Chapter One.
How I saw my Queen.
Every story, whether wise or foolish, grave or gay, must needs have a beginning. How it comes to pass that my story begins on a certain day in May, in the year of our Lord 1585, I can never, although I am far on in life now, properly explain.
For that was not the day on which I was born. That adventure had befallen me eighteen years before, at the parson’s little house in Felton Regis. Most people who write their histories have a pride in dragging their readers back to the moment when they first hallooed defiance to this wicked world; but I, since I have clean forgotten the event, must e’en confess that my story does not begin there. A like adventure chanced often at the parsonage, and, at nine years of age, I reigned king absolute over a nursery full of her Majesty’s subjects who called me brother, and quailed before my nod like Helots before the crest of a Spartan. But, as I say, all that is neither here nor there in my story.
Nor, in truth, is that grey September day, when, on the tail of a country hay-cart, I rode tremulously at my dear father’s side into London; where, with much pomp and taking of oaths, I was bound apprentice, body and soul, to Master Robert Walgrave, the printer, in the presence of the worshipful Master, Wardens, and Assistants of the Company of Stationers, who enriched themselves by 2 shillings 6 pence at my father’s cost, and looked upon me in a hungry way that made me tremble in my bones, and long to be out of their sight before they should order the bill of fare for their next feast. That was a day in my life truly, but it was ancient history when my story begins. I had grown a big lad since then, and was the king of Clubs without Temple Bar, and the terror of all young ’prentices for a mile round, who looked up with white cheeks when I swaggered by, and ran with their tails between their legs to hide behind counters and doorposts till I was out of sight.
No; nor yet does my story begin even at that sad day—alack!—when I stood by my widowed mother at the open grave of him who had been the pillar of our house and the pride of our lives. “Humphrey, my boy,” she had said as she placed her hand on my arm and led me, like one in a dream, from the place, “it is God who has taken—He will surely also give. Shall I count all lost, with a stalwart arm like this to lean upon?” Then she kissed me, and I, for very shame, dried my eyes and held up my head. Ah me! that was but a year before; the world had still moved on, the grass covered his grave, and still my story lacked a beginning.
How comes it, then, that this day in May, of all others, should stand up like a wall, as I look back over my life, and seem to me the beginning of all things? Perhaps this history may show—or, perhaps, he who reads it may come to see that I was right when I said I could not explain it.
It was a great day in London, within and without Temple Bar; and for me, if for no other reason, it was famous, because on that day, for the first and last time, I saw the great Queen Elizabeth. About eight o’clock, while I stood, as was my wont, setting types in my master’s shop, I looked from the window (as was also my wont), and spied two falconers in their green coats, with a trumpeter riding in the midst, ambling citywards. In a moment I dropped my stick (and with it, alack! a pieful of my master’s types), and was out, cap and club, in the Strand, shouting till I was hoarse, “God save her Majesty!”
On the instant, from every shop far and near, darted ’prentices and journeymen, shouting and waving caps—some because they saw me do so, some because they guessed what was afoot, some because they saw, even now, the flutter of approaching pennons, and caught the winding of the royal huntsmen’s horns along the Strand.
The Queen was coming!
I went mad that day with loyalty. I kicked my fellows for not shouting louder, and such as shouted not at all, I made to shout in a way they least expected. Through the open door of Master Straw’s, the horologer’s, I spied his two ’prentices, deaf to all the clamour, basely gorging a hasty pudding behind the bench.
“What!” shouted I, bursting in upon them, and seizing each by his cropped head, “what, ye gluttonous pair of porkers, is this the way you welcome her Majesty into our duchy? Is this a time for greasy pudding and smacking of lips? Come outside and shout, or I’ll brain you with your own spoons.”
Whereupon, forgetting what I did, I dipped the white face of each in his own mess, and dragged them forth, where, to do them justice, they shouted and howled as loud as any one.
