep in the shop for show. Belike there maybe another bride's finger in London 'twill fit."
"Troth now, my first wife had just such another finger," said theknight. "I know not which to take; 'tis a pity both cannot be used."
Master Holyday was suddenly inspired with an impish thought, the veryconception of which brought courage with it.
"An you please, Master Etheridge," he said, "the lady I wish to marryhath such another hand, in size, as your sweet daughter here can boastof. It were a pleasant thing, now, an I might buy one of these rings."
"Nay, by my knighthood," quoth Sir Peregrine, with a burst of thatmagniloquent generosity which went with his vanity, "buy it thou shaltnot, but have it thou shalt. I buy 'em both, father; see 'em both putdown to me. Here, young sir; and let thy bride know what 'tis the mateof." And he tossed one of the rings to Holyday, not graciously, but asone throws a bone to a dog.
"She will hold herself much honoured," said Holyday, coolly, picking upthe little circlet from among the rushes, and inwardly glad to make afool of such a supercilious old fop. Noticing that Millicent observedhis irony and approved it, he went on: "Of a truth, though, I amsomewhat beforehand in the matter; the maid's consent yet hangs fire."And he cast her a look which he thought would set her thinking.
"Troth, then," said the goldsmith, good-humouredly, "you go the rightway to carry her by storm. Show her the wedding-ring, and tell her 'tisfor her, and I warrant all's done."
"I will take your counsel," said Holyday, glancing from the ring toMillicent's finger. "She might be afflicted with a worse husband, Itell her."
"Ay, young man," put in Sir Peregrine, for the sake of showing hiswisdom in such matters, "be not afraid to sound your own praisesto her. If you do not so yourself, who will?--except, of course,your merits were such as show without being spoken for." The knightunconsciously glanced down at himself.
"Oh, I have those to recommend me that have authority with her," saidthe scholar. "She hath an uncle will plead my suit; and truly he oughtto, for 'twas he set me to wooing her, and from his account I becameher servant ere ever I had seen her."
"Hath the lady no parents, then?" queried Master Etheridge.
"Oh, yes; they are well inclined to me, too; I spoke of the unclebecause 'twas his word made me first seek her out."
"And did you find her all he had said?" asked Mistress Etheridge.
"Oh, even more beautiful. 'Tis her beauty makes me bashful incommending myself to her."
"Oh, never be afraid," said Mistress Etheridge. "You have a goodfigure, for one thing, and a modest mien."
"So her mother says," acquiesced Holyday, innocently.
"Your father hath a good estate," said Master Etheridge, "and thatspeaks louder for you than modesty or figure."
"That is what her father hath the goodness to say for me. I hope shewill take her parents' words to mind. But I doubt not, in her heart shethinks me better than some."
"Well, her parents are the best judges," said Master Etheridge. "I mustgo down to the shop; you will eat dinner with us, friend Ralph?"
"I thank you, sir; but I must meet a gentleman elsewhere at eleveno'clock."
If Mistress Millicent had taken his meaning, he thought, she would nowsee the necessity of speedily having a word with him alone.
After the goldsmith had left the room, Sir Peregrine directed theconversation into such channels that Holyday was perforce out of it.The old knight evidently thought that enough talk had gone to theaffairs of this young gentleman from Kent.
The scholar, wondering how matters would go, agitated within butmaintaining a kind of preternatural calm without, ventured to scanMillicent's face for a sign. She was regarding him furtively, as ifshe apprehended, yet feared to find herself deceived; in truth, herexperience with Captain Ravenshaw had made it difficult for her tohope, or trust, anew. But surely fate could not twice abuse her so;this must indeed be Ralph Holyday,--her father was not likely to bedeceived a second time,--and the Holydays were neighbours of her uncle,from whom she had not entirely ceased to look for aid. In any case,there, in the shape of Sir Peregrine, was a horrible certainty, towhich a new risk was preferable. With a swift motion, therefore, sheput her finger to her lip; and Master Holyday felt a great load liftedfrom his mind.
While Sir Peregrine was entertaining Mistress Etheridge with a minuteaccount of how he had once cured himself of a calenture, Millicentsuddenly asked:
"What is the posy in your wedding-ring, Master Holyday?"
The scholar screwed up his eyes to see the rhyme traced within thecirclet.
"Nay, let me look," she demanded, impatiently. "I have better eyes, Itrow."
He handed her the ring; she walked to the window, to examine it in goodlight; the casement was open, to let in the soft May air. Suddenly sheturned to the others, with a cry:
"Mercy on me! I have dropped Master Holyday's ring into the street."
"Oh, thou madcap child!" exclaimed Mistress Etheridge.
"Oh, 'tis nothing," said Holyday, confusedly, not yet seeing his way."I can soon find it."
