Sir John Constantine Part 13

"Eh? eh? What is this? What is the meaning of all this?" demanded his Worship, magisterially, as, having drawn rein, he fumbled in his tail pocket, drew forth a pair of horn spectacles, adjusted them on his nose, and glared round upon the throng.

"That, sir," answered my father, stepping forward, "is what we are waiting to learn."

"Sir John Constantine?" The Mayor bowed from his saddle. "You will pardon me, Sir John, that for the moment I missed to recognize you.

The fact is, I suffer, Sir John, from some--er--shortness of sight: a grave inconvenience, at times, to one in my position."

"Indeed?" said my father, gravely. "And yet, as I have heard, 'tis a malady most incident to borough magistrates."

"You don't say so?" The Mayor considered this for a moment.

"The visitations of Providence are indeed inscrutable, Sir John.

It would give me pleasure to discuss them with you, on some--er--more suitable occasion, if I might have the honour. But as I was about to say, I am delighted to see you, Sir John: your presence here will strengthen my hands in dealing with this--er--unlawful a.s.sembly."

"_Is_ this an unlawful a.s.sembly?" my father asked.

"It is worse, Sir John; it is far worse. I have been studying the law, and the law admits of no dubiety. It is unlawful a.s.sembly where three or more persons meet together to carry out some private enterprise in circ.u.mstances calculated to excite alarm. Mark those words, Sir John--" some private enterprise. "When the enterprise is not private but meant to redress a public grievance, or to reform religion, the offence becomes high treason."

"Does the law indeed say so?"

"It does, Sir John. The law, let me tell you, is very fierce against any reforming of religion. Nay more, Sir John, under the first of King George the First, statute two--I forget what chapter--by the Act commonly called the Riot Act, it is enacted that if a dozen or more go about reforming of religion or otherwise upsetting the public peace and refuse to go about their business within the s.p.a.ce of one hour after I tell 'em to, the same becomes felony without benefit of clergy."

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Billy Priske, pulling off his hat and eyeing the rose in its band.

"And further," his Worship continued, "any man wearing the badge or ensign of the rioters shall himself be considered a rioter without benefit of clergy."

All this while the crowd had been pressing closer and closer upon us, under compulsion (as it seemed) of reinforcements from the waterside, the purlieus of the Market Strand being, by now, so crowded that men and women were crying out for room. At this moment, glancing across the square, I was puzzled to see a woman leaning forth from a first-floor window and dropping handfuls of artificial flowers upon the heads of the throng. While I watched, she retired--her hands being empty--came back with a band-box, and scattered its contents broadcast, pausing to blow a kiss towards the Mayor.

I plucked my father's sleeve to call his attention to this; but he and the Mayor were engaged in argument, his Worship maintaining that the Methodists--and my father that their a.s.sailants--were the prime disturbers of the peace.

"And how, pray," asked my father, "are these poor women to disperse, if your ruffians won't let 'em?"

"As to that, sir, you shall see," promised the Mayor, and turned to the town crier. "John Sprott, call silence. Make as much noise about it as you can, John Sprott. And you, Nandy Daddo, catch hold of my horse's bridle here."

He rose in his stirrups and, searching again in his tail-pocket, drew forth a roll of paper.

"Silence!" bawled the crier.

"Louder, if you please, John Sprott: louder, if you can manage it!

And say 'In the name of King George,' John Sprott; and wind up with 'G.o.d save the King.' For without 'G.o.d save the King' 'tis no riot, and a man cannot be hanged for it. So be very particular to say 'G.o.d save the King,' John Sprott, and put 'em all in the wrong."

John Sprott bawled again, and this time achieved the whole formula.

"That's better, John Sprott. And you--" his Worship turned upon the Methodists, "you just listen to this, now--"

"_Our sovereign Lord the King--_"

Here, as the Methodists stood before him with folded hands, a lump of filth flew past the Mayor's ear and bespattered the lamp-post.

"Damme, who did that?" his Worship demanded. "John Sprott, who threw that muck?"

"I don't know the man's name, your Worship: but he's yonder, there, in a striped shirt open at the neck, with a little round hat on the back of his head; and, what's more, I see'd him do it."

"Then take down his description, John Sprott, and write that at the words 'Our sovereign Lord' he shied a lump of muck."

John Sprott pulled out a note-book and entered the offence.

"And after 'muck,' John Sprott, write 'G.o.d save the King.' I don't know that 'tis necessary, but you'll be on the safe side."

His Worship unfolded the proclamation again, cleared his throat, and resumed:

"_Our sovereign Lord the King chargeth and commandeth all persons, being a.s.sembled, immediately to disperse themselves and peacefully to depart to their habitations or to their lawful business, upon the pains contained in the Act made in the first year of George the First for preventing--_"

A handful of more or less liquid mud here took him on the nape of the neck and splashed over the paper which he held in both hands.

