CHAPTER XVII. Foo-foo the First.
Miles Hendon hurried along toward the Southwark end of the bridge,keeping a sharp look-out for the persons he sought, and hoping andexpecting to overtake them presently. ?He was disappointed in this,however. ?By asking questions, he was enabled to track them part of theway through Southwark; then all traces ceased, and he was perplexed asto how to proceed. ?Still, he continued his efforts as best hecould during the rest of the day. ?Nightfall found him leg-weary,half-famished, and his desire as far from accomplishment as ever; sohe supped at the Tabard Inn and went to bed, resolved to make an earlystart in the morning, and give the town an exhaustive search. ?As he laythinking and planning, he presently began to reason thus: ?The boy wouldescape from the ruffian, his reputed father, if possible; would he goback to London and seek his former haunts? ?No, he would not do that,he would avoid recapture. What, then, would he do? ?Never having had afriend in the world, or a protector, until he met Miles Hendon, he wouldnaturally try to find that friend again, provided the effort did notrequire him to go toward London and danger. ?He would strike for HendonHall, that is what he would do, for he knew Hendon was homeward boundand there he might expect to find him. ?Yes, the case was plain toHendon--he must lose no more time in Southwark, but move at once throughKent, toward Monk's Holm, searching the wood and inquiring as he went.?Let us return to the vanished little King now.
The ruffian whom the waiter at the inn on the bridge saw 'about to join'the youth and the King did not exactly join them, but fell in closebehind them and followed their steps. ?He said nothing. His left arm wasin a sling, and he wore a large green patch over his left eye; he limpedslightly, and used an oaken staff as a support. ?The youth led the Kinga crooked course through Southwark, and by-and-by struck into thehigh road beyond. ?The King was irritated, now, and said he would stophere--it was Hendon's place to come to him, not his to go to Hendon. ?Hewould not endure such insolence; he would stop where he was. ?The youthsaid--
"Thou'lt tarry here, and thy friend lying wounded in the wood yonder??So be it, then."
The King's manner changed at once. ?He cried out--
"Wounded? ?And who hath dared to do it? ?But that is apart; lead on,lead on! ?Faster, sirrah! ?Art shod with lead? ?Wounded, is he? ?Nowthough the doer of it be a duke's son he shall rue it!"
It was some distance to the wood, but the space was speedily traversed.The youth looked about him, discovered a bough sticking in the ground,with a small bit of rag tied to it, then led the way into the forest,watching for similar boughs and finding them at intervals; they wereevidently guides to the point he was aiming at. ?By-and-by an open placewas reached, where were the charred remains of a farm-house, and nearthem a barn which was falling to ruin and decay. ?There was no sign oflife anywhere, and utter silence prevailed. ?The youth entered the barn,the King following eagerly upon his heels. ?No one there! The King shota surprised and suspicious glance at the youth, and asked--
"Where is he?"
A mocking laugh was his answer. ?The King was in a rage in a moment; heseized a billet of wood and was in the act of charging upon the youthwhen another mocking laugh fell upon his ear. ?It was from the lameruffian who had been following at a distance. The King turned and saidangrily--
"Who art thou? ?What is thy business here?"
"Leave thy foolery," said the man, "and quiet thyself. ?My disguise isnone so good that thou canst pretend thou knowest not thy father throughit."
"Thou art not my father. ?I know thee not. ?I am the King. ?If thou hasthid my servant, find him for me, or thou shalt sup sorrow for what thouhast done."
John Canty replied, in a stern and measured voice--
"It is plain thou art mad, and I am loath to punish thee; ?but if thouprovoke me, I must. ?Thy prating doth no harm here, where there areno ears that need to mind thy follies; yet it is well to practise thytongue to wary speech, that it may do no hurt when our quarters change.?I have done a murder, and may not tarry at home--neither shalt thou,seeing I need thy service. ?My name is changed, for wise reasons; it isHobbs--John Hobbs; thine is Jack--charge thy memory accordingly. ?Now,then, speak. ?Where is thy mother? ?Where are thy sisters? ?They camenot to the place appointed--knowest thou whither they went?"
The King answered sullenly--
"Trouble me not with these riddles. ?My mother is dead; my sisters arein the palace."
