CHAPTER XVII.
DIRE THINGS BEFALL IN THE FOREST.
"'Mistress, it grows somewhat pretty and dark.' 'What then?' 'Nay, nothing. Do not think I am afraid, Although perhaps you are.'"--_Beggars' Bush._
The two large boats were not alone upon the river. Here and there, inthe distance, moved the tiny lights of a wherry carrying a benightedfare; and up toward the palaces and Westminster more than one clusterof lanterns and torches swept along, where some party of ladies andgentlemen were rowed to a mask or other revels. From one such companythe western breeze brought the strains of guitars; Bill Tooby and hiscomrades, infected with the spirit of melody, began to sing "Heaveand ho, rumbelow," in deep voices, in time with the movement of theirbodies.
Along the northern bank of the river, where the dwellings andwarehouses of merchants rose like a wall from the water's edge, the dimlights of windows ran in a straggling, interrupted line. Farther west,where the river washed the stairs to the gardens of the great Strandresidences and of the Temple, there were scarce any lights at all. Onthe south bank, a few glowing windows marked the row of taverns andother houses--many of them of questionable repute--which, set back alittle from the river, concealed the bear-gardens and playhouses in thefields behind. But soon, as the boat sped down-stream, the buildings onthat bank were flush with the shore, save where Winchester House showeda few lighted windows beyond its terrace. Little did Millicent imaginethat anything bearing upon her destiny had ever been spoken or thoughton that terrace or in that house. In front, spanning the river, anotherirregular row of window lights indicated the tall, close-built housesof London Bridge; and the roar of the water, first dammed by the piersand then falling in a kind of cataract through the twenty arches, wasalready loud in the ears.
Millicent kept her eyes on the lights of the boat behind,--only twolights, a lantern at the prow, and a torch held by some one nearthe stern. They came steadily on, seeming neither to lose nor gain.Suddenly she lost sense of them; but that was when her own boat plungedinto one of the arches of the bridge, and seemed to be gulped downby a blacker night, a chill air, and a thunderous noise. Forward andslightly downward the boat flung itself, as if into some gulf of theunderworld, but all of a sudden it was out again in the soft air andthe calm water, and Millicent, looking up, saw the lit windows of theeastern side of the bridge. She continued gazing back, and very soonthe two lights, the little yellow one and the trailing red one, cameinto view between the piers, still in pursuit at the same distance.
"They don't gain upon us," growled Cutting Tom, with a desire of makinghimself agreeable to the maid.
"But they do not lose," said Millicent, in a troubled tone.
"Why, sooth, an they still gain not, 'tis sure they'll ne'er catch us."
"But they can see where we land," said she, "and they can land there,too, and so follow us to the end."
"Then we can e'en teach 'em better manners," said Tom, grandly. "I'd aslief split a throat this night as another."
"Oh, no; in heaven's name, no!" she cried. "We must escape them withoutthat. No blows, I beg of you, whate'er befall!"
"Yet you see how they stick to our heels. How is it, waterman? Shall wenot give 'em the slip soon?"
"Belike, and belike not," replied Tooby. "We can do our best, no more."
Suddenly Master Holyday, thinking in some manner to redeem himself, hadan inspiration.
"How if they couldn't see to follow us?" he asked, abruptly. "How if weput out our lights and went on in the dark?"
"Not for ten pound a minute," said Tooby, "would I row without lights,a night like this. 'Tis bad enow as it is, with all the ships and smallboats lying in the Pool here. E'en with our lanterns, we shall do wellan we bump not our nose."
There was a silence, broken only by the plash of the oars, the creak ofthe rowlocks, the strange noises of the river, the lessening sound ofwhat an obscure dramatist of those days describes as
"The bridge's cataracts, and such-like murmurs As night and sleep yield from a populous number."
"But I will e'en try something better," added Tooby, presently, andforthwith gave an inaudible order to his men.
They instantly stopped rowing, and even proceeded to stay the boat'smovement with the current, so that it remained almost stationary.
Millicent cried out in alarm as the lights behind came rapidly nearer.
"Peace, mistress," said Tooby. "There will be no blood spilled." Hethen spoke in a low tone to the men in the bow, and himself strode tothe stern, where he stood with his long arms slightly crooked at theelbows as if to be in readiness for action.
