The Panchronicon Part 41

Without warning, someone in the upper story of one of the houses near by threw from a window a pail of dirty water, which fell with a startling splash a few feet in front of Rebecca.

She stopped in alarm and looked up severely.

"I declare to goodness! I b'lieve the folks in this town are all plumb crazy! Sech doin's! The idea of throwin' slops out onto the road! Why, the Kanucks wouldn't do that in New Hampshire!"

Slipping her bag onto her left wrist, she loosened the band of her umbrella and shook the ribs free.

"Lucky I brought my umbrella!" she exclaimed. "I guess it'll be safer fer me to h'ist this, ef things is goin' to come out o' windows!"

All unknown to her, two or three of the rabble behind her were in the act of poising themselves with great stones in their hands, and their muscles were stiffening for a cast when, just in the nick of time, the obstinate snap yielded, and with a jerk the umbrella spread itself.

Turning the wide-spread gloria skyward, Rebecca hurried forward once more, still bent upon overtaking Copernicus Droop.

That simple act saved her.

A mere inactive witch was one thing--a thing scarce distinguishable from any other old woman. But this transformation of a black wand into a wide-spreading tent was so obviously the result of magic, that it was self-evident they had to do with a witch in full defensive and offensive state.

Stones fell from deadened hands and the threatening growls and cries were lost in a unanimous gasp of alarm. A moment's pause and then--utter rout. There was a mad stampede and in a trice the street was empty. Rebecca was alone under that inoffensive guardian umbrella.

To her grief, she found no one on the river's brim. He whom she sought was half-way across, his conveyance the only wherry in sight, apparently. Having pa.s.sed beyond the houses, Rebecca now folded her umbrella and looked carefully about her. To her great relief, she caught sight of a man's figure rec.u.mbent on a stone bench near at hand. A pair of oars lay by him and betrayed his vocation.

She stepped promptly to his side and prodded him with her umbrella.

"Here, mister!" she cried. "Wake up, please. What do you charge for ferryin' folks across the river?"

The waterman sat up, rubbed his eyes and yawned. Then, without looking at his fare, he led the way to his boat without reply. He was chary of words, and after all, did not all the world know what to pay for conveyance to Southwark?

Rebecca gazed after him for a moment and then, shaking her head pityingly, she murmured:

"Tut--tut! Deef an' dumb, poor man! Dear, dear!"

To hesitate was to lose all hope of overtaking the obstinate Copernicus.

So, first pointing vigorously after the retreating boat with closed umbrella, and with many winks and nods which she supposed supplied full meaning to her gestures, she stepped into the wherry, and the two at once glided out on the placid bosom of the Thames.

Far different was the spectacle that greeted her then from that which may now be witnessed near London Bridge. In those days that bridge was alone visible, not far to the East, and the tide that moves now so darkly between stone embankments beneath a myriad of grimy steamers, then flowed brightly between low banks and wooden wharves, bearing a gliding fleet of sailing-vessels. To the south were the fields and woods of the open country, save where loomed the low frame houses and the green-stained wharves of Southwark village. Behind Rebecca was a vast huddle of frame buildings, none higher than three stories, sharp of gable overhanging narrow streets, while here a tower and there a steeple stood sentinel over the common herd. To the east the four great stone cylinders of the Tower, frowning over the moving world at their feet, loomed grimly then as now.

Rebecca had fixed her eyes at first with a fascinated stare on this mighty ma.s.s of building, penetrated by a chill of fear, although ignorant of its tragic significance. Turning after a minute or two from contemplation of that gloomy monument of tyrannical power, she gazed eagerly forward again, bent upon keeping sight of the man she was pursuing.

He and his boat had disappeared, but her disappointment was at once lost in admiring stupefaction as she gazed upon a magnificent craft bearing across the bows of her boat and coming from the direction of Westminster.

The hull, painted white, was ornamented with a bold arabesque of gilding which seemed to flow naturally in graceful lines from the garment of a golden image of Victory mounted high on the towering prow.