"Nay, I saw where it fell," said Millicent, quickly. "'Tis right Ifetch it back."
Ere any one could say nay, she ran from the room. Holyday,understanding, called out, "Nay, trouble not yourself!" and hastenedafter her as if to forestall her in recovering the ring. He was uponthe stairs in time to see that she went out, not through the shop, butthrough the door from the passage into Friday Street. He followed,wondering what Ravenshaw would think on seeing the two. When they cameinto Cheapside she began to search a little at one side of the openshop-front, so as not to be seen from within. Glancing up, however,Holyday saw that Mistress Etheridge and Sir Peregrine were looking downfrom the window above. He dared not turn his eyes toward the cross, forfear of meeting those of Ravenshaw. Both he and the maid searched thecobble paving, within whispering space of each other.
"'Tis safe in my hand," she said; "so we may be as long finding it asneed be. What mean you with this talk of a maid's uncle?"
"I mean thine Uncle Bartlemy," said he, heartened up at the easy turnhis task had taken. "He sent me to save you from wedding this oldknight. The only escape is by wedding me instead. If you are willing,be at your garden gate in Friday Street this nightfall, ready for ajourney by boat. The rest is in my hands."
Thank Heaven, she reflected, it needed but a word from her to settlethe matter. She could have swooned for joy at the unexpected prospectof escape. But she was not flattered by this young stranger'sunloverlike manner. The word could wait a moment.
"What, does my uncle think I will take the first husband he sends, andgo straight to marriage without even
a wooing beforehand?"
"Why," said Holyday, thrown back into his agitation, "there's no timefor wooing before this marriage. It must wait till after."
"Troth, how do I know 'twill be to my liking, then, without ever asample of it first?"
"Did I not say within," he faltered, feeling very red and foolish,"that your charms overpower my tongue?"
"Well, if you think a maid is to be won for the mere asking, eventhough to save herself at a pinch, I marvel at you."
Her tone was decidedly chill. He felt she was slipping from him, and hethought of the relentless man behind the cross; he must rouse himselfto a decisive effort.
"Stay," he said, as the perspiration came out upon his face. "If youmust have wooing--god 'a' mercy!--Thy charms envelop me as some sweetcloud Of heavenly odours, making me to swoon."
She threw him a side-glance of amazement, from her pretended search ofthe ground.
"Wooing!" he thought; "she shall have it, of the strongest." And hewent on: "And wert thou drowned in the floorless sea, Thine eyes woulddraw me to the farthest depths."
"Why," quoth she, "that sounds like what the players speak. Do you wooin blank verse?"
"'Tis mine own, I swear," he said, truly enough, for it was from hisnew puppet-play of Paris and Helen. "I'll give you as many lines as youdesire,--only remember that time presses. I must away before eleveno'clock. Best agree to be waiting at the gate at nightfall, ready forflight."
"If I wed you, shall I be your slave, or my own mistress?"
"Oh, no--yes, I mean--as you will. You shall have all your own way," hesaid, glibly.
"No stint of gowns, free choice of what I shall wear, visits to Londonat my pleasure, my own time to go to the shops, milliners of my ownchoosing?"
"Yes, yes!"
"My own horses to ride, and a coach, and what maids I like, and whatcompany I desire, and no company I don't desire, and all the days tobe spent after my liking?"
"Yes, anything, everything!"
"Why, then, this marriage will not be such a bad thing. But I cannotthink you love me, if you give me so many privileges."
"Oh," said he, petulantly, worn almost out of patience, "'tis thevehemence of my love makes me promise all rather than lose you!" At thesame time, he said in his heart: "I shall be happier, the more such aplague keeps away from me!"
"How you knock your sword against things!" she complained. "One wouldsay you were not used to it."
"'Tis my confusion in your presence," he answered, wearily. "I can usethe sword well enough."
"Well,--" She paused a moment, trembling on the brink; then said, alittle unsteadily: "I will be at the gate at nightfall."
A coach was lumbering along at the farther half of the street. A largelady therein, masked, blonde-haired, called out toward the other sideof the cross:
"How now, Captain Ravenshaw? Hast spent all that money? Art waiting fora purse to cut?"
Millicent gave Holyday a startled look, and exclaimed:
"She said Captain Ravenshaw!--the rogue that cozened you. He must beyonder."
"Impossible!" gasped the scholar, turning pale.
"It must be he. She is laughing at him. What, are you afraid?--you thatwould make him pay for the lesson!"
In desperation, the fate-hounded poet grasped his sword-hilt, andstrode to the other side of the cross, coming face to face with thecaptain.
