Meantime the host of the Inn, continued to annoy the men with his wit. In the most serious voice he would exclaim “He is here;” when all instantly rushed to the place where he pointed. “Tarry but a moment till I bring a light—my nose does not shine as a torch to-night.” He then procured a light, and, as he hurried amongst them, was sure to bring it into a disagreeable proximity with some faces, and all that the light could fall upon, was a broken pot, into which the host peered most anxiously. “Can he be there? I fancy that I should not remain in it long.”
After many similar tricks, he went to a black cupboard, at the further end of a small room adjoining, and asked them to inspect it also. “Can the rebel,” he said, “lurk in the butter?”
From experience, this they thought to be a sufficient reason why they should not search there.
“Unwieldy bull of Bashan!” exclaimed one of the soldiers; “keep within thine own enclosures—a prisoner of hope! The avenger may be nigh!”
“Ha! ha!” retorted the landlord, “where is he? Thankee, friend, for pointing him out. He will, indeed, avenge my thirst!” and he seized upon a bottle of ale, which stood solitary upon a shelf. “The rogue’s a bachelor, friends;—he stood alone; and he is so cross, that he may well be called ‘cut-throat!’”
After an hour’s search, towards the end of which the landlord had contrived, first to lull his tongue asleep, and then himself, the knight commanded the soldiers to desist. They awoke the host, who, starting to his feet, after a difficult balancing of himself, looked eagerly around.
“Where is the earl?”—and as he spoke, he approached one of the men, and bringing a light to bear rather closely upon the grave countenance of the roundhead,—“is this his lordship? take the rebel from my house,” and he gave a hearty kick, so far as his heart could reach, down to his foot. It was in vain to resent the blow, for the humour of mine host had altogether disarmed them.
But we choose to pass over the details of their unsuccess, not being desirous that the mournful remembrance connected with the young and the ill-fated characters of the Legend should be obliterated from the mind of the reader.
The tyro in Lancashire history knows well, that in that very cupboard to which the landlord pointed, the earl was concealed; and that early in the morning he left the Dog Inn, leaving behind him, as a small token of gratitude for the shelter he had received, a part of his armour.