CHAPTER XIX
The Prince with the Peasants
-
WHEN the king awoke in the early morning, he found that a wet
but thoughtful rat had crept into the place during the night and
made a cozy bed for itself in his bosom. Being disturbed now, it
scampered away. The boy smiled, and said, 'Poor fool, why so
fearful? I am as forlorn as thou. 'Twould be a shame in me to hurt the
helpless, who am myself so helpless. Moreover, I owe you thanks for
a good omen; for when a king has fallen so low that the very rats do
make a bed of him, it surely meaneth that his fortunes be upon the
turn, since it is plain he can no lower go.'
He got up and stepped out of the stall, and just then he heard the
sound of children's voices. The barn door opened and a couple of
little girls came in. As soon as they saw him their talking and
laughing ceased, and they stopped and stood still, gazing at him
with strong curiosity; they presently began to whisper together,
then they approached nearer, and stopped again to gaze and whisper. By
and by they gathered courage and began to discuss him aloud. One said:
'He hath a comely face.'
The other added:
'And pretty hair.'
'But is ill clothed enow.'
'And how starved he looketh.'
They came still nearer, sidling shyly around and about him,
examining him minutely from all points, as if he were some strange new
kind of animal; but warily and watchfully the while, as if they half
feared he might be a sort of animal that would bite, upon occasion.
Finally they halted before him, holding each other's hands for
protection, and took a good satisfying stare with their innocent eyes;
then one of them plucked up all her courage and inquired with honest
directness:
'Who art thou, boy?'
'I am the king,' was the grave answer.
The children gave a little start, and their eyes spread themselves
wide open and remained so during a speechless half-minute. Then
curiosity broke the silence:
'The king? What king?'
'The king of England.'
The children looked at each other- then at him- then at each other
again- wonderingly, perplexedly- then one said:
'Didst hear him, Margery?- he saith he is the king. Can that be
true?'
'How can it be else but true, Prissy? Would he say a lie? For look
you, Prissy, an it were not true, it would be a lie. It surely would
be. Now think on't. For all things that be not true, be lies- thou
canst make naught else out of it.'
It was a good, tight argument, without a leak in it anywhere;
and it left Prissy's half-doubts not a leg to stand on. She considered
a moment, then put the king upon his honor with the simple remark:
'If thou art truly the king, then I believe thee.'
'I am truly the king.'
This settled the matter. His majesty's royalty was accepted
without further question or discussion, and the two little girls began
at once to inquire into how he came to be where he was, and how he
came to be so unroyally clad, and whither he was bound, and all
about his affairs. It was a mighty relief to him to pour out his
troubles where they would not be scoffed at or doubted; so he told his
tale with feeling, forgetting even his hunger for the time; and it was
received with the deepest and tenderest sympathy by the gentle
little maids. But when he got down to his latest experiences and
they learned how long he had been without food, they cut him short and
hurried him away to the farmhouse to find a breakfast for him.
The king was cheerful and happy now, and said to himself, 'When
I am come to mine own again, I will always honor little children,
remembering how that these trusted me and believed in me in my time of
trouble; whilst they that were older, and thought themselves wiser,
mocked at me and held me for a liar.'
The children's mother received the king kindly, and was full of
pity; for his forlorn condition and apparently crazed intellect
touched her womanly heart. She was a widow, and rather poor;
consequently she had seen trouble enough to enable her to feel for the
unfortunate. She imagined that the demented boy had wandered away from
his friends or keepers; so she tried to find out whence he had come,
in order that she might take measures to return him; but all her
references to neighbouring towns and villages, and all her inquiries
in the same line, went for nothing- the boy's face, and his answers,
too, showed that the things she was talking of were not familiar to
him. He spoke earnestly and simply about court matters; and broke
down, more than once, when speaking of the late king 'his father'; but
whenever the conversation changed to baser topics, he lost interest
and became silent.
The woman was mightily puzzled; but she did not give up. As she
proceeded with her cooking, she set herself to contriving devices to
surprise the boy into betraying his real secret. She talked about
cattle- he showed no concern; then about sheep- the same result- so
her guess that he had been a shepherd boy was an error; she talked
about mills; and about weavers, tinkers, smiths, trades and
tradesmen of all sorts; and about Bedlam, and jails, and charitable
retreats; but no matter, she was baffled at all points. Not
altogether, either; for she argued that she had narrowed the thing
down to domestic service. Yes, she was sure she was on the right track
now- he must have been a house-servant. So she led up to that. But the
result was discouraging. The subject of sweeping appeared to weary
him; fire-building failed to stir him; scrubbing and scouring awoke no
enthusiasm. Then the goodwife touched, with a perishing hope, and
rather as a matter of form, upon the subject of cooking. To her
surprise, and her vast delight, the king's face lighted at once! Ah,
she had hunted him down at last, she thought; and she was right proud,
too, of the devious shrewdness and tact which had accomplished it.