Swiftly the other boat came alongside. Millicent, holding her breath,wondering what was about to occur, made out her father bending forwardin the attitude of one ready to grasp and punish. The torch revealedSir Peregrine also, limply huddled up so that his beard was between hisknees, and two of the apprentices, one of whom held the torch.
"Ay, thou dost well to yield, wench!" spake the goldsmith, in tones sowrathful as rather to contradict his words.
"Ay, chick," called out Sir Peregrine, reassuringly, "no need to runaway from me; I'll give thee no cause for jealousy, I promise thee."
Master Etheridge stood up to reach out for his daughter. She had afearful thought that Tooby had chosen to betray her. But at the sameinstant Tooby, leaning over to the other boat, violently struck thetorch-bearing apprentice's hand, and deftly caught the torch away.She heard a slight crash forward; and then her own boat shot throughthe water, leaving the other in complete darkness, one of Tooby's menhaving knocked the lantern from its prow with an oar.
Millicent gave a quick breath of relief and put on her cloak; but thenshe thought of the other boat's danger of running into something, or ofbeing run down itself, and of this she spoke.
"Never fear," said Tooby. "He'll no more venture in the dark than Iwould. We'll fast put yon ship's hull 'twixt them and us, and be out oftheir ken ere ever they can get a light. And now pull, hearts, for thehonour of watermen!"
Soon the lights on the left bank, becoming fewer, took such height andshape that Millicent knew her boat was passing the Tower. Somewherethere the water plashed against the underground stairs of Traitors'Gate, that arched cavern which had lifted its iron door often in nightsas dark as this, to admit some noble prisoner whose face, redly palein the torchlight, betokened a heart chilled with a feeling that thosedamp walls formed a vestibule of death. Master Holyday, for all thatwas upon his mind, thought of these things, and of much else in thenight-clad surroundings; but Millicent kept her eyes fixed on thedarkness behind, alert for any moving light that might appear in chase.
None such appeared; and by the time the boat had traversed the city ofgreat ships, and had come to where the lights upon the banks were few,and the mysterious noises of the town had given place to those of thecountry, she had cast away all fear of danger from behind.
At Deptford they passed one ship, of which Millicent took no more notethan she took of any other of the countless vessels whose lights dottedthe gloom around her that night; but on which she might have bestoweda second look had she known all that was to be known.
The tide, the current, and the wind being with the rowers, it seemednot long till Tooby hinted that Master Holyday would do well to keephis eyes open for the place of landing. The scholar, scanning theblue-black darkness in perplexity, said that he could not for hislife see anything of the shore. Tooby asked him whether he knew thedifferent landmarks by name. The scholar was acquainted with those inthe neighbourhood of where they should land. Thenceforth the watermancalled out the name of each village, wharf, riverside tavern, hill,tributary, or well-known country-seat, the contents of the darknessbeing known to him perhaps by his sense of distance, perhaps byreference to some far-off light, perhaps sometimes by the smell ofmarsh or wood. Holyday began to recognise the names; and at last toldthe waterman to put ashore at the mouth of a certain creek.
The boat glided along a low bank and stopped. Tooby, standin
g up, heldout his lantern to show where there was safe footing. Master Holyday,leaping out too hastily, alighted up to his knees in water. Millicent,aided by the waterman's hand, stepped ashore. Cutting Tom and his menlost no time. Ere it seemed possible, the lights of the boat weremoving swiftly away. Its departure, and especially that of Tooby,left Millicent with a sudden pang of loneliness and misgiving. But shereflected that the last stage of her flight was reached; taking newheart, she grasped Holyday's sleeve, and waited to be led.
The party had two lanterns and a torch, all which had been lighted inthe boat. Cutting Tom assigned one lantern to Holyday, the other to theslim fellow with the projecting head, the torch to himself. The poet,with a deep sigh, and craning his neck to peer into the mysteriousblackness beyond the little area of feeble light, started forward;Millicent clung to his elbow; Cutting Tom placed himself at her otherside, and the four men followed close.
The walkers proceeded slowly, Master Holyday having often to stop toascertain his way. At first the turf under them was springy, then itbecame softer, and sometimes one's foot would sink into a tiny pool;then the ground became higher, and presently they entered a wood. Thisseemed interminable; not only was poor Master Holyday compelled topause every minute to identify his whereabouts but also the protrudingroots, fallen boughs, and frequent underbrush made every step a matterof care.
