In that, perhaps, although his intention was excellent, he was not wise. The players, including Gervase and the falconer, mustered nine men in all, against seven men and four women. To be sure, one of the intruders was sorely disabled and would require the careful tendance of his friends if he was to be brought securely away. But, in the matter of arms, the advantage was with the players, inasmuch that most of them were provided with swords, and they had only to fear one undischarged fowling-piece and divers staves and short daggers.
Gervase now took command of affairs. He approached his uncle’s steward coolly enough, for all that the man preserved a very threatening attitude with his weapon pointed ominously at the players.
“Put it up, you curst fool!” said Gervase, roundly. “Haven’t you done mischief enough already?”
“Not half the mischief you have done, sir,” said the man. “Come not an inch nearer or I——”
Before the steward could complete his threat or carry it into effect, Gervase suddenly struck up his arm. The piece went off with a tremendous report. This time, happily, its contents were discharged into the air.
In the midst of the smoke and the general confusion, Gervase flung himself upon the steward and, with the strength and the address of youth, soon wrenched the clumsy weapon from his hands. Then, with a blow on the head from the butt of the weapon, he laid the man insensible.
“Through the window, my friends,” he cried to his comrades. “Let us get out of this while we have the chance.”
Gervase had now become the leader of the players—for a time at least. Already he had shown that faculty of quick initiative which belongs to the man of action. The others obeyed him instinctively. His swift decision, and the manner in which his deed leaped with his thought, showed them clearly enough that they would do well to follow him.
Burbage was first through the window. He was a powerful and active man. He lifted out Parflete bodily and then, hoisting him on his broad shoulders, began to run with him in the direction of the horses which were tethered in the lane. It was well that the wounded actor was very light of weight.
Meanwhile, the others were rendering a pretty good account of themselves. A general mêlée had ensued, in which blows were given freely and given as freely again. And in all this, Gervase was foremost. Many shrewd knocks he delivered with the butt of his weapon, and one of these undoubtedly saved Shakespeare a broken head. John Markham, the falconer, also did considerable execution with the flat of his short sword.