"Arrest that man!" he shouted, bouncing about in a fury. At the same moment my father gripped my elbow as a volley of missiles darkened the air, and we fell back--all the Company of the Rose--shoulder to shoulder, to protect the Methodists, as a small but solid phalanx of men came driving through the crowd with mischief in their faces.

"But wait awhile! wait awhile!" called out Billy Priske, as my father plucked out his sword. "These be no enemies, master, to us or the Methodists, but honest sea-fardingers--packet-men all--and, look you, with roses in their hats!"

"Roses? Faith, and so they have!" cried my father, lowering his guard. "But what the devil, then, is the meaning of it?"

He was answered on the moment. The official whom his Worship called Nandy Daddo had made a rush into the crowd, charging it with his mace as with a battering-ram, and was in the act of clutching the man who had thrown the filth, when the phalanx of packet-men broke through and bore him down. A moment later I saw his gold-laced hat fly skimming over the heads of the throng, and his mace wrenched from him and held aloft in the hands of a red-faced man, who flourished it twice and rushed upon the Mayor, shouting at the same time with all his lungs: "Townshends! This way, Townshends!" whereat the packet-men cheered and pressed after him, driving the crowd of Falmouth to right and left.

Clearly what mischief they meant was intended for the Mayor: and the Mayor, for a short-sighted man, detected this very promptly. Also he showed surprising agility in tumbling out of his saddle; which he had scarcely done before the crupper resounded with a whack, of which one of the borough maces bears an eloquent dent to this day.

The Mayor, catching his toe in the stirrup as he slipped off, staggered and fell at our feet. But the body of his horse, interposed between him and the rioters, protected him for an instant, and in that instant my father and Nat Fiennes dragged him up and thrust him to the rear while we faced the a.s.sault. For now, and without a word said, the Methodists were forgotten, and we of the Rose were standing for law and order against this other company of the Rose, of whose quarrel we knew nothing at all.

Our att.i.tude indeed, and the sight of drawn swords (to oppose which they had no weapons but short cudgels), appeared to take them aback for the moment. The press, however, closing on us, as we backed to cover the Mayor's retreat, offered less and less occasion for sword play; and, the seamen still advancing and outnumbering us by about three to one, the whole affair began to wear an ugly look.

At this juncture relief came to us in the strangest fashion. I had clean forgotten the little Methodist man in black; whom, to be sure, I had no occasion to remember but for the quiet resolution of his carriage as he had stood with the burst egg trickling over his face.

But now, to the surprise of us all, he sprang forward upon the second mace-bearer, s.n.a.t.c.hed the mace from his hand and laid about him in a sudden frenzy; at the first blow, delivered at unawares, catching the ringleader on the crown and felling him like an ox. For a second, perhaps, he stared, amazed at his own prowess, and with that the l.u.s.t of battle seized him.

He rained blows; yet with cunning, running forth and back into our ranks as each was delivered; and between the blows he capered, uttering shrill inarticulate cries. This diversion indeed saved us.

For the rabble, pressing up to see the fun, left a s.p.a.ce more or less clear on the far side of the Market Strand, and for this s.p.a.ce we stampeded, dragging the Mayor along with us.

The next thing I remember was fighting side by side with Nat before a door beneath the window where I had seen the woman throwing down her handfuls of artificial flowers. The lower windows were barred, but the door stood open; and we fought to defend it whilst my father lifted the Mayor of Falmouth by his coat-collar and the seat of his breeches and flung him inside. Then we too backed and, ducking indoors under the arms of the little man in black--who stood on the step swinging the borough mace as though to scythe off the head of any one who approached within five feet of it--seized him by the coat-tails, dragged him inside and, slamming to the door (which shut with two flaps), locked and bolted it and leant against it with all our weight.

Yet a common house-door is but a flimsy barricade against a mob, especially if that mob be led by five-and-twenty stout-bodied seaman.

We had shut it merely to gain time, and when the cudgels outside began to play tattoo upon its upper panels I looked for no more than a minute's respite at the best.

It puzzled me therefore when--and immediately upon two ugly blows that had well-nigh shaken the lock from its fastenings--the shouting suddenly subsided into a confused hubbub of voices, followed by a clang and rattle of arms upon the cobblestones. This last sound appeared to hush the others into silence. I stood listening, with my hip pressed against the lock to hold it firm against the next concussion. None came: but presently some one rapped with his knuckles on the upper panel and a voice, authoritative but civil enough, challenged us in the name of King George to open.

To this I had almost answered bidding him go to the devil, when a damsel put her head over the stair-rail of the landing above and called down to us to obey and open at once: and looking up in the dim light of the pa.s.sage I recognized her for the one who had scattered the flowers, just now, to the rioters.

"Pardon me," said I, "but how shall I know you are not playing us a trick?"

"My good child," she replied, "open the door and don't stand arguing.

The riot is over and the square full of military. The person who knocks is Captain Bright of the Pendennis Garrison. If you don't believe me, step upstairs here and look out of window."

"My father--" I began.

"Your father is right enough, and so is that fool of a Mayor--or will be when he has drunk down a gla.s.s of cordial."