And now the Strand overflowed from end to end with loyal citizens. From the windows above, the faces of the city madams beamed, and the white necks of their daughters craned; while behind, with half an eye on us clubs below, peeped, on tiptoe, the maids. At each shop-door stood the grave forms of our masters, thinking, perhaps, of a lost day’s profits, and setting the cost thereof against the blessings of her Majesty’s happy reign. At the roadside, beggar, scholar, yokel, knight, and noble jostled in a motley throng. But the sight of all that crowd was the ’prentices, who swarmed out into the road, and raised our shouts above the clanging of Saint Clement’s bells and the trumpets of the Royal servants. ’Twas no pageant we had come out to see. Giants, and whales, and bottomless pits, and salvage men, and the like we could see to our hearts’ content on Lord Mayor’s Day; and the gilded barges and smoking cannon on the river’s side. But it was not every day her Majesty ambled through the city on her hunting horse, and passed our way with her gallants for a day’s sport in Epping woods.
As for me, I had no eyes or throat for any but that queenly woman, as she cantered boldly on her white palfrey, a pace or more ahead of her glittering courtiers. Had any one said to me that Elizabeth was that day neither young nor lovely—had anyone even dared to whisper that she was not divine—I would have brained him with my club where he stood. For a moment her head turned my way, she waved her hand—it had a little whip in it—and her lips moved to some words. Then as I rent the air with a “God save your Majesty!” she was past.
At Temple Bar, the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, arrayed for the hunt, with buglers and dogs attending, stood across the way, and with mighty ceremony and palaver admitted her to the City. Woe betide them, for all their gold collars and maces, had they kept her out!
But the halt, short as it was, served our purpose. For there was no more going back to work on a day like this.
“To the front, clubs, and lead the way,” shouted I, with what voice was left me.
It was enough for the lads without Temple Bar. They closed on me with a cheer, and followed me at the run, past the gaping Court ushers, past the royal jockeys, past the Queen herself (Heaven bless her!) past Lord Mayor, Sheriffs, and yapping beagles, through the echoing gates of Temple Bar, till we stood at the head of the procession, and longed, with a mighty longing, that someone might dispute the way with us.
But we had no work for our clubs that morning. As we moved forward, our body, like a growing snowball, was swelled by the ’prentices of each ward, shouting as lustily as we, “Make way!” and hurling defiance, like us, on all the Queen’s foes by land and by sea. Even the gay sparks of the Temple gave us no handle for a sally, for they shouted with the best of us.
And so, down Fleet Street and in at the Ludgate, past the square tower of Saint Paul’s, and along merry Cheap, we passed; our numbers swelling at every step, till it seemed as if all London was out escorting her Majesty through the city. As you passed below Bow Church you could scarcely hear the clanging of the bells for the shouting of the people.
At the New Exchange there was like to be a battle at last. For the ’prentices, of the Bridge had heard the uproar from afar, and swarmed down upon us in a flood, so that had we not held our own stoutly, we should have been driven back upon the royal huntress herself.
“Stand, if you be men, and fall in after us!” I shouted.
“Ho! ho!” answered they; “since when was the printer’s devil outside the Bar made mayor of our town? Follow you us.”
It was not a time for bandying words. From behind us came a shout, “Pass on, pass on; room for the Queen!” And at the word we charged forward, shoulder to shoulder, and brushed those unmannerly mercers and barber-surgeons aside as a torrent the nettles that grow on its bank. Let them follow as they list. The Queen went hunting to-day, and was not to be kept standing for a score of London Bridges, if we knew it.
After that we passed shouting up the Cornhill, and so on to the Bishop’s Gate, where at length we halted and made a lane in our midst for her Majesty to ride through.
Never, I think, did monarch ride down a prouder road than that, walled four-deep for the length of two furlongs by youths who would fain have spilt their blood twice over to do her service, and who, since that was denied them, flung their shouts to heaven as she passed, and waved their caps club-high. I think, in truth, she needed no telling what kind of road it was, for as she cantered by her face was flushed and joyous, her head was erect, and the hand she waved clenched on the little whip, as though she grasped her people’s hand. Then in a moment she was gone.