Her tired tongue got a chance to rest now; for the king's,
inspired by gnawing hunger and the fragrant smells that came from
the sputtering pots and pans, turned itself loose and delivered itself
up to such an eloquent dissertation upon certain toothsome dishes,
that within three minutes the woman said to herself, 'Of a truth I was
right- he hath holpen in a kitchen!' Then he broadened his bill of
fare, and discussed it with such appreciation and animation, that
the goodwife said to herself, 'Good lack! how can he know so many
dishes, and so fine ones withal? For these belong only upon the tables
of the rich and great. Ah, now I see! ragged outcast as he is, he must
have served in the palace before his reason went astray; yes, he
must have helped in the very kitchen of the king himself! I will
test him.'
Full of eagerness to prove her sagacity, she told the king to mind
the cooking a moment- hinting that he might manufacture and add a dish
or two, if he chose- then she went out of the room and gave her
children a sign to follow after. The king muttered:
'Another English king had a commission like to this, in a bygone
time- it is nothing against my dignity to undertake an office which
the great Alfred stooped to assume. But I will try to better serve
my trust than he; for he let the cakes burn.'
The intent was good, but the performance was not answerable to it;
for this king, like the other one, soon fell into deep thinkings
concerning his vast affairs, and the same calamity resulted- the
cookery got burned. The woman returned in time to save the breakfast
from entire destruction; and she promptly brought the king out of
his dreams with a brisk and cordial tongue-lashing. Then, seeing how
troubled he was over his violated trust, she softened at once and
was all goodness and gentleness toward him.
The boy made a hearty and satisfying meal, and was greatly
refreshed and gladdened by it. It was a meal which was distinguished
by this curious feature, that rank was waived on both sides; yet
neither recipient of the favor was aware that it had been extended.
The goodwife had intended to feed this young tramp with broken
victuals in a corner, like any other tramp, or like a dog; but she was
so remorseful for the scolding she had given him, that she did what
she could to atone for it by allowing him to sit at the family table
and eat with his betters, on ostensible terms of equality with them;
and the king, on his side, was so remorseful for having broken his
trust, after the family had been so kind to him, that he forced
himself to atone for it by humbling himself to the family level,
instead of requiring the woman and her children to stand and wait upon
him while he occupied their table in the solitary state due his
birth and dignity. It does us all good to unbend sometimes. This
good woman was made happy all the day long by the applauses she got
out of herself for her magnanimous condescension to a tramp; and the
king was just as self-complacent over his gracious humility toward a
humble peasant woman.
When breakfast was over, the housewife told the king to wash up
the dishes. This command was a staggerer for a moment, and the king
came near rebelling; but then he said to himself, 'Alfred the Great
watched the cakes; doubtless he would have washed the dishes, too-
therefore will I essay it.'
He made a sufficiently poor job of it; and to his surprise, too,
for the cleaning of wooden spoons and trenchers had seemed an easy
thing to do. It was a tedious and troublesome piece of work, but he
finished it at last. He was becoming impatient to get away on his
journey now; however he was not to lose this thrifty dame's society so
easily. She furnished him some little odds and ends of employment,
which he got through with after a fair fashion and with some credit.
Then she set him and the little girls to paring some winter apples;
but he was so awkward at this service that she retired him from it and
gave him a butcher-knife to grind. Afterward she kept him carding wool
until he began to think he had laid the good King Alfred about far
enough in the shade for the present, in the matter of showy menial
heroisms that would read picturesquely in story-books and histories,
and so he was half minded to resign. And when, just after the
noonday dinner, the goodwife gave him a basket of kittens to drown, he
did resign. At least he was just going to resign- for he felt that
he must draw the line somewhere, and it seemed to him that to draw
it at kitten-drowning was about the right thing- when there was an
interruption. The interruption was John Canty- with a peddler's pack
on his back- and Hugo!
The king discovered these rascals approaching the front gate
before they had had a chance to see him; so he said nothing about
drawing the line, but took up his basket of kittens and stepped
quietly out the back way, without a word. He left the creatures in
an outhouse, and hurried on into a narrow lane at the rear.
CHAPTER_XX
CHAPTER XX
The Prince and the Hermit
-
THE high hedge hid him from the house now; and so, under the
impulse of a deadly fright, he let out all his forces and sped
toward a wood in the distance. He never looked back until he had
almost gained the shelter of the forest; then he turned and descried
two figures in the distance. That was sufficient; he did not wait to
scan them critically, but hurried on, and never abated his pace till
he was far within the twilight depths of the wood. Then he stopped;
being persuaded that he was now tolerably safe. He listened
intently, but the stillness was profound and solemn- awful, even,
and depressing to the spirits. At wide intervals his straining ear did
detect sounds, but they were so remote, and hollow, and mysterious,
that they seemed not to be real sounds, but only the moaning and
complaining ghosts of departed ones. So the sounds were yet more
dreary than the silence which they interrupted.
It was his purpose, in the beginning, to stay where he was, the
rest of the day; but a chill soon invaded his perspiring body, and
he was at last obliged to resume movement in order to get warm. He
struck straight through the forest, hoping to pierce to a road
presently, but he was disappointed in this. He traveled on and on; but
the farther he went, the denser the wood became, apparently. The gloom
began to thicken, by and by, and the king realized that the night
was coming on. It made him shudder to think of spending it in such
an uncanny place; so he tried to hurry faster, but he only made the
less speed, for he could not now see well enough to choose his steps
judiciously; consequently he kept tripping over roots and tangling
himself in vines and briers.
And how glad he was when at last he caught the glimmer of a light!