"I'm not to blame," said the terrified scholar, in an undertone. "Sheheard your name; I had to seek you--"
"Then feign to fight me," answered Ravenshaw, whipping out his rapier."All's lost else."
Holyday drew his sword, and began to make awkward thrusts.
"Has she consented?" whispered Ravenshaw, parrying and returning thelunges in such manner as not to touch the other's flesh.
"Yes," said the poet, continuing to fence, but backing from hisformidable-looking antagonist in spite of himself, so that the twoquickly worked away from the cross into full view of the goldsmith'shouse.
Meanwhile, Lady Greensleeves's coach had passed on; Mistress Etheridgeand Sir Peregrine, from their window, had observed Holyday's movement,and now recognised the captain; Millicent had run to the shopentrance, and her father, seeing her there, had come forth wonderingwhat she was doing in the street, a question which yielded to hissudden interest in the fight. Shopkeepers hastened thither from theirdoors, people in the street quickly gathered around, but all keptsafely distant from the clashing weapons.
"Give way, and take refuge in the shop," said Ravenshaw to hisadversary, in the low voice necessary between the two, "else somebodywill come that knows us; if our friendship be spoken of, they'll smellcollusion."
The scholar, making all the sword-play of which he was capable, rapidlyyielded ground.
"But not too fast," counselled the captain, using his skill to make hisantagonist show the better, "else she'll think you a sorry swordman."
Poor Holyday, panting, perspiring, weak-kneed, light-headed, but upheldby the mysterious force of Ravenshaw's steady gaze, did as he was bid.A murmur of excited comment arose from the crowd; the windows of thehigh-peaked houses began to be filled with faces. Ravenshaw perceivedthere must soon be an end of this; so, nodding for the scholar to fallback more rapidly, he advanced with thrusts that looked dangerous.
Millicent, who had stood in bewilderment since the beginning of thefight, suddenly realised the folly of any ordinary man's crossingswords with Captain Ravenshaw. If Holyday were slain or hurt, what ofher escape?
"Good heaven!" she cried, in a transport of alarm. "Master Holyday willbe killed! Father, help him!"
"Murder, murder!" shouted the goldsmith. "Constables! go forconstables, some of ye!"
Even at that word, the captain's rapier point came through a loose partof Master Holyday's doublet, and the scholar, for an instant thinkinghimself touched, stumbled back in terror.
Millicent screamed. "Constables?" cried she; "a man might be killed tentimes ere they came. Prentices! Clubs! clubs!"
With an answering shout, her father's flat-capped lads rushed out fromwhere they had been looking across the cases. With their bludgeon-likeweapons in hand, they took up the cry, "Clubs! clubs!" and made for thefighters, intent upon getting within striking distance of Ravenshaw.
The captain turned to keep them off. Holyday, quite winded, staggeredback to the shop entrance. Millicent caught him by the sleeve, and drewhim into the rear apartment, scarce observed in the fresh interest thatmatters had taken in the street. He put away his sword, panting andtrembling. She led him into the passage, and then to the Friday Streetdoor, bidding him make good his flight, and saying she would be at thegate at nightfall. She then returned to the front of the shop.
As he ran down Friday Street, Holyday heard an increased tumult inCheapside behind him; he knew that apprentices must be gathering fromevery side; Ravenshaw's position would be that of a stag surrounded bya multitude of threatening hounds. A thrown club might bring him downat any moment. The scholar, with a sudden catching at the throat, raninto the White Horse tavern, and, seizing a tapster by the arms, saidhoarsely in his ear:
"The noise in Cheapside--the prentices--they will kill Ravenshaw--forGod's sake, Tony!--the friend of all tapsters, he--but say not Isummoned ye."
He dashed out and away, while Tony was tearing off his apron andbawling out the name of every drawer in the place.
Meanwhile, in the middle of Cheapside, in the space left open by theswelling crowd for its own safety, a strange spectacle was presented:one man with sword and dagger, menaced by an ever increasing mobof apprentices with their clubs. It was a bear baited by dogs, theshouts of the apprentices dinning the ears of the onlookers like thebarking of mastiffs in the ring on the Bankside. When the first band ofapprentices rushed forth, two stopped short as his sword-point dartedto meet them, and the others ran around to attack him from behind. Butwith a swift turn he was threatening these, and they sprang away tosave themselves. Ere they could recover, he was around again to facethe renewed onco
ming of the first two. But now through the surgingcrowd, forcing their way with shouts and prods, came apprentices fromthe neighbouring shops, in quick obedience to the cry of "Clubs."Ravenshaw was hemmed in on all quarters. By a swift rush in onedirection, a swift turn in another, a swift side thrust of his rapierin a third, a swift slash of his dagger in a fourth, he contrived tomake every side of him so dangerous that each menacing foe would fallback ere coming into good striking distance.
