THE SPLENDID SPUR.
CHAPTER I.
THE BOWLING-GREEN OF THE "CROWN."
He that has jilted the Muse, forsaking her gentle pipe to follow thedrum and trumpet, shall fruitlessly besiege her again when the timecomes to sit at home and write down his adventures. 'Tis her revenge,as I am extremely sensible: and methinks she is the harder to me, uponreflection how near I came to being her lifelong servant, as you are tohear.
'Twas on November 29th, Ao. 1642--a clear, frosty day--that the King,with the Prince of Wales (newly recovered of the measles), the PrincesRupert and Maurice, and a great company of lords and gentlemen, horseand foot, came marching back to us from Reading. I was a scholar ofTrinity College in Oxford at that time, and may begin my history atthree o'clock on the same afternoon, when going (as my custom was) toMr. Rob. Drury for my fencing lesson, I found his lodgings empty.
They stood at the corner of Ship Street, as you turn into the CornMarket--a low wainscoted chamber, ill-lighted but commodious. "He is offto see the show," thought I as I looked about me; and finding an easycushion in the window, sat down to await him. Where presently, beingtired out (for I had been carrying a halberd all day with the scholars'troop in Magdalen College Grove), and in despite of the open lattice, Ifell sound asleep.
It must have been an hour after that I awoke with a chill (as wasnatural), and was stretching out a hand to pull the window close, butsuddenly sat down again and fell to watching instead.
The window look'd down, at the height of ten feet or so, upon abowling-green at the back of the "Crown" Tavern (kept by John Davenant,in the Corn Market), and across it to a rambling wing of the same inn;the fourth side--that to my left--being but an old wall, with abroad sycamore growing against it. 'Twas already twilight; and in thedark'ning house, over the green, was now one casement brightly lit, thecurtains undrawn, and within a company of noisy drinkers round a table.They were gaming, as was easily told by their clicking of the dice andfrequent oaths: and anon the bellow of some tipsy chorus would comeacross. 'Twas one of these catches, I dare say, that woke me: only justnow my eyes were bent, not toward the singers, but on the still lawnbetween us.
The sycamore, I have hinted, was a broad tree, and must, in summer, haveborne a goodly load of leaves: but now, in November, these were strewnthick over the green, and nothing left but stiff, naked boughs. Beneathit lay a crack'd bowl or two on the rank turf, and against the trunk agarden bench rested, I suppose for the convenience of the players. Onthis a man was now seated.
He was reading in a little book; and this first jogged my curiosity: for'twas unnatural a man should read print at this dim hour, or, if he hada mind to try, should choose a cold bowling-green for his purpose. Yethe seemed to study his volume very attentively, but with a sharp look,now and then, toward the lighted window, as if the revellers disturb'dhim. His back was partly turn'd to me; and what with this and thegrowing dusk, I could but make a guess at his face: but a plenty ofsilver hair fell over his fur collar, and his shoulders were bent agreat deal. I judged him between fifty and sixty. For the rest, he worea dark, simple suit, very straitly cut, with an ample furr'd cloak, anda hat rather tall, after the fashion of the last reign.
Now, why the man's behavior so engaged me, I don't know: but at theend of half an hour I was still watching him. By this, 'twas neardark, bitter cold, and his pretence to read mere fondness: yet hepersevered--though with longer glances at the casement above, where thedin at times was fit to wake the dead.
And now one of the dicers upsets his chair with a curse, and gets on hisfeet. Looking up, I saw his features for a moment--a slight, pretty boy,scarce above eighteen, with fair curls and flush'd cheeks like a girl's.It made me admire to see him in this ring of purple, villainous faces.'Twas evident he was a young gentleman of quality, as well by hisbearing as his handsome cloak of amber satin barr'd with black. "I thinkthe devil's in these dice!" I heard him crying, and a pretty hubbub allabout him: but presently the drawer enters with more wine, and he sitsdown quietly to a fresh game.
As soon as 'twas started, one of the crew, that had been playing but wasnow dropp'd out, lounges up from his seat, and coming to the casementpushes it open for fresh air. He was one that till now had sat in fullview--a tall bully, with a gross pimpled nose; and led the catches ina bull's voice. The rest of the players paid no heed to his rising; andvery soon his shoulders hid them, as he lean'd out, drawing in the coldbreath.
During the late racket I had forgot for a while my friend under thesycamore, but now, looking that way, to my astonishment I saw himrisen from his bench and stealing across to the house opposite. I say"stealing," for he kept all the way to the darker shadow of the wall,and besides had a curious trailing motion with his left foot as thoughthe ankle of it had been wrung or badly hurt.
As soon as he was come beneath the window he stopped and called softly--
"Hist!"
The bully gave a start and look'd down. I could tell by this motion hedid not look to find anyone in the bowling-green at that hour. Indeed hehad been watching the shaft of light thrown past him by the room behind,and now moved so as to let it fall on the man that addressed him.
The other stands close under the window, as if to avoid this, and callsagain--
"Hist!" says he, and beckons with a finger.
The man at the window still held his tongue (I suppose because thosein the room would hear him if he spoke), and so for a while the two menstudied one another in silence, as if considering their next moves.
After a bit, however, the bully lifted a hand, and turning back into thelighted room, walks up to one of the players, speaks a word or two anddisappears.
I sat up on the window seat, where till now I had been crouching forfear the shaft of light should betray me, and presently (as I wasexpecting) heard the latch of the back perch gently lifted, and spiedthe heavy form of the bully coming softly over the grass.
