Master Skylark Part 11

AT BAY

"After him!--stop him!--catch the rogue!" cried Carew, running out on the cobbles with his ale-can in his hand. "A shilling to the man that brings him back unharmed! No blows, nor clubs, nor stabbing, hark 'e, but catch me the knave straightway; he hath s.n.a.t.c.hed a fortune from my hands!"

At that the hostler, whip in hand, and the tapster with his bit, were off as fast as their legs could carry them, bawling "Stop, thief, stop!"

at the top of their lungs; and at their backs every idle varlet about the inn--grooms, stable-boys, and hangers-on--ran whooping, howling, and hallooing like wild huntsmen.

Nick's frightened heart was in his mouth, and his breath came quick and sharp. Tap-a-tap, tap-a-tap went his feet on the cobblestones as down the long street he flew, running as he had never run before.

It seemed as if the whole town bellowed at his back; for windows creaked above his head, and doors banged wildly after him; curs from every alley-way came yelping at his heels; apprentices let go the shutter-bars, and joined in the chase; and near and nearer came the cry of "Stop, thief, stop!" and the kloppety-klop of hob-nailed shoes in wild pursuit.

The rabble filled the dark old street from wall to wall, as if a cloud of good-for-naughts had burst above the town; and far in front sped one small, curly-headed lad, running like a frightened fawn. He had lost his cap, and his breath came short, half sobbing in his throat as the sound of footfalls gained upon his ear; but even yet he might have beaten them all and reached the open fields but for the dirt and garbage in the street. Three times he slipped upon a rancid bacon-rind and almost fell; and the third time, as he plunged across the oozing drain, a dog dashed right between his feet.

He staggered, nearly fell, threw out his hand against the house and saved himself; but as he started on again he saw the town-watch, wakened by the uproar, standing with their long staves at the end of the street, barring the way.

The door of a smithy stood open just ahead, with forge-fires glowing and the hammer ringing on the anvil. Nick darted in, past the horses, hostlers, and blacksmith's boys, and caught at the leather ap.r.o.n of the st.u.r.dy smith himself.

"Hoo, man, what a d.i.c.kens!" snorted he, dropping the red-hot shoe on which he was at work, and staring like a startled ox at the panting little fugitive.

"Do na leave them take me!" panted Nick. "They ha' stolen me away from Stratford town and will na leave me go!"

At that Will Hostler bolted in, red-faced and scant of wind, "Thou young rascal," quoth he, "I have thee now! Come out o' that!" and he tried to take Nick by the collar.

"So-oftly, so-oftly!" rumbled the smith, tweaking up the glowing shoe in his great pincers, and sweeping a sputtering half-circle in front of the cowering lad. "Droive slow through the cro-owd! What hath youngster here did no-ow?"

"He hath stolen a fortune from his master at the Three Lions--and the shilling for him's mine!"

"Hath stealed a fortune? Whoy, huttlety-tut!" roared the burly smith, turning ponderously upon Nick, who was dodging around him like a boy at tag around a tree. "Whoy, lad," said he, scratching his puzzled head with his great, grimy fingers, "where hast putten it?"

All the rout and the riot now came plunging into the smithy, breathless with the chase. Master Carew himself, his ale-can still clutched in his hand, and bearing himself with a high air of dignity, followed after them, frowning.

"What?" said he, angrily, "have ye earthed the cub and cannot dig him out? Hast caught him there, fellow?"

"Ay, master, that I have!" shouted Will Hostler. "Shilling's mine, sir."

"Then fetch him out of this hole!" cried Carew, sniffing disdainfully at the low, smoky door.

"But he will na be fetched," stammered the doughty Will, keeping a most respectful distance from the long black pincers and the sputtering shoe with which the farrier stolidly mowed the air round about Nick Attwood and himself.

At that the crowd set up a shout.

Carew thrust fiercely into the press, the louts and loafers giving way.

"What, here! Nicholas Attwood," said he, harshly, "come hither."

"Do na leave him take me," begged Nick. "He is not my master; I am not bound out apprentice--they are stealing me away from my own home, and it will break my mother's heart."

"n.o.body breaks n.o.body's hearts in old Jo-ohn Smithses sho-op," drawled the smith, in his deep voice; "nor steals n.o.body, nother. We be honest-dealing folk in Albans town, an' makes as good horse-shoes as be forged in all England"--and he went placidly on mowing the air with the glimmering shoe.

"Here, fellow, stand aside," commanded Master Carew, haughtily. "Stand aside and let me pa.s.s!" As he spoke he clapped his hand upon his poniard with a fierce snarl, showing his white teeth like a wolf-hound.

The men about him fell back with unanimous alacrity, making out each to put himself behind the other. But the huge smith only puffed out his sooty cheeks as if to blow a fly off the next bite of cheese. "So-oftly, so-oftly, muster," drawled he; "do na go to ruffling it here. This shop be mine, and I be free-born Englishman. I'll stand aside for no swash-buckling rogue on my own ground. Come, now, what wilt thou o' the lad?--and speak thee fair, good muster, or thou'lt get a dab o' the red-hot shoe." As he spoke he gave the black tongs an extra whirl.

CHAPTER XV

LONDON TOWN

"Come," growled the blacksmith, gripping his tongs, "what wilt thou have o' the lad?"