He approached it warily, stopping often to look about him and
listen. It came from an unglazed window-opening in a little hut. He
heard a voice now, and felt a disposition to run and hide; but he
changed his mind at once, for his voice was praying, evidently. He
glided to the one window of the hut, raised himself on tiptoe, and
stole a glance within. The room was small; its floor was the natural
earth, beaten hard by use; in a corner was a bed of rushes and a
ragged blanket or two; near it was a pail, a cup, a basin, and two
or three pots and pans; there was a short bench and a three-legged
stool; on the hearth the remains of a fagot fire were smoldering;
before a shrine, which was lighted by a single candle, knelt an aged
man, and on an old wooden box at his side lay an open book and a human
skull. The man was of large, bony frame; his hair and whiskers were
very long and snowy white; he was clothed in a robe of sheepskins
which reached from his neck to his heels.
'A holy hermit!' said the king to himself; 'now am I indeed
fortunate.'
The hermit rose from his knees; the king knocked. A deep voice
responded:
'Enter!- but leave sin behind, for the ground whereon thou shalt
stand is holy!'
The king entered, and paused. The hermit turned a pair of
gleaming, unrestful eyes upon him, and said:
'Who art thou?'
'I am the king,' came the answer, with placid simplicity.
'Welcome, king!' cried the hermit, with enthusiasm. Then, bustling
about with feverish activity, and constantly saying 'Welcome,
welcome,' he arranged his bench, seated the king on it, by the hearth,
threw some fagots on the fire, and finally fell to pacing the floor,
with a nervous stride.
'Welcome! Many have sought sanctuary here, but they were not
worthy, and were turned away. But a king who casts his crown away, and
despises the vain splendors of his office, and clothes his body in
rags, to devote his life to holiness and the mortification of the
flesh- he is worthy, he is welcome!- here shall he abide all his
days till death come.' The king hastened to interrupt and explain, but
the hermit paid no attention to him- did not even hear him apparently,
but went right on with his talk, with a raised voice and a growing
energy. 'And thou shalt be at peace here. None shall find out thy
refuge to disquiet thee with supplications to return to that empty and
foolish life which God hath moved thee to abandon. Thou shalt pray
here; thou shalt study the Book; thou shalt meditate upon the
follies and delusions of this world, and upon the sublimities of the
world to come; thou shalt feed upon crusts and herbs, and scourge
thy body with whips daily, to the purifying of thy soul. Thou shalt
wear a hair shirt next thy skin; thou shalt drink water only; and thou
shalt be at peace; yes, wholly at peace; for whoso comes to seek
thee shall go his way again baffled; he shall not find thee, he
shall not molest thee.'
The old man, still pacing back and forth, ceased to speak aloud,
and began to mutter. The king seized this opportunity to state his
case; and he did it with an eloquence inspired by uneasiness and
apprehension. But the hermit went on muttering, and gave no heed.
And still muttering, he approached the king and said, impressively:
''Sh! I will tell you a secret!' He bent down to impart it, but
checked himself, and assumed a listening attitude. After a moment or
two he went on tiptoe to the window-opening, put his head out and
peered around in the gloaming, then came tiptoeing back again, put his
face close down to the king's and whispered:
'I am an archangel!'
The king started violently, and said to himself, 'Would God I were
with the outlaws again; for lo, now am I the prisoner of a madman!'
His apprehensions were heightened, and they showed plainly in his
face. In a low, excited voice, the hermit continued:
'I see you feel my atmosphere! There's awe in your face! None
may be in this atmosphere and not be thus affected; for it is the very
atmosphere of heaven. I go thither and return, in the twinkling of
an eye. I was made an archangel on this very spot, it is five years
ago, by angels sent from heaven to confer that awful dignity. Their
presence filled this place with an intolerable brightness. And they
knelt to me, king! yes, they knelt to me! for I was greater than they.
I have walked in the courts of heaven, and held speech with the
patriarchs. Touch my hand- be not afraid- touch it. There- now thou
hast touched a hand which has been clasped by Abraham, and Isaac,
and Jacob! For I have walked in the golden courts, I have seen the
Deity face to face!' He paused, to give this speech effect; then his
face suddenly changed, and he started to his feet again, saying,
with angry energy, 'Yes, I am an archangel; a mere archangel!- I
that might have been pope! It is verily true. I was told it from
heaven in a dream, twenty years ago; ah, yes, I was to be pope!- and I
should have been pope, for Heaven had said it- but the king
dissolved my religious house, and I, poor obscure unfriended monk, was
cast homeless upon the world, robbed of my mighty destiny!' Here he
began to mumble again, and beat his forehead in futile rage, with
his fist; now and then articulating a venomous curse, and now and then
a pathetic 'Wherefore I am naught but an archangel- I that should have
been pope!'
So he went on for an hour, while the poor little king sat and
suffered. Then all at once the old man's frenzy departed, and he
became all gentleness. His voice softened, he came down out of his
clouds, and fell to prattling along so simply and so humanely, that he
soon won the king's heart completely. The old devotee moved the boy
nearer to the fire and made him comfortable; doctored his small
bruises and abrasions with a deft and tender hand; and then set
about preparing and cooking a supper- chatting pleasantly all the
time, and occasionally stroking the lad's cheek or patting his head,
in such a gently caressing way that in a little while all the fear and
repulsion inspired by the archangel were changed to reverence and
affection for the man.