He had once thought of backing against the cross, so that his enemiesmight not completely encircle him; but he perceived in time thatthey could then fling their clubs at him without risk of hitting anyone else. As it was, the first club hurled at his head, being safelydodged, struck one of the thrower's own comrades beyond; a second one,too high thrown, landed among some women in the crowd, who set up anangry screaming; and a third had the fate of the first. Some clubswere then aimed lower, but as many missed the captain as met him, andthose that met him were seemingly of no more effect than if they hadbeen sausages. As those who threw their clubs had them to seek, andknew their short knives to be useless except at closer quarters thanthey dared come to, the apprentices abandoned throwing, and tried for achance of striking him from behind.
But he seemed to be all front, so unexpected were his turns, so suddenhis rushes. Had any of his foes continued engaging his attention till asimultaneous onslaught could be made from all sides, he had been donefor; but this would have meant death to those that faced him, and not arascal of the yelling pack was equal to the sacrifice. So they menacedhim all around, approaching, retreating, running hither and thitherfor a better point of attack. But the man seemed to have four faces,eight hands; steel seemed to radiate from him. They attempted to strikedown his sword-point, but were never quick enough. With set teeth, fastbreath, glowing eyes, he thrust, and turned, and darted, maintainingaround him a magic circle, into which it was death to set foot. Well heknew that he could not keep this up for long; the very pressure of thegrowing crowd of his foes must presently sweep the circle in upon him,and though he might kill three or four, or a dozen, in the end he mustfall beneath a rain of blows.
And what then? Well, a fighting man must die some day, and the madnessof combat makes death a trifle. But who would be at London Bridgebefore noon to pay Cutting Tom, and what would become of all hiswell-wrought designs to save the maid, her whose contumely againsthim it would be sweet to repay by securing her happiness? To do somegood for somebody, as a slight balance against his rascally, worthlesslife--this had been a new dream of his. He cast a look toward thegoldsmith's house. She was now at the window, with her mother and SirPeregrine, and she gazed down with a kind of self-accusing horror, asif frightened at the storm she had raised. God, could he but carry outhis purpose yet! His eyes clouded for an instant; then he took a deepbreath, and coolly surveyed his foes.
More apprentices struggled through the crowd. Their cries, thrown backby the projecting gables of the houses, were hoarse and implacable.Pushed from behind, a wave of the human sea of Ravenshaw's enemieswas flung close to him. He thrust out, and ran his point through ashoulder; instantly withdrawing his blade, he sprang toward anotheradvancing group, and opened a great red gash in the foremost face. Afierce howl of rage went up, and even from the spectators came thefierce cry, "Down with Ravenshaw! death to the rascal!" Maddened, heplunged his weapons into the heaving bundles of flesh that closed inupon him, while at last the storm of clubs beat upon his head and body.The roar against him ceased not; it was all "Death to him!" Not avoice was for him, not a look showed pity, not a--
"Ravenshaw! Ravenshaw! Tapsters for Ravenshaw!"
What cry was this, from the narrow mouth of Friday Street, a cry freshand shrill, and audible above the hoarse roar of the crowd? Everybodyturned to look. Some among the apprentices, tavern-lads themselves,stood surprised, and then, seeing Tony and his fellow drawers fromthe White Horse beating a way through the crowd with clubs and pewterpots, promptly took up the cry, "Tapsters for Ravenshaw!" and fellto belabouring the shop apprentices around them. The new shout wasechoed from the corner of Bread Street, as a troop of pot-boys from theMermaid, apprised by a backyard messenger from the White Horse, cameupon the scene. The prospect of a more general fight, against weaponssimilar to their own, acted like magic upon Ravenshaw's assailants.Those who were not disabled turned as one man, to crack heads morenumerous and easier to get at. Ravenshaw, with an exultant bound of theheart, made a final rush, upsetting all before him, for the goldsmith'sshop; ran through to the passage, turned and gained the door leading tothe garden, dashed forward and across the turf, unfastened the gate,and plunged down Friday Street with all the breath left in him.
A few of the apprentices pursued him into the shop, knocking over acase of jewelry and small plate as they crowded forward. The goldsmith,appalled at the danger of loss and damage, flung himself upon them todrive them back. Those who got to the passage ran straight on throughto the kitchen, instead of deviating to the garden door. After asearch, they observed the latter.
But by that time Captain Ravenshaw, registering an inward vow in favourof Tony and all tapsters, and knowing that the fight must soon die outharmlessly in the more ordinary phase it had taken, was dragging hisaching body down Watling Street to meet Cutting Tom at London Bridge.
"A fit farewell to London," said he to himself. "The town will deemitself well rid of a rascal, I trow."