Thus for the first and only time did I set eyes on the great maiden Queen; and when all was over, and the clattering hoofs and yelping hounds and winding horns were lost in the distance, I came to myself and found I was both hungry and athirst.
The crowd melted away. Some returned the way they had come: some slunk back to their deserted shops: I to Finsbury Fields. For I accounted it a crime that day to work—I would as soon have set up types on Lord Mayor’s Day. This day belonged to her Majesty, and I would e’en spend it in her service, wrestling and leaping in the meadows, and training my body to deeds of valour against her foes.
So I called on my clubs to follow me, and they came, and many besides; for those who might not see the Queen hunt might see her loyal citizens jump; and on a day like this it was odds if the nimblest ’prentices in all London were not there to make good sport.
Therefore we straggled in a long crowd to Moorgate—man and maid, noble and ’prentice, alderman and oyster-woman, jesting and scolding as we jostled one another in the narrow way, and rejoicing when at length we broke free into the pleasant meadows and smelt the sweetness of the early hay.
Already I spied sport, for there before us swaggered the mercers’ ’prentices of London Bridge, ready to settle scores for the affront they had received at the New Exchange.
“Ho! ho!” quoth I, with vast content, “’tis time we had dinner, my lads, if it comes to that.”
So we besieged the booths, and fortified ourselves with beef and ale, and felt ready for anything that might happen.
’Twas no battle after all; for, as ill-luck would have it, just as we faced them and bade them come on, the alderman of the Bridge Ward rode up.
“What! a shame on you to mar a day like this with your boyish wrangles! Is there no wrestling-ring, or shooting-butts, or leaping-fence where you can vent your rivalry, without flying at one another’s throats like curs? Call you that loyalty? Have we no enemies better worth our mettle than fellow-Englishmen?”
This speech abashed us a little, and the captain of the Bridge ’prentices said, sulkily:
“I care not to break their heads, worship; there’s little to be got out of that. Come, lads, we can find better sport in the juggler’s booth.”
“His worship came in a good hour for you,” cried we. “Thank him you can slink away on your own legs this time, and need no one to drag you feet foremost off the Fields.”
“Come, come,” said the good alderman, “away with such foolish talk. Let’s see a match struck up. I myself will give a new long-bow and a sheaf of arrows to the best jumper of you all. What say you? The highest leap and the broadest? Ho, there!” added he, calling a servant to him; “bid them clear a space for a match ’twixt the gallant ’prentices of the Bridge and the gallant ’prentices without Temple Bar. Come, boys; were I forty years younger I’d put you to it to distance me. But my jumping days are gone by, and I am but a judge.”
Then we gave him a cheer, the bluff old boy; and, forgetting all our quarrel in the thought of the long-bow and arrows, we trooped at his horse’s tail to the open space, and doffed our coats in readiness for the contest.
A great crowd stood round to see us jump. The scene remains in my mind’s eye even now. ’Prentices, bare-headed, squatted cross-legged on the grass, bandying their noisy jests, and finding a laugh for everybody and everything. Behind them stood a motley throng of sightseers, men, women, and children, for the most part citizens, but interspersed here and there with gay groups of gentlefolk, and even some who wore the bright trappings of the Court. Behind them the beggars and pickpockets plied their arduous calling; and in the rear of all, at a little distance, wandered the horses of the gentles, cropping the fresh grass, with no eye to the achievements of Temple Bar or London Bridge. Beyond them soared the windmills and the hills of Isledon and Hoxton.
It was a scene familiar to me, for I had often taken it in before; and yet for a while to-day it seemed new, and my eye, as I waited at the post, wandered here and there to detect what it could be which made all seem so strange. After a while I discovered that, wherever else they roamed, my glances returned always to one bright spot, close by where stood a maiden.