This happy state of things continued while the two ate the supper;
then, after a prayer before the shrine, the hermit put the boy to bed,
in a small adjoining room, tucking him in as snugly and lovingly as
a mother might; and so, with a parting caress, left him and sat down
by the fire, and began to poke the brands about in an absent and
aimless way. Presently he paused; then tapped his forehead several
times with his fingers, as if trying to recall some thought which
had escaped from his mind. Apparently he was unsuccessful. Now he
started quickly up, and entered his guest's room, and said:
'Thou art king?'
'Yes,' was the response, drowsily uttered.
'What king?'
'Of England.'
'Of England. Then Henry is gone!'
'Alack, it is so. I am his son.'
A black frown settled down upon the hermit's face, and he clenched
his bony hands with a vindictive energy. He stood a few moments,
breathing fast and swallowing repeatedly, then said in a husky voice:
'Dost know it was he that turned us out into the world houseless
and homeless?'
There was no response. The old man bent down and scanned the boy's
reposeful face and listened to his placid breathing. 'He sleeps-
sleeps soundly'; and the frown vanished away and gave place to an
expression of evil satisfaction. A smile flitted across the dreaming
boy's features. The hermit muttered, 'So- his heart is happy'; and
he turned away. He went stealthily about the place, seeking here and
there for something; now and then halting to listen, now and then
jerking his head around and casting a quick glance toward the bed; and
always muttering, always mumbling to himself. At last he found what he
seemed to want- a rusty old butcher-knife and a whetstone. Then he
crept to his place by the fire, sat himself down, and began to whet
the knife softly on the stone, still muttering, mumbling, ejaculating.
The winds sighed around the lonely place, the mysterious voices of the
night floated by out of the distances. The shining eyes of venturesome
mice and rats peered out at the old man from cracks and coverts, but
he went on with his work, rapt, absorbed, and noted none of these
things.
At long intervals he drew his thumb along the edge of his knife,
and nodded his head with satisfaction. 'It grows sharper,' he said;
'yes, it grows sharper.'
He took no note of the flight of time, but worked tranquilly on,
entertaining himself with his thoughts, which broke out occasionally
in articulate speech:
'His father wrought us evil, he destroyed us- and is gone down
into the eternal fires! Yes, down into the eternal fires! He escaped
us- but it was God's will, yes it was God's will, we must not
repine. But he hath not escaped the fires! no, he hath not escaped the
fires, the consuming, unpitying, remorseless fires- and they are
everlasting!'
And so he wrought; and still wrought; mumbling- chuckling a low
rasping chuckle at times- and at times breaking again into words:
'It was his father that did it all. I am but an archangel- but for
him, I should be pope!'
The king stirred. The hermit sprang noiselessly to the bedside,
and went down upon his knees, bending over the prostrate form with his
knife uplifted. The boy stirred again; his eyes came open for an
instant, but there was no speculation in them, they saw nothing; the
next moment his tranquil breathing showed that his sleep was sound
once more.
The hermit watched and listened for a time, keeping his position
and scarcely breathing; then he slowly lowered his arm, and
presently crept away, saying:
'It is long past midnight- it is not best that he should cry
out, lest by accident some one be passing.'
He glided about his hovel, gathering a rag here, a thong there,
and another one yonder; then he returned, and by careful and gentle
handling he managed to tie the king's ankles together without waking
him. Next he essayed to tie the wrists; he made several attempts to
cross them, but the boy always drew one hand or the other away, just
as the cord was ready to be applied; but at last, when the archangel
was almost ready to despair, the boy crossed his hands himself, and
the next moment they were bound. Now a bandage was passed under the
sleeper's chin and brought up over his head and tied fast- and so
softly, so gradually, and so deftly were the knots drawn together
and compacted, that the boy slept peacefully through it all without
stirring.
CHAPTER_XXI
CHAPTER XXI
Hendon to the Rescue
-
The old man glided away, stooping, stealthily, catlike, and
brought the low bench. He seated himself upon it, half his body in the
dim and flickering light, and the other half in shadow; and so, with
his craving eyes bent upon the slumbering boy, he kept his patient
vigil there, heedless of the drift of time, and softly whetted his
knife, and mumbled and chuckled; and in aspect and attitude he
resembled nothing so much as a grizzly, monstrous spider, gloating
over some hapless insect that lay bound and helpless in his web.
After a long while, the old man, who was still gazing- yet not
seeing, his mind having settled into a dreamy abstraction- observed on
a sudden that the boy's eyes were open- wide open and staring!-
staring up in frozen horror at the knife. The smile of a gratified
devil crept over the old man's face, and he said, without changing his
attitude or occupation:
'Son of Henry the Eighth, hast thou prayed?'
The boy struggled helplessly in his bonds; and at the same time
forced a smothered sound through his closed jaws, which the hermit
chose to interpret as an affirmative answer to his question.
'Then pray again. Pray the prayer for the dying!'