Now, I would not have my readers prejudiced, and so may tell them thiswas the first time in my life I had played the eavesdropper. That Idid so now I can never be glad enough, but 'tis true, nevertheless, myconscience pricked me; and I was even making a motion to withdraw whenthat occurred which would have fixed any man's attention, whether hewish'd it or no.
The bully must have closed the door behind him but carelessly, forhardly could he take a dozen steps when it opened again with a scuffle,and the large house dog belonging to the "Crown" flew at his heels witha vicious snarl and snap of the teeth.
'Twas enough to scare the coolest. But the fellow turn'd as if shot, andbefore he could snap again, had gripped him fairly by the throat. Thestruggle that follow'd I could barely see, but I heard the horriblesounds of it--the hard, short breathing of the man, the hoarserage working in the dog's throat--and it turned me sick. The dog--amastiff--was fighting now to pull loose, and the pair swayed this wayand that in the dusk, panting and murderous.
I was almost shouting aloud--feeling as though 'twere my own throat thusgripp'd--when the end came. The man had his legs planted well apart.
I saw his shoulders heave up and bend as he tightened the pressure ofhis fingers; then came a moment's dead silence, then a hideous gurgle,and the mastiff dropped back, his hind legs trailing limp.
The bully held him so for a full minute, peering close to make sure hewas dead, and then without loosening his hold, dragged him across thegrass under my window. By the sycamore he halted, but only to shift hishands a little; and so, swaying on his hips, sent the carcase with aheave over the wall. I heard it drop with a thud on the far side.
During this fierce wrestle--which must have lasted about twominutes--the clatter and shouting of the company above had gone onwithout a break; and all this while the man with the white hair hadrested quietly on one side, watching. But now he steps up to where thebully stood mopping his face (for all the coolness of the evening), and,with a finger between the leaves of his book, bows very politely.
"You handled that dog, sir, choicely well," says he,
in a thin voicethat seemed to have a chuckle hidden in it somewhere.
The other ceased mopping to get a good look at him.
"But sure," he went on, "'twas hard on the poor cur, that had neverheard of Captain Lucius Higgs--"
I thought the bully would have had him by the windpipe and pitched himafter the mastiff, so fiercely he turn'd at the sound of this name. Butthe old gentleman skipped back quite nimbly and held up a finger.
"I'm a man of peace. If another title suits you better--"
"Where the devil got you that name?" growled the bully, and had half amind to come on again, but the other put in briskly--
"I'm on a plain errand of business. No need, as you hint, to mentionnames; and therefore let me present myself as Mr. Z. The residue of thealphabet is at your service to pick and choose from."
"My name is Luke Settle," said the big man hoarsely (but whether thiswas his natural voice or no I could not tell).
"Let us say 'Mr. X.' I prefer it."
The old gentleman, as he said this, popped his head on one side, laidthe forefinger of his right hand across the book, and seem'd to beconsidering.
"Why did you throttle that dog a minute ago?" he asked sharply.
"Why, to save my skin," answers the fellow, a bit puzzled.
"Would you have done it for fifty pounds?"
"Aye, or half that."
"And how if it had been a _puppy_, Mr. X?"
Now all this from my hiding I had heard very clearly, for they stoodright under me in the dusk. But as the old gentleman paused to lethis question sink in, and the bully to catch the drift of it beforeanswering, one of the dicers above struck up to sing a catch----
"With a hey, trolly-lolly! a leg to the Devil, And answer him civil, and off with your cap: Sing--Hey, trolly-lolly! Good-morrow, Sir Evil, We've finished the tap, And, saving your worship, we care not a rap!"
While this din continued, the stranger held up one forefinger again, asif beseeching silence, the other remaining still between the pages ofhis book.
"Pretty boys!" he said, as the noise died away; "pretty boys! 'Tiseasily seen they have a bird to pluck."
"He's none of my plucking."
"And if he were, why not? Sure you've picked a feather or two before nowin the Low Countries--hey?"
"I'll tell you what," interrupts the big man, "next time you crack oneof your death's-head jokes, over the wall you go after the dog. What'sto prevent it?"
"Why, this," answers the old fellow, cheerfully. "There's money to bemade by doing no such thing. And I don't carry it all about with me. So,as 'tis late, we'd best talk business at once."
They moved away toward the seat under the sycamore, and now their wordsreached me no longer--only the low murmur of their voices or (to becorrect) of the elder man's: for the other only spoke now and then, toput a question, as it seemed. Presently I heard an oath rapped outand saw the bully start up. "Hush, man!" cried the other, and "hark-yenow--"; so he sat down again. Their very forms were lost within theshadow. I, myself, was cold enough by this time and had a cramp inone leg--but lay still, nevertheless. And after awhile they stood uptogether, and came pacing across the bowling-green, side by side, theolder man trailing his foot painfully to keep step. You may be sure Istrain'd my ears.
"--besides the pay," the stranger was saying, "there's all you can winof this young fool, Anthony, and all you find on the pair, which I'llwager--"
They passed out of hearing, but turned soon, and came back again. Thebig man was speaking this time.
"I'll be shot if I know what game _you're_ playing in this."
The elder chuckled softly. "I'll be shot if I mean you to," said he.
And this was the last I heard. For now there came a clattering at thedoor behind me, and Mr. Robert Drury reeled in, hiccuping a maudlinballad about "_Tib and young Colin, one fine day, beneath the haycockshade-a_," &c., &c., and cursing to find his fire gone out, and all indarkness. Liquor was ever his master, and to-day the King's health hadbeen a fair excuse. He did not spy me, but the roar of his balladhad startled the two men outside, and so, while he was stumbling overchairs, and groping for a tinder-box, I slipp'd out in the darkness, anddownstairs into the street.