The youth near by burst into a derisive laugh, and the King would haveassaulted him, but Canty--or Hobbs, as he now called himself--preventedhim, and said--
"Peace, Hugo, vex him not; his mind is astray, and thy ways fret him.Sit thee down, Jack, and quiet thyself; thou shalt have a morsel to eat,anon."
Hobbs and Hugo fell to talking together, in low voices, and the Kingremoved himself as far as he could from their disagreeable company.?He withdrew into the twilight of the farther end of the barn, wherehe found the earthen floor bedded a foot deep with straw. ?He lay downhere, drew straw over himself in lieu of blankets, and was soon absorbedin thinking. ?He had many griefs, but the minor ones were swept almostinto forgetfulness by the supreme one, the loss of his father. ?Tothe rest of the world the name of Henry VIII. brought a shiver, andsuggested an ogre whose nostrils breathed destruction and whose handdealt scourgings and death; but to this boy the name brought onlysensations of pleasure; the figure it invoked wore a countenance thatwas all gentleness and affection. ?He called to mind a long successionof loving passages between his father and himself, and dwelt fondly uponthem, his unstinted tears attesting how deep and real was the grief thatpossessed his heart. As the afternoon wasted away, the lad, wearied withhis troubles, sank gradually into a tranquil and healing slumber.
After a considerable time--he could not tell how long--his sensesstruggled to a half-consciousness, and as he lay with closed eyesvaguely wondering where he was and what had been happening, he noted amurmurous sound, the sullen beating of rain upon the roof. A snug senseof comfort stole over him, which was rudely broken, the next moment,by a chorus of piping cackles and coarse laughter. ?It startled himdisagreeably, and he unmuffled his head to see whence this interruptionproceeded. ?A grim and unsightly picture met his eye. ?A bright fire wasburning in the middle of the floor, at the other end of the barn; andaround it, and lit weirdly up by the red glare, lolled and sprawled themotliest company of tattered gutter-scum and ruffians, of both sexes, hehad ever read or dreamed of. ?There were huge stalwart men, brownwith exposure, long-haired, and clothed in fantastic rags; there weremiddle-sized youths, of truculent countenance, and similarly clad; therewere blind mendicants, with patched or bandaged eyes; crippled ones,with wooden legs and crutches; diseased ones, with running sores peepingfrom ineffectual wrappings; there was a villain-looking pedlar withhis pack; a knife-grinder, a tinker, and a barber-surgeon, with theimplements of their trades; some of the females were hardly-grown girls,some were at prime, some were old and wrinkled hags, and all were loud,brazen, foul-mouthed; and all soiled and slatternly; there were threesore-faced babies; there were a couple of starveling curs, with stringsabout their necks, whose office was to lead the blind.
The night was come, the gang had just finished feasting, an orgy wasbeginning; the can of liquor was passing from mouth to mouth. A generalcry broke forth--
"A song! a song from the Bat and Dick and Dot-and-go-One!"
One of the blind men got up, and made ready by casting aside the patchesthat sheltered his excellent eyes, and the pathetic placard whichrecited the cause of his calamity. ?Dot-and-go-One disencumbered himselfof his timber leg and took his place, upon sound and healthy limbs,beside his fellow-rascal; then they roared out a rollicking ditty,and were reinforced by the whole crew, at the end of each stanza, ina rousing chorus. ?By the time the last stanza was reached, thehalf-drunken enthusiasm had risen to such a pitch, that everybody joinedin and sang it clear through from the beginning, producing a volume ofvillainous sound that made the rafters quake. ?These were the inspiringwords:--
'Bien Darkman's then, Bouse
Mort and Ken, The bien Coves bings awast, OnChates to trine by Rome Coves dine For his long lib at last. Bing'd outbien Morts and toure, and toure, Bing out of the Rome vile bine, Andtoure the Cove that cloy'd your duds, Upon the Chates to trine.'
(From'The English Rogue.' London, 1665.)
