| | |
THE royal barge, attended by its gorgeous fleet, took its
stately way down the Thames through the wilderness of illuminated
boats. The air was laden with music; the river-banks were beruffled
with joy- flames; the distant city lay in a soft luminous glow from
its countless invisible bonfires; above it rose many a slender spire
into the sky, incrusted with sparkling lights, wherefore in their
remoteness they seemed like jeweled lances thrust aloft; as the
fleet swept along, it was greeted from the banks with a continuous
hoarse roar of cheers and the ceaseless flash and boom of artillery.
To Tom Canty, half buried in his silken cushions, these sounds and
this spectacle were a wonder unspeakably sublime and astonishing. To
his little friends at his side, the Princess Elizabeth and the Lady
Jane Grey, they were nothing.
Arrived at the Dowgate, the fleet was towed up the limpid Walbrook
(whose channel has now been for two centuries buried out of sight
under acres of buildings) to Bucklersbury, past houses and under
bridges populous with merry-makers and brilliantly lighted, and at
last came to a halt in a basin where now is Barge Yard, in the
center of the ancient city of London. Tom disembarked, and he and
his gallant procession crossed Cheapside and made a short march
through the Old Jewry and Basinghall Street to the Guildhall.
Tom and his little ladies were received with due ceremony by the
Lord Mayor and the Fathers of the City, in their gold chains and
scarlet robes of state, and conducted to a rich canopy of state at the
head of the great hall, preceded by heralds making proclamation, and
by the Mace and the City Sword. The lords and ladies who were to
attend upon Tom and his two small friends took their places behind
their chairs.
At a lower table the court grandees and other guests of noble
degree were seated, with the magnates of the city; the commoners
took places at a multitude of tables on the main floor of the hall.
From their lofty vantage-ground, the giants Gog and Magog, the ancient
guardians of the city, contemplated the spectacle below them with eyes
grown familar to it in forgotten generations. There was a
bugle-blast and a proclamation, and a fat butler appeared in a high
perch in the leftward wall, followed by his servitors bearing with
impressive solemnity a royal Baron of Beef, smoking hot and ready
for the knife.
After grace, Tom (being instructed) rose- and the whole house with
him- and drank from a portly golden loving-cup with the Princess
Elizabeth; from her it passed to the Lady Jane, and then traversed the
general assemblage. So the banquet began.
By midnight the revelry was at its height. Now came one of those
picturesque spectacles so admired in that old day. A description of it
is still extant in the quaint wording of a chronicler who witnessed
it:
'Space being made, presently entered a baron and an earl appareled
after the Turkish fashion in long robes of bawdkin powdered with gold;
hats on their heads of crimson velvet, with great rolls of gold,
girded with two swords, called simitars, hanging by great bawdricks of
gold. Next came yet another baron and another earl, in two long
gowns of yellow satin, traversed with white satin, and in every bend
of white was a bend of crimson satin, after the fashion of Russia,
with furred hats of gray on their heads; either of them having an
hatchet in their hands, and boots with pykes' (points a foot long),
'turned up. And after them came a knight, then the Lord High
Admiral, and with him five nobles, in doublets of crimson velvet,
voyded low on the back and before to the cannel-bone, laced on the
breasts with chains of silver; and, over that, short cloaks of crimson
satin, and on their heads hats after the dancers' fashion, with
pheasants' feather in them. These were appareled after the fashion
of Prussia. The torch-bearers, which were about an hundred, were
appareled in crimson satin and green, like Moors, their faces black.
Next came in a mommarye. Then the minstrels, which were disguised,
danced; and the lords and ladies did wildly dance also, that it was
a pleasure to behold.'