A shudder shook the boy's frame, and his face blenched. Then he
struggled again to free himself- turning and twisting himself this way
and that; tugging frantically, fiercely, desperately- but uselessly-
to burst his fetters; and all the while the old ogre smiled down
upon him, and nodded his head, and placidly whetted his knife,
mumbling, from time to time, 'The moments are precious, they are few
and precious- pray the prayer for the dying!'
The boy uttered a despairing groan, and ceased from his struggles,
panting. The tears came, then, and trickled, one after the other, down
his face; but this piteous sight wrought no softening effect upon
the savage old man.
The dawn was coming now; the hermit observed it, and spoke up
sharply, with a touch of nervous apprehension in his voice:
'I may not indulge this ecstasy longer! The night is already gone.
It seems but a moment- only a moment; would it had endured a year!
Seed of the Church's spoiler, close thy perishing eyes, an thou
fearest to look upon...'
The rest was lost in inarticulate mutterings. The old man sank
upon his knees, his knife in his hand, and bent himself over the
moaning boy-
Hark! There was a sound of voices near the cabin- the knife
dropped from the hermit's hand; he cast a sheepskin over the boy and
started up, trembling. The sounds increased, and presently the
voices became rough and angry; then came blows, and cries for help;
then a clatter of swift footsteps retreating. Immediately came a
succession of thundering knocks upon the cabin door, followed by:
'Hullo-o-o! Open! And despatch, in the name of all the devils!'
Oh, this was the blessedest sound that had ever made music in
the king's ears; for it was Miles Hendon's voice!
The hermit, grinding his teeth in impotent rage, moved swiftly out
of the bedchamber, closing the door behind him; and straightway the
king heard a talk, to this effect, proceeding from the 'chapel':
'Homage and greeting, reverend sir! Where is the boy- my boy?'
'What boy, friend?'
'What boy! Lie me no lies, sir priest, play me no deceptions! I am
not in the humor for it. Near to this place I caught the scoundrels
who I judged did steal him from me, and I made them confess; they said
he was at large again, and they had tracked him to your door. They
showed me his very footprints. Now palter no more; for look you,
holy sir, an thou produce him not- Where is the boy?'
'Oh, good sir, peradventure you mean the ragged regal vagrant that
tarried here the night. If such as you take interest in such as he,
know, then, that I have sent him of an errand. He will be back anon.'
'How soon? How soon? Come, waste not the time- cannot I overtake
him? How soon will he be back?'
'Thou needst not stir; he will return quickly.'
'So be it then. I will try to wait. But stop!- you sent him of
an errand?- you! Verily, this is a lie- he would not go. He would pull
thy old beard, an thou didst offer him such an insolence. Thou hast
lied, friend; thou hast surely lied! He would not go for thee nor
for any man.'
'For any man- no; haply not. But I am not a man.'
'What! Now o' God's name what art thou, then?'
'It is a secret- mark thou reveal it not. I am an archangel!'
There was a tremendous ejaculation from Miles Hendon- not
altogether unprofane- followed by:
'This doth well and truly account for his complaisance! Right well
I knew he would budge nor hand nor foot in the menial service of any
mortal; but Lord, even a king must obey when an archangel gives the
word o' command! Let me- 'sh! What noise was that?'
All this while the king had been yonder, alternately quaking
with terror and trembling with hope; and all the while, too, he had
thrown all the strength he could into his anguished moanings,
constantly expecting them to reach Hendon's ear, but always realizing,
with bitterness, that they failed, or at least made no impression.
So this last remark of his servant came as comes a reviving breath
from fresh fields to the dying; and he exerted himself once more,
and with all his energy, just as the hermit was saying:
'Noise? I heard only the wind.'
'Mayhap it was. Yes, doubtless that was it. I have been hearing it
faintly all the- there it is again! It is not the wind! What an odd
sound! Come, we will hunt it out!'
Now, the king's joy was nearly insupportable. His tired lungs
did their utmost- and hopefully, too- but the sealed jaws and the
muffling sheepskin sadly crippled the effort. Then the poor fellow's
heart sank, to hear the hermit say:
'Ah, it came from without- I think from the copse yonder. Come,
I will lead the way.'
The king heard the two pass out talking; heard their footsteps die
quickly away- then he was alone with a boding, brooding, awful
silence.
It seemed an age till he heard the steps and voices approaching
again- and this time he heard an added sound- the trampling of
hoofs, apparently. Then he heard Hendon say:
'I will not wait longer. I cannot wait longer. He has lost his way
in this thick wood. Which direction took he? Quick- point it out to
me.'
'He- but wait; I will go with thee.'
'Good- good! Why, truly thou art better than thy looks. Marry, I
do think there's not another archangel with so right a heart as thine.
Wilt ride? Wilt take the wee donkey that's for my boy, or wilt thou
fork thy holy legs over this ill-conditioned slave of a mule that I
have provided for myself?- and had been cheated in, too, had he cost
but the indifferent sum of a month's usury on a brass farthing let
to a tinker out of work.'
'No- ride thy mule, and lead thine ass; I am surer on mine own
feet, and will walk.'
'Then, prithee, mind the little beast for me while I take my
life in my hands and make what success I may toward mounting the big
one.'
Then followed a confusion of kicks, cuffs, tramplings and
plungings, accompanied by a thunderous intermingling of volleyed
curses, and finally a bitter apostrophe to the mule, which must have
broken its spirit, for hostilities seemed to cease from that moment.