Conversation followed; not in the thieves' dialect of the song, for thatwas only used in talk when unfriendly ears might be listening. ?In thecourse of it, it appeared that 'John Hobbs' was not altogether a newrecruit, but had trained in the gang at some former time. ?His laterhistory was called for, and when he said he had 'accidentally' killed aman, considerable satisfaction was expressed; when he added that theman was a priest, he was roundly applauded, and had to take a drink witheverybody. ?Old acquaintances welcomed him joyously, and new ones wereproud to shake him by the hand. ?He was asked why he had 'tarried awayso many months.' ?He answered--
"London is better than the country, and safer, these late years, thelaws be so bitter and so diligently enforced. ?An' I had not had thataccident, I had stayed there. ?I had resolved to stay, and never moreventure country-wards--but the accident has ended that."
He inquired how many persons the gang numbered now. ?The 'ruffler,' orchief, answered--
"Five and twenty sturdy budges, bulks, files, clapperdogeons andmaunders, counting the dells and doxies and other morts. {7} ?Most arehere, the rest are wandering eastward, along the winter lay. We followat dawn."
"I do not see the Wen among the honest folk about me. ?Where may he be?"
"Poor lad, his diet is brimstone, now, and over hot for a delicatetaste. He was killed in a brawl, somewhere about midsummer."
"I sorrow to hear that; the Wen was a capable man, and brave."
"That was he, truly. ?Black Bess, his dell, is of us yet, but absent onthe eastward tramp; a fine lass, of nice ways and orderly conduct, noneever seeing her drunk above four days in the seven."
"She was ever strict--I remember it well--a goodly wench and worthyall commendation. ?Her mother was more free and less particular; atroublesome and ugly-tempered beldame, but furnished with a wit abovethe common."
"We lost her through it. ?Her gift of palmistry and other sorts offortune-telling begot for her at last a witch's name and fame. Thelaw roasted her to death at a slow fire. ?It did touch me to a sort oftenderness to see the gallant way she met her lot--cursing and revilingall the crowd that gaped and gazed around her, whilst the flames lickedupward toward her face and catched her thin locks and crackled abouther old gray head--cursing them! why an' thou should'st live a thousandyears thoud'st never hear so masterful a cursing. ?Alack, her art diedwith her. ?There be base and weakling imitations left, but no trueblasphemy."
The Ruffler sighed; the listeners sighed in sympathy; a generaldepression fell upon the company for a moment, for even hardenedoutcasts like these are not wholly dead to sentiment, but are able tofeel a fleeting sense of loss and affliction at wide intervals andunder peculiarly favouring circumstances--as in cases like to this, forinstance, when genius and culture depart and leave no heir. ?However, adeep drink all round soon restored the spirits of the mourners.
"Have any others of our friends fared hardly?" asked Hobbs.
"Some--yes. ?Particularly new comers--such as small husbandmen turnedshiftless and hungry upon the world because their farms were taken fromthem to be changed to sheep ranges. ?They begged, and were whipped atthe cart's tail, naked from the girdle up, till the blood ran; then setin the stocks to be pelted; they begged again, were whipped again, anddeprived of an ear; they begged a third time--poor devils, what elsecould they do?--and were branded on the cheek with a red-hot iron, thensold for slaves; they ran away, were hunted down, and hanged. ?'Tisa brief tale, and quickly told. ?Others of us have fared less hardly.Stand forth, Yokel, Burns, and Hodge--show your adornments!"
These stood up and stripped away some of their rags, exposing theirbacks, criss-crossed with ropy old welts left by the lash; one turnedup his hair and showed the place where a left ear had once been; anothershowed a brand upon his shoulder--the letter V--and a mutilated ear; thethird said--
"I am Yokel, once a farmer and prosperous, with loving wife andkids--now am I somewhat different in estate and calling; and the wifeand kids are gone; mayhap they are in heaven, mayhap in--in the otherplace--but the kindly God be thanked, they bide no more in _England_!?My good old blameless mother strove to earn bread by nursing the sick;one of these died, the doctors knew not how, so my mother was burnt fora witch, whilst my babes looked on and wailed. ?English law!--up,all, with your cups!--now all together and with a cheer!--drink to themerciful English law that delivered _her_ from the English hell! ?Thankyou, mates, one and all. ?I begged, from house to house--I and thewife--bearing with us the hungry kids--but it was crime to be hungry inEngland--so they stripped us and lashed us through three towns. ?Drinkye all again to the merciful English law!--for its lash drank deep of myMary's blood and its blessed deliverance came quick. ?She lies there, inthe potter's field, safe from all harms. ?And the kids--well, whilstthe law lashed me from town to town, they starved. Drink, lads--onlya drop--a drop to the poor kids, that never did any creature harm.?I begged again--begged, for a crust, and got the stocks and lost anear--see, here bides the stump; I begged again, and here is the stumpof the other to keep me minded of it. And still I begged again, and wassold for a slave--here on my cheek under this stain, if I washed it off,ye might see the red S the branding-iron left there! ?A _slave_! ?Doyou understand that word? ?An English _slave_!--that is he that standsbefore ye. ?I have run from my master, and when I am found--the heavycurse of heaven fall on the law of the land that hath commanded it!--Ishall hang!" {1}
A ringing voice came through the murky air--
"Thou shalt _not_!--and this day the end of that law is come!"