From the deck at the front and back rose two large cabins whose sides were all of brilliant gla.s.s set between narrow panels on which were paintings, which Rebecca could not clearly distinguish from where she was sitting.

At the waist, between and below the cabins, ten oars protruded from each side of the barge, flashing rhythmically as they swept forward together, seeming to sprinkle drops of sunlight into the river.

The splendor of this apparition, contrasting as it did with the small and somewhat dingy craft otherwise visible above the bridge, gave a new direction to Rebecca's thoughts and forced from her an almost involuntary exclamation.

"For the lands sakes!" she murmured. "Whoever in the world carries on in sech style's that!"

The waterman looked over his shoulder, and no sooner caught sight of the glittering barge than, with a powerful push of his oars, he backed water and brought his little boat to a stand.

"The Queen!" he exclaimed.

Rebecca glanced at the boatman with slightly raised brows.

"Thought you was deef an' dumb," she said. Then, turning once more to the still approaching barge, she continued: "An' so thet's Queen Victoria's ship, is it?"

"Victoria!" growled the waterman. "Ye seem as odd in speech as in dress, mistress. Who gave ye license to miscall our glorious sovereign?"

Rebecca's brows were knit in a thoughtful frown and she scarce knew what her companion said. The approach of the Queen suggested a new plan of action. She had heard of queens as all-powerful rulers, women whose commands would be obeyed at once and without question, in small and personal things as in matters of greater moment. Of Queen Victoria, too, some accounts had reached her, and all had been in confirmation of that ruler's justice and goodness of heart.

Rebecca's new plan was therefore to appeal at once to this benign sovereign for aid, entreat her to command the Burtons to release Phoebe and to order Copernicus Droop to carry both sisters back to their New England home. This course recommended itself strongly to the strictly honest Rebecca, because it eliminated at once all necessity for "humoring" Phoebe's madness, with its implied subterfuges and equivocations. The moment was propitious for making an attempt which could at least do no harm, she thought. She determined to carry out the plan which had occurred to her.

Standing up in the boat: "What's the Queen's last name?" she asked.

"Be seated, woman!" growled the waterman, who was growing uneasy at sight of the increasing eccentricity of his fare. "The Queen's name is Elizabeth, as well ye know," he concluded, more gently. He hoped to soothe the woman's frenzy by concessions.

"Now, mister," said Rebecca, severely, "don't you be sa.s.sy to me, fer I won't stand it. Of course, I don't want her first name--she ain't hired help. What's the Queen's family name--quick!"

The waterman, now convinced that his fare was a lunatic, could think of naught better than to use soothing tones and to reply promptly, however absurd her questions. "I' faith," he said, in a mild voice, "I' faith, mistress, her Gracious Majesty is of the line of Tudor. Methought----"

But he broke off in horror.

Waving her umbrella high above her head, Rebecca, still standing upright in the boat, was calling at the top of her voice:

"Hallo there! Mrs. Tudor! Stop the ship, will ye! I want to speak to Mrs. Tudor a minute!"

All nature seemed to shiver and shrink in silence at this enormous breach of etiquette--to use a mild term. Involuntarily the ten pairs of oars in the royal barge hung in mid-air, paralyzed by that sudden outrage. The great, glittering structure, impelled by momentum, glided forward directly under the bows of Rebecca's boat and not a hundred yards away.

Again Rebecca's cry was borne shrill and clear across the water.

"Hallo! Hallo there! Ain't Mrs. Tudor on the ship? I want to speak to her!" Then, turning to the stupefied and trembling waterman:

"Why don't you row, you? What's the matter, anyway? Don't ye see they've stopped to wait fer us?"

Someone spoke within the after cabin. The command was repeated in gruff tones by a man's voice, and the ten pairs of oars fell as one into the water and were held rigid to check the progress of the barge.

"Wherry, ahoy!" a hail came from the deck.

"Ay, ay, sir!" the waterman cried.

"Come alongside!"

"Ay, ay, sir!"

Pale and weak with dread, the boatman pulled as well as he could toward the splendid vessel ahead, while Rebecca resumed her seat, quite satisfied that all was as it should be.