With unutterable misery the fettered little king heard the
voices and footsteps fade away and die out. All hope forsook him now
for the moment, and a dull despair settled down upon his heart. 'My
only friend is deceived and got rid of,' he said; 'the hermit will
return and-' He finished with a gasp; and at once fell to struggling
so frantically with his bonds again, that he shook off the
smothering sheepskin.
And now he heard the door open! The sound chilled him to the
marrow- already he seemed to feel the knife at his throat. Horror made
him close his eyes; horror made him open them again- and before him
stood John Canty and Hugo!
He would have said 'Thank God!' if his jaws had been free.
A moment or two later his limbs were at liberty, and his
captors, each gripping him by an arm, were hurrying him with all speed
through the forest.
CHAPTER_XXII
CHAPTER XXII
A Victim of Treachery
-
ONCE more 'King Foo-foo the First' was roving with the tramps
and outlaws, a butt for their coarse jests and dull-witted railleries,
and sometimes the victim of small spitefulnesses at the hands of Canty
and Hugo when the Ruffler's back was turned. None but Canty and Hugo
really disliked him. Some of the others liked him, and all admired his
pluck and spirit. During two or three days, Hugo, in whose ward and
charge the king was, did what he covertly could to make the boy
uncomfortable; and at night, during the customary orgies, he amused
the company by putting small indignities upon him- always as if by
accident. Twice he stepped upon the king's toes- accidentally- and the
king, as became his royalty, was contemptuously unconscious of it
and indifferent to it; but the third time Hugo entertained himself
in that way, the king felled him to the ground with a cudgel, to the
prodigious delight of the tribe. Hugo, consumed with anger and
shame, sprang up, seized a cudgel, and came at his small adversary
in a fury. Instantly a ring was formed around the gladiators, and
the betting and cheering began. But poor Hugo stood no chance
whatever. His frantic and lubberly 'prentice-work found but a poor
market for itself when pitted against an arm which had been trained by
the first masters of Europe in single-stick, quarter-staff, and
every art and trick of swordsmanship. The little king stood, alert but
at graceful ease, and caught and turned aside the thick rain of
blows with a facility and precision which set the motley onlookers
wild with admiration; and every now and then, when his practised eye
detected an opening, and a lightning-swift rap upon Hugo's head
followed as a result, the storm of cheers and laughter that swept
the place was something wonderful to hear. At the end of fifteen
minutes, Hugo, all battered, bruised, and the target for a pitiless
bombardment of ridicule, slunk from the field; and the unscathed
hero of the fight was seized and borne aloft upon the shoulders of the
joyous rabble to the place of honor beside the Ruffler, where with
vast ceremony he was crowned King of the Game-Cocks; his meaner
title being at the same time solemnly canceled and annulled, and a
decree of banishment from the gang pronounced against any who should
henceforth utter it.
All attempts to make the king serviceable to the troop had failed.
He had stubbornly refused to act; moreover, he was always trying to
escape. He had been thrust into an unwatched kitchen, the first day of
his return; he not only came forth empty-handed, but tried to rouse
the housemates. He was sent out with a tinker to help him at his work;
he would not work; moreover, he threatened the tinker with his own
soldering-iron; and finally both Hugo and the tinker found their hands
full with the mere matter of keeping him from getting away. He
delivered the thunders of his royalty upon the heads of all who
hampered his liberties or tried to force him to service. He was sent
out, in Hugo's charge, in company with a slatternly woman and a
diseased baby, to beg; but the result was not encouraging- he declined
to plead for the mendicants, or be a party to their cause in any way.
Thus several days went by; and the miseries of this tramping life,
and the weariness and sordidness and meanness and vulgarity of it,
became gradually and steadily so intolerable to the captive that he
began at last to feel that his release from the hermit's knife must
prove only a temporary respite from death, at best.
But at night, in his dreams, these things were forgotten, and he
was on his throne, and master again. This, of course, intensified
the sufferings of the awakening- so the mortifications of each
succeeding morning of the few that passed between his return to
bondage and the combat with Hugo, grew bitterer, and harder and harder
to bear.
The morning after that combat, Hugo got up with a heart filled
with vengeful purposes against the king. He had two plans in
particular. One was to inflict upon the lad what would be, to his
proud spirit and 'imagined' royalty, a peculiar humiliation; and if he
failed to accomplish this, his other plan was to put a crime of some
kind upon the king and then betray him into the implacable clutches of
the law.
In pursuance of the first plan, he proposed to put a 'clime'
upon the king's leg, rightly judging that that would mortify him to
the last and perfect degree; and as soon as the clime should
operate, he meant to get Canty's help, and force the king to expose
his leg in the highway and beg for alms. 'Clime' was the cant term for
a sore, artificially created. To make a clime, the operator made a
paste or poultice of unslaked lime, soap, and the rust of old iron,
and spread it upon a piece of leather, which was then bound tightly
upon the leg. This would presently fret off the skin, and make the
flesh raw and angry-looking; blood was then rubbed upon the limb,
which, being fully dried, took on a dark and repulsive color. Then a
bandage of soiled rags was put on in a cleverly careless way which
would allow the hideous ulcer to be seen and move the compassion of
the passer-by.*(18)
Hugo got the help of the tinker whom the king had cowed with the
soldering-iron; they took the boy out on a tinkering tramp, and as
soon as they were out of sight of the camp they threw him down and the
tinker held him while Hugo bound the poultice tight and fast upon
his leg.