As they moved their torch and lanterns, so the light and shadowconstantly moved about them; trunks and boughs, bush and brake, wouldsuddenly appear and as quickly vanish as the yellow rays swung hereand there. The breeze rustled unceasingly among the leaves, and the airwas pleasant with forest odours. Millicent's fancy peopled the shadeswith sleeping giants, goblins, witches, dragons, and all the creaturesof the old tales of fairies and knights errant. She thought a similarterror must have come upon the others; her companion hesitated so whenhe strove to pierce the shadows with wide-open eyes; and Cutting Tomkept so close to her; while one of the men had stepped up to the otherside of Holyday and tightly grasped his arm.
"'Tis a weary journey, mistress," complained the poet.
"Nay, I find it pleasant sport," said she, feeling that one of thetwo must show a light heart. Holyday's manner all evening had been soat variance with his readiness to fight a dangerous man some hoursearlier, that she made no attempt to understand the alteration; shemerely attended to the need of keeping up his spirits, though her ownheart faltered. But she could not help adding: "Is there much more ofthis wood to go through?"
"More than I wish there were," replied Holyday.
They went some distance farther in silence. Then the slim fellow witha lantern suddenly gave two coughs. Instantly Cutting Tom grippedMillicent's arm, stood still, and said to Holyday:
"A plague on your eyes, sir! you are leading us the wrong way."
Holyday, stopping perforce with all the rest, replied, in amazement:"'Tis the right way; I have come by this path to fish in the Thames ahundred times."
"Poh! fish me no fish, sir!" cried Cutting Tom, while the slimlantern-bearer strode around to the front. "Am I to be led astray, andthis maid here, for your designs? You have dragged us too long throughthis cursed wood--and that's the hell of it!"
"'Tis the right way, I tell you," said Holyday; "and how can you sayotherwise, when you know not whither we are bound?"
"But I do know whither we are bound--and that's the hell of it!"
"I begin to think you are an impudent fellow," quoth Holyday,momentarily reckless through loss of patience; "and _that's_ the hellof it, in your Bedlam gibberish!"
"Death!" bellowed Cutting Tom; "'hell of it' belongs to me; no man inEngland dare steal my speech!"
He handed his torch to one of the men, ran at the scholar, dealt hima blow between the eyes, seized his lantern, and dragged Millicentaway, motioning the slim knave to lead on. The knave took a directionleftward from their former one.
"What mean you?" cried the maid, trying to release herself. "I'll notleave Master Holyday."
One of the men caught her by the free arm, and she was borne away byhim and Cutting Tom. Glancing back, she saw that the two remaining men,one of whom had quickly stuck the torch in the ground, were grapplingwith Holyday, who was struggling between them.
"In God's name, what would you do?" Millicent cried, as her captorshastened on at the heels of the new guide.
The men vouchsafed no answer. After a little while, at a word fromCutting Tom, they stopped and waited. Tom gave a whistle, which wasanswered from the direction whence they had last come,--evidentlyby one of the men who had remained with Holyday. Being at intervalsrepeated, and answered at lessening distances, the whistle proved to befor the purpose of guiding these two men. Soon they appeared with thetorch, but without Holyday.
"Oh, heaven! what have you done with him?" cried Millicent, turningcold.
"Only lightened him of these, lady," said one of the twain, indicatinga bundle of clothing under his arm.
"And left him tied safe to a tree, lest he roam about i' the dark anddo himself an injury," quoth the other.
"Come," said Tom, tightening his grasp on the girl's arm. The guidemoved on, and the party made haste through the forest.
"Whither are you taking me?" Millicent asked, tearfully, but got noreply. Wondering and appalled, scarce believing she was herself, oftdoubting the reality of this strange journey, she walked as she wascompelled.
At last they came out of the wood and made their way over a flat,heathy plain. It seemed to Millicent that they had worked back to theneighbourhood of the river. Cutting Tom grew impatient, muttered tohimself, and presently asked: "How far now?"
"'Tis straight before us," said the guide, in a voice muffled as if bythe heavy beard that covered his face.
A narrow rift in the clouds let through a moment's moonlight; Millicenthad a brief vision of lonely country, with a little cluster of gablesahead; then all was blotted out in thicker darkness.
Captain Ravenshaw; Or, The Maid of Cheapside. A Romance of Elizabethan London Page 20