It seemed to me I had never known what beauty meant till I looked on her. She was tall, and dressed more simply than many a citizen’s wife, and yet her air was that of a goddess. Every movement of her head bore the signs of queenliness; and yet in every feature of her face lurked a sweetness irresistible. At first sight, as you saw her, tall, erect, with her short clustering hair and fearless eyes of blue, you would have been tempted to suppose her a boy in disguise. Yet if you looked a moment longer, the woman in her shone out in every step and gesture. Her cheeks glowed with health and maidenly modesty; and her eyes, that flashed on you one moment almost defiantly, dropped the next in coyness and delicious confusion.
She stood there, conspicuous and radiant amid the jostling crowd, yet wholly heedless of the glances and whispers and perplexity she drew forth. As for me, I scarcely knew where I was, and when the alderman cried, “Make ready, now,” I obeyed him as a man in a dream.
But I recovered myself of a sudden when presently I saw the captain of the Bridge ’prentices, who was a shorter man than I, leap over the bar as high as his own shoulders, and heard the triumphal shouts of his fellows. After him, one by one, came the picked men of either side, but at each leap the bar sprung into the air, and the champions retired worsted from the contest.
Then came my turn. I dared to dart a hurried glance where stood the only onlooker whose applause I coveted. And she turned her head towards me.
So I took my run and cleared the bar.
“A match! a match!” cried the crowd, closing in a step; “a match between Will Peake and Humphrey Dexter.”
“And take my sword and cloak,” shouted a Bridge boy, who owned neither, “if Will Peake do not over-jump the printer’s devil’s head.”
This made me angry. Not that I cared for the gibe; but because I disliked that one there should hear me called by so graceless a name.
Well, we jumped once more; but this time I dared not look anywhere, but straight before me. Yet I cleared the bar.
Whereupon the Bridge boys vaunted themselves more soberly, and he who had offered his cloak and sword now offered only his belt.
“Set the bar two points higher,” I cried, “and clear me that, Will Peake, if you can.”
At that our lads rent the air with shouts, and Will Peake pulled a long face. For the bar now stood level with his eyes, though it only reached my chin.
It fell out as I hoped. He jumped, and the bar sprang six yards into the air as he missed it.
Then our ’prentices made up for the silence of those of the Bridge; and this time the gamester offered not so much as a shoe lace.
For all that, I must clear the bar, if I was to make good my challenge; and I drew a long breath as I stood a moment and glanced round.
Yes. Her eyes of blue were on me, her lips were the least bit parted, and a glow of expectation was in her cheeks.
So I took my run and cleared the bar, with an inch to spare.
Then, as I heard nothing of the shouts which yet deafened me, and durst not so much as raise my eyes, the cheery alderman’s voice cried:
“So Master Dexter hath won the high jump. See if he also win the broad. Clear away there, and stand back, good people, to give our brave lads fair play.”
When I took courage at last to look up, I saw a sight which made the blood in my veins tingle.
She stood still where she was; but next to her had squeezed himself a smirking gallant, bravely bedizened, who looked round impudently into her face, and whispered something in her ear.
To me it seemed as if at first she was heedless of his presence, then, hearing him, she turned upon him a startled gaze, and, flushing angrily, moved a scornful pace away.
This I saw, while the alderman was saying—
“The first leap is yours, Master Dexter. See you set us a good lead.”
I leapt, scarcely thinking what I did, and leapt badly; for though one by one the others failed to reach it, Will Peake reached it, and lit in my very footprints.
“A match again!” cried everyone, “and a close match, too!”
The gallant had made up to her again, and was tormenting her sweet ear once more with his whispers. She stood rigid like a statue with her eyes before her, showing only by the heaving of her bosom that she was aware of his unwelcome presence.
“You keep us waiting, lad,” cried the alderman. “Jump, unless you mean to yield the victory to your adversary.”