The king raged and stormed, and promised to hang the two the
moment the scepter was in his hand again; but they kept a firm grip
upon him and enjoyed his impotent struggling and jeered at his
threats. This continued until the poultice began to bite; and in no
long time its work would have been perfected, if there had been no
interruption. But there was; for about this time the 'slave' who had
made the speech denouncing England's laws, appeared on the scene and
put an end to the enterprise, and stripped off the poultice and
bandage.
The king wanted to borrow his deliverer's cudgel and warm the
jackets of the two rascals on the spot; but the man said no, it
would bring trouble- leave the matter till night; the whole, tribe
being together, then, the outside world would not venture to interfere
or interrupt. He marched the party back to camp and reported the
affair to the Ruffler, who listened, pondered, and then decided that
the king should not be again detailed to beg, since it was plain he
was worthy of something higher and better- wherefore, on the spot he
promoted him from the mendicant rank and appointed him to steal!
Hugo was overjoyed. He had already tried to make the king steal,
and failed; but there would be no more trouble of that sort now,
for, of course, the king would not dream of defying a distinct command
delivered directly from headquarters. So he planned a raid for that
very afternoon, purposing to get the king in the law's grip in the
course of it; and to do it, too, with such ingenious strategy, that it
should seem to be accidental and unintentional; for the King of the
Game-Cocks was popular now, and the gang might not deal over-gently
with an unpopular member who played so serious a treachery upon him as
the delivering him over to the common enemy, the law.
Very well. All in good time Hugo strolled off to a neighboring
village with his prey; and the two drifted slowly up and down one
street after another, the one watching sharply for a sure chance to
achieve his evil purpose, and the other watching as sharply for a
chance to dart away and get free of his infamous captivity forever.
Both threw away some tolerably fair-looking opportunities; for
both, in their secret hearts, were resolved to make absolutely sure
work this time, and neither meant to allow his fevered desires to
seduce him into any venture that had much uncertainty about it.
Hugo's chance came first. For at last a woman approached who
carried a fat package of some sort in a basket. Hugo's eyes sparkled
with sinful pleasure as he said to himself, 'Breath o' my life, an I
can but put that upon him, 'tis good-den and God keep thee, King of
the Game-Cocks!' He waited and watched- outwardly patient, but
inwardly consuming with excitement- till the woman had passed by,
and the time was ripe; then said, in a low voice; 'Tarry here till I
come again,' and darted stealthily after the prey.
The king's heart was filled with joy- he could make his escape
now, if Hugo's quest only carried him far enough away.
But he was to have no such luck. Hugo crept behind the woman,
snatched the package, and came running back, wrapping it in an old
piece of blanket which he carried on his arm. The hue and cry was
raised in a moment by the woman, who knew her loss by the lightening
of her burden, although she had not seen the pilfering done. Hugo
thrust the bundle into the king's hands without halting, saying:
'Now speed ye after me with the rest, and cry "Stop thief!" but
mind ye lead them astray.'
The next moment Hugo turned a corner and darted down a crooked
alley- and in another moment or two he lounged into view again,
looking innocent and indifferent, and took up a position behind a post
to watch results.
The insulted king threw the bundle on the ground; and the
blanket fell away from it just as the woman arrived, with an
augmenting crowd at her heels; she seized the king's wrist with one
hand, snatched up her bundle with the other, and began to pour out a
tirade of abuse upon the boy while he struggled, without success, to
free himself from her grip.
Hugo had seen enough- his enemy was captured and the law would get
him now- so he slipped away, jubilant and chuckling and wended
campward, framing a judicious version of the matter to give to the
Ruffler's crew as he strode along.
The king continued to struggle in the woman's grasp, and now and
then cried out, in vexation:
'Unhand me, thou foolish creature; it was not I that bereaved thee
of thy paltry goods.'
The crowd closed around, threatening the king and calling him
names; a brawny blacksmith in leather apron, and sleeves rolled to his
elbows, made a reach for him, saying he would trounce him well, for
a lesson; but just then a long sword flashed in the air and fell
with convincing force upon the man's arm, flat-side down, the
fantastic owner of it remarking, pleasantly at the same time:
'Marry, good souls, let us proceed gently, not with ill blood
and uncharitable words. This is matter for the law's consideration,
not private and unofficial handling. Loose thy hold from the boy,
goodwife.'
The blacksmith averaged the stalwart soldier with a glance, then
went muttering away, rubbing his arm; the woman released the boy's
wrist reluctantly; the crowd eyed the stranger unlovingly, but
prudently closed their mouths. The king sprang to his deliverer's
side, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes exclaiming:
'Thou hast lagged sorely, but thou comest in good season now,
Sir Miles; carve me this rabble to rags!'
