"Esther carried off by Lord Mowbray! Taken to Chelsea!" he gasped.
However, he quickly regained his composure and reflected for a moment.
"Friends," he said in a loud but firm voice, in order to make himself heard by the thirty or forty men grouped about him, "there is nothing more to be done here. If we remain longer we shall be hunted down by the soldiers, of whose approach we have already been warned. Let us disperse, to meet again within the hour at Chelsea, near the Bun-house. Thence I will lead you to the assault of a house, the master of which secretly favors the papists."
For the time being Reuben was falsifying; but examples in Holy Scriptures which authorized a pious lie crowded his memory. He also added in an assured tone, casting an expressive glance upon the band of pillagers who had given some sign of discontent,—
"This house is full of riches. It also contains a young girl prisoner, one of our own set, whom this villain has seized to make her the toy of his pleasure. Let us hasten if we hope to arrive in time to save her!"
These words were received with murmurs of adhesion. The little legion of disorder divided into groups, set off through the streets that led westward, and gained the place of rendezvous by different ways. Reuben accompanied Fisher, who recounted the details of the adventure as they went along.
The Bun-house was celebrated at the period for the fabrication of those somewhat heavy and substantial cakes which still form the traditional family diet on Good Fridays. In fine weather a goodly company was wont to wend its way thither for the purpose of eating buns and washing them down with port. When George III. passed that way, on his way from Kew to Saint James's, he did not disdain to stop and chat familiarly with Mistress Hand, the pastry-cook. She must have slept like a log that night not to have heard the strange assemblage which formed under the walls of her garden. Reuben found but a few of the fanatical sectarians whom he had led to Parliament. Weary with the fatigues of the day, content with having intimidated the representatives of the nation, as they flattered themselves, and destroyed two of the lairs of idolatry, they had undoubtedly gone home and to bed. One phrase only in Reuben's brief harangue had carried the day,—"This house is full of riches!" Well might he be astonished, for the words had fallen unintentionally from his lips. But if Reuben remained unmoved, Fisher trembled at sight of the bandit faces which surrounded him. Seeing them thus, no one would have suspected that these shady cavaliers were marching to the defence of menaced innocence.
All told, they were some forty men armed with pistols, clubs, and knives. Truly formidable, resolute, ready for anything, accustomed, as it appeared, to such nocturnal escapades, they marched silently, and obeyed promptly with some show of discipline.
"Yonder is the house," said Reuben, "behind those trees. It is best to form a ring about it so that no one shall escape us."
"I have been hostler at the Folly," said a red-headed fellow with a hang-dog look, advancing as he spoke; "there is a breach on the north side of the wall through which I used to slip every night to join my sweetheart Peg, who was maid at the Nell Gwynne. If it be your will, I will conduct you."