"What will I have o' the lad?" said Master Carew, mimicking the blacksmith in a most comical way, with a wink at the crowd, as if he had never been angry at all, so quickly could he change his face--"What will I have o' the lad?" and all the crowd laughed. "Why, bless thy gentle heart, good man, I want to turn his farthings into round gold crowns--if thou and thine infernal hot shoe do not make zanies of us all! Why, Master Smith, 'tis to London town I'd take him, and fill his hands with more silver shillings than there be cast-off shoes in thy whole shop."

"La, now, hearken till him!" gaped the smith, staring in amazement.

"And here thou needs must up and spoil it all, because, forsooth, the silly child goes a trifle sick for home and whimpers for his minnie!"

"But the lad saith thou hast stealed him awa-ay from 's ho-ome,"

rumbled the smith, like a doubtful earthquake; "and we'll ha' no stealing o' lads awa-ay from ho-ome in County Herts!"

"Nay, that we won't!" cried one. "Hurrah, John Smith--fair play, fair play!" and there came an ugly, threatening murmur from the crowd.

"What! Fair play?" cried Master Carew, turning so sharply about, with his hand upon his poniard, that each made as if it were not he but his neighbor had growled. "Why, sirs, what if I took any one of ye out of your poverty and common clothes down into London town, horseback like a king, and had ye sing before the Queen, and play for earls, and talk with the highest dames in all the land; and fed ye well, and spoke ye fair, and lodged ye soft, and clad ye fine, and wrought the whole town on to cheer ye, and to fill your purses full of gold? What, sir," said he, turning to the gaping farrier--"what if I promised thee to turn thine every word to a silver sixpence, and thy s.m.u.tty grins to golden angels--what wouldst thou? Knock me in the head with thy dirty sledge, and bawl foul play?"

"Nay, that I'd not," roared the burly smith, with a stupid, ox-like grin, scratching his tousled head; "I'd say, 'Go it, bully, and a plague on him that said thee nay!'"

"And yet when I would fill this silly fellow's jerkin full of good gold Harry shovel-boards for the simple drawing of his breath, ye bawl 'Foul play!'"

"What, here! come out, lad," roared the smith, with a great horse-laugh, swinging Nick forward and thwacking him jovially between the shoulders with his brawny hand; "come out, and go along o' the master here,--'tis for thy good,--and ho-ome wull keep, I trow, till thou dost come again."

But Nick hung back, and clung to the blacksmith's grimy arm, crying in despair: "I will na--oh, I will na!"

"Tut, tut!" cried Master Carew. "Come, Nicholas; I mean thee well, I'll speak thee fair, and I'll treat thee true"--and he smiled so frankly that even Nick's doubts almost wavered. "Come, I'll swear it on my hilt," said he.

The smith's brow clouded. "Nay," said he; "we'll no swearing by hilts or by holies here; the bailiff will na have it, sir."

"Good! then upon mine honour as an Englishman!" cried Carew. "What, how, bullies? Upon mine honour as an Englishman!--how is it? Here we be, all Englishmen together!" and he clapped his hand to Will Hostler's shoulder, whereat Will stood up very straight and looked around, as if all at once he were somebody instead of somewhat less than n.o.body at all of any consequence. "What!--ye are all for fair play?--and I am for fair play, and good Master Smith, with his beautiful shoe, here, is for fair play! Why, sirs, my bullies, we are all for fair play; and what more can a man ask than good, downright English fair play? Nothing, say I. Fair play first, last, and all the time!" and he waved his hand. "Hurrah for downright English fair play!"

"Hurrah, hurrah!" bellowed the crowd, swept along like bubbles in a flood. "Fair play, says we--English fair play--hurrah!" And those inside waved their hands, and those that were outside tossed up their caps, in sheer delight of good fair play.

"Hurrah, my bullies! That's the cry!" said Carew, in his hail-fellow-well-met, royal way. "Why, we're the very best of fellows, and the very fastest friends! Come, all to the old Three Lions inn, and douse a can of brown March brew at my expense. To the Queen, to good fair play, and to all the fine fellows in Albans town!"

And what did the crowd do but raise a shout, like a parcel of school-boys loosed for a holiday, and troop off to the Three Lions inn at Master Carew's heels, Will Hostler and the brawny smith bringing up the rear with Nick between them, hand to collar, half forgotten by the rest, and his heart too low for further grief.

And while the crowd were still roaring over their tankards and cheering good fair play, Master Gaston Carew up with his prisoner into the saddle, and, mounting himself, with the bandy-legged man grinning opposite, shook the dust of old St. Albans from his horse's heels.

"Now, Nicholas Attwood," said he, grimly, as they galloped away, "hark 'e well to what I have to say, and do not let it slip thy mind. I am willed to take thee to London town--dost mark me?--and to London town thou shalt go, warm or cold. By the whistle of the Lord High Admiral, I mean just what I say! So thou mayst take thy choice."

He gripped Nick's shoulder as they rode, and glared into his eyes as if to sear them with his own. Nick heard his poniard grating in its sheath, and shut his eyes so that he might not see the master-player's horrid stare; for the opening and shutting, opening and shutting, of the blue lids made him shudder.