CHAPTER_XXIII
CHAPTER XXIII
The Prince a Prisoner
-
HENDON forced back a smile, and bent down and whispered in the
king's ear:
'Softly, softly my prince, wag thy tongue warily- nay, suffer it
not to wag at all. Trust in me- all shall go well in the end.' Then he
added, to himself: 'Sir Miles! Bless me, I had totally forgot I was
a knight! Lord how marvelous a thing it is, the grip his memory doth
take upon his quaint and crazy fancies!... An empty and foolish
title is mine, and yet it is something to have deserved it, for I
think it is more honor to be held worthy to be a specter-knight in his
Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows, than to be held base enough to be an
earl in some of the real kingdoms of this world.'
The crowd fell apart to admit a constable, who approached and
was about to lay his hand upon the king's shoulder, when Hendon said:
'Gently, good friend, withhold your hand- he shall go peaceably; I
am responsible for that. Lead on, we will follow.'
The officer led, with the woman and her bundle; Miles and the king
followed after, with the crowd at their heels. The king was inclined
to rebel; but Hendon said to him in a low voice:
'Reflect, sire- your laws are the wholesome breath of your own
royalty; shall their source reject them, yet require the branches to
respect them? Apparently, one of these laws has been broken; when
the king is on his throne again, can it ever grieve him to remember
that when he was seemingly a private person he loyally sunk the king
in the citizen and submitted to its authority?'
'Thou art right; say no more; thou shalt see that whatsoever the
king of England requires a subject to suffer under the law, he will
himself suffer while he holdeth the station of a subject.'
When the woman was called upon to testify before the justice of
the peace, she swore that the small prisoner at the bar was the person
who had committed the theft; there was none able to show the contrary,
so the king stood convicted. The bundle was now unrolled, and when the
contents proved to be a plump little dressed pig, the judge looked
troubled, while Hendon turned pale, and his body was thrilled with
an electric shiver of dismay; but the king remained unmoved, protected
by his ignorance. The judge meditated, during an ominous pause, then
turned to the woman, with question:
'What dost thou hold this property to be worth?'
The woman courtesied and replied:
'Three shillings and eightpence, your worship- I could not abate a
penny and set forth the value honestly.'
The justice glanced around uncomfortably upon the crowd, then
nodded to the constable and said:
'Clear the court and close the doors.'
It was done. None remained but the two officials, the accused, the
accuser, and Miles Hendon. This latter was rigid and colorless, and on
his forehead big drops of cold sweat gathered, broke and blended
together, and trickled down his face. The judge turned to the woman
again, and said, in a compassionate voice:
''Tis a poor ignorant lad, and mayhap was driven hard by hunger,
for these be grievous times for the unfortunate; mark you, he hath not
an evil face- but when hunger driveth- Good woman! dost know that when
one steals a thing above the value of thirteen pence ha'penny the
law saith he shall hang for it?'
The little king started, wide-eyed with consternation, but
controlled himself and held his peace; but not so the woman. She
sprang to her feet, shaking with fright and cried out:
'Oh, good lack, what have I done! God-a-mercy, I would not hang
the poor thing for the whole world! Ah, save me from this, your
worship- what shall I do, what can I do?'
The justice maintained his judicial composure, and simply said:
'Doubtless it is allowable to revise the value, since it is not
yet writ upon the record.'
'Then in God's name call the pig eightpence, and heaven bless
the day that freed my conscience of this awesome thing!'
Miles Hendon forgot all decorum in his delight; and surprised
the king and wounded his dignity by throwing his arms around him and
hugging him.
The woman made her grateful adieux and started away with her
pig; and when the constable opened the door for her, he followed her
out into the narrow hall. The justice proceeded to write in his
record-book. Hendon, always alert, thought he would like to know why
the officer followed the woman out; so he slipped softly into the
dusky hall and listened. He heard a conversation to this effect:
'It is a fat pig, and promises good eating; I will buy it of thee;
here is the eightpence.'
'Eightpence, indeed! Thou'lt do no such thing. It cost me three
shillings and eightpence, good honest coin of the last reign, that old
Harry that's just dead ne'er touched nor tampered with. A fig for
thy eightpence!'
'Stands the wind in that quarter? Thou wast under oath, and so
swore falsely when thou saidst the value was but eightpence. Come
straightway back with me before his worship, and answer for the
crime!- and then the lad will hang.'
'There, there, dear heart, say no more, I am content. Give me
the eightpence, and hold thy peace about the matter.'
The woman went off crying; Hendon slipped back into the courtroom,
and the constable presently followed, after hiding his prize in some
convenient place. The justice wrote a while longer, then read the king
a wise and kindly lecture, and sentenced him to a short imprisonment
in the common jail, to be followed by a public flogging. The astounded
king opened his mouth and was probably going to order the good judge
to be beheaded on the spot; but he caught a warning sign from
Hendon, and succeeded in closing his mouth again before he lost
anything out of it. Hendon took him by the hand, now made reverence to
the justice, and the two departed in the wake of the constable
toward the jail. The moment the street was reached, the inflamed
monarch halted, snatched away his hand, and exclaimed:
'Idiot, dost imagine I will enter a common jail alive?'
Hendon bent down and said, somewhat sharply:
'Will you trust in me? Peace! and forbear to worsen our chances
with dangerous speech. What God wills, will happen; thou canst not
hurry it, thou canst not alter it; therefore wait; and be patient-
'twill be time enow to rail or rejoice when what is to happen has
happened.'*(19)
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