I jumped, listlessly again, and again alighted within an inch of my former distance. And once again, Will Peake landed in my very hoof-marks.
“A mortal match!” cried the crowd.
“One leap more,” said the alderman, “and if that does not decide—”
He was there still, and, worse than before, had caught the little hand that hung at her side in his. The colour had gone from her face. I saw that she bit her lips, and for one moment her eyes looked up appealingly and, so it seemed to me, met mine.
Then with my heart swelling big within me, I walked to the starting-point, and ran for my last leap.
It was with all my might that I jumped now, and I cleared two good feet beyond my former distance; so that the onlookers could scarcely shout for amazement.
But I waited neither for their shouts nor for Will’s jump, for I knew he could not reach me. With beating heart, and fingers digging into the palms of my hands, I walked straight to where she stood, pale and trembling. Her right hand was still his prisoner, and his cursed lips were still at her ear. But not for long.
Before he was aware, I had seized him with a grip which made him howl; and next moment he was reeling and staggering a dozen yards away in the midst of the enclosure. It all happened so quickly that even she seemed scarcely to know of her deliverance, till she saw him draw his sword and look round for me.
Then, to draw the combat away from her, I went on to meet him with my club; and before his first onset was done, his sword flew over his head in two pieces. It was an old trick, and cost nothing to a ’prentice outside Temple Bar. And while he looked round, bewildered, after his weapon, I took him by the nape of his neck and the cloth of his breeches, and walked with him to the pond hard by, where I left him, and so was well rid of him.
By this time the Fields were in an uproar. So intent had all been on the leaping, to see if Will Peake would equal my jump (which, Heaven help him! he could not do), that the gallant was swinging over the pond before anyone understood what was afoot. Then they broke up the ring and closed in on us, so that I, having dropped my burden amidst the duck-weed, was fain to lose myself among the crowd and give one and all the slip.
I thought I had done so, for while all stood gaping and jeering as they fished out the sputtering hero from his pea-green bath, I sauntered back unheeded to the place where last I had seen her for whose sake all the pother arose. At first I feared she had fled, but on looking I spied her in company with an elderly woman, who soothed and chid her in turn, and began to hurry her from the place.
But when she saw me, she brushed the old servant aside, and with a blush beckoned me to her. Shall I ever forget the vision of her, as she stood there, stately and beautiful, with hand outstretched, smiling on me with mingled pity for my shyness and gratitude for my service?
“My brave friend,” said she, and her voice fell like music on my ears, “I have nothing but my poor thanks to give thee, but they are thine.”
The crimson now came to my cheeks, for it hurt me to hear her talk of payment.
“I would gladly do it all again,” said I.
“Nay,” she laughed, “once is enough surely, at least for me.”
Then I wished the ground might swallow me, for I deemed she thought me a fool.
“She would come,” put in the old servant in an accent which, though I had never heard it before, I took to be Scotch or Irish; “I told her myself what to expect among a crowd of rude, rascally City sparks, that don’t know a lady when they see her, and when they do, don’t know how to behave themselves. It serves her right, say I, and it’s myself will see she frolics no more, I warrant you—a low, unmannerly pack of curs, with a plague on all of you.”
“Never heed my old nurse,” said the young lady, sweetly; “she and I were parted in the crowd, and but for you, brave lad, I might have rued my folly in coming hither more than I do. Thanks once more, and farewell. Come, Judy—thank good Master Dexter for taking better care of me than ever you did, and then come away.”
I stood like a mule gaping after them as they went, unable to stir or say a word till they were lost to view. Then as I turned came a shout at my ears: “There he stands!—there stands the villain! Seize him and hold him fast. He shall learn what it is to assault a captain of the Queen’s guard.”
Ho! ho! There were a round dozen of them, and one on horseback. But I knew of two dozen better than they within call.
So I shouted, “Clubs, clubs, to the rescue!” and began to lay about me.