And while Tom, in his high seat, was gazing upon this 'wild'
dancing, lost in admiration of the dazzling commingling of
kaleidoscopic colors which the whirling turmoil of gaudy figures below
him presented, the ragged but real Little Prince of Wales was
proclaiming his rights and his wrongs, denouncing the impostor, and
clamoring for admission at the gates of Guildhall! The crowd enjoyed
this episode prodigiously, and pressed forward and craned their
necks to see the small rioter. Presently they began to taunt him and
mock at him, purposely to goad him into a higher and still more
entertaining fury. Tears of mortification sprung to his eyes, but he
stood his ground and defied the mob right royally. Other taunts
followed, added mockings stung him, and he exclaimed:
'I tell ye again, you pack of unmannerly curs, I am the Prince
of Wales! And all forlorn and friendless as I be, with none to give me
word of grace or help me in my need, yet will not I be driven from
my ground, but will maintain it!'
'Though thou be prince or no prince 'tis all one, thou be'st a
gallant lad, and not friendless neither! Here stand I by thy side to
prove it; and mind I tell thee thou might'st have a worser friend than
Miles Hendon and yet not tire thy legs with seeking. Rest thy small
jaw, my child, I talk the language of these base kennel-rats like to a
very native.'
The speaker was a sort of Don Caesar de Bazan in dress, aspect,
and bearing. He was tall, trim-built, muscular. His doublet and trunks
were of rich material, but faded and threadbare, and their gold-lace
adornments were sadly tarnished; his ruff was rumpled and damaged; the
plume in his slouched hat was broken and had a bedraggled and
disreputable look; at his side he wore a long rapier in a rusty iron
sheath; his swaggering carriage marked him at once as a ruffler of the
camp. The speech of this fantastic figure was received with an
explosion of jeers and laughter. Some cried, ''Tis another prince in
disguise!' ''Ware thy tongue, friend, belike he is dangerous!' 'Marry,
he looketh it- mark his eye!' 'Pluck the lad from him- to the
horse-pond wi' the cub!'
Instantly a hand was laid upon the prince, under the impulse of
this happy thought; as instantly the stranger's long sword was out and
the meddler went to the earth under a sounding thump with the flat
of it. The next moment a score of voices shouted 'Kill the dog! kill
him! kill him!' and the mob closed in on the warrior, who backed
himself against a wall and began to lay about him with his long weapon
like a madman. His victims sprawled this way and that, but the
mob-tide poured over their prostrate forms and dashed itself against
the champion with undiminished fury. His moments seemed numbered,
his destruction certain, when suddenly a trumpet-blast sounded, a
voice shouted, 'Way for the king's messenger!' and a troop of horsemen
came charging down upon the mob, who fled out of harm's reach as
fast as their legs could carry them. The bold stranger caught up the
prince in his arms, and was soon far away from danger and the
multitude.
Return we within the Guildhall. Suddenly, high above the
jubilant roar and thunder of the revel, broke the clear peal of a
bugle-note. There was instant silence- a deep hush; then a single
voice rose- that of the messenger from the palace- and began to pipe
forth a proclamation, the whole multitude standing, listening. The
closing words, solemnly pronounced were:
'The king is dead!'
The great assemblage bent their heads upon their breasts with
one accord; remained so, in profound silence, a few moments, then
all sunk upon their knees in a body, stretched out their hands towards
Tom, and a mighty shout burst forth that seemed to shake the building:
'Long live the king!'
Poor Tom's dazed eyes wandered abroad over this stupefying
spectacle, and finally rested dreamily upon the kneeling princesses
beside him a moment, then upon the Earl of Hertford. A sudden
purpose dawned in his face. He said, in a low tone, at Lord Hertford's
ear:
'Answer me truly, on thy faith and honor! Uttered I here a
command, the which none but a king might hold privilege and
prerogative to utter, would such commandment be obeyed, and none
rise up to say me nay?'
'None, my liege, in all these realms. In thy person bides the
majesty of England. Thou art the king- thy word is law.'
Tom responded, in a strong, earnest voice, and with great
animation:
'Then shall the king's law be law of mercy, from this day, and
never more be law of blood! Up from thy knees and away! To the Tower
and say the king decrees the Duke of Norfolk shall not die!'*(7)
The words were caught up and carried eagerly from lip to lip far
and wide over the hall, and as Hertford hurried from the presence,
another prodigious shout burst forth:
'The reign of blood is ended! Long live Edward king of England!'
|