All turned, and saw the fantastic figure of the little King approachinghurriedly; as it emerged into the light and was clearly revealed, ageneral explosion of inquiries broke out--
"Who is it? ?_What_ is it? ?Who art thou, manikin?"
The boy stood unconfused in the midst of all those surprised andquestioning eyes, and answered with princely dignity--
"I am Edward, King of England."
A wild burst of laughter followed, partly of derision and partly ofdelight in the excellence of the joke. ?The King was stung. ?He saidsharply--
"Ye mannerless vagrants, is this your recognition of the royal boon Ihave promised?"
He said more, with angry voice and excited gesture, but it was lost ina whirlwind of laughter and mocking exclamations. ?'John Hobbs' madeseveral attempts to make himself heard above the din, and at lastsucceeded--saying--
"Mates, he is my son, a dreamer, a fool, and stark mad--mind him not--hethinketh he _is_ the King."
"I _am_ the King," said Edward, turning toward him, "as thou shalt knowto thy cost, in good time. ?Thou hast confessed a murder--thou shaltswing for it."
"_Thou'lt_ betray me?--_thou_? ?An' I get my hands upon thee--"
"Tut-tut!" said the burley Ruffler, interposing in time to save theKing, and emphasising this service by knocking Hobbs down with his fist,"hast respect for neither Kings _nor_ Rufflers? ?An' thou insult mypresence so again, I'll hang thee up myself." ?Then he said to hisMajesty, "Thou must make no threats against thy mates, lad; and thoumust guard thy tongue from saying evil of them elsewhere. ?_Be king_, ifit please thy mad humour, but be not harmful in it. ?Sink the title thouhast uttered--'tis treason; we be bad men in some few trifling ways, butnone among us is so base as to be traitor to his King; we be lovingand loyal hearts, in that regard. ?Note if I speak truth. ?Now--alltogether: ?'Long live Edward, King of England!'"
"LONG LIVE EDWARD, KING OF ENGLAND!"
The response came with such a thundergust from the motley crew that thecrazy building vibrated to the sound. ?The little King's face lightedwith pleasure for an instant, and he slightly inclined his head, andsaid with grave simplicity--
"I thank you, my good people."
&
nbsp; This unexpected result threw the company into convulsions of merriment.When something like quiet was presently come again, the Ruffler said,firmly, but with an accent of good nature--
"Drop it, boy, 'tis not wise, nor well. ?Humour thy fancy, if thou must,but choose some other title."
A tinker shrieked out a suggestion--
"Foo-foo the First, King of the Mooncalves!"
The title 'took,' at once, every throat responded, and a roaring shoutwent up, of--
"Long live Foo-foo the First, King of the Mooncalves!" followed byhootings, cat-calls, and peals of laughter.
"Hale him forth, and crown him!"
"Robe him!"
"Sceptre him!"
"Throne him!"
These and twenty other cries broke out at once! and almost before thepoor little victim could draw a breath he was crowned with a tin basin,robed in a tattered blanket, throned upon a barrel, and sceptred withthe tinker's soldering-iron. ?Then all flung themselves upon theirknees about him and sent up a chorus of ironical wailings, and mockingsupplications, whilst they swabbed their eyes with their soiled andragged sleeves and aprons--
"Be gracious to us, O sweet King!"
"Trample not upon thy beseeching worms, O noble Majesty!"
"Pity thy slaves, and comfort them with a royal kick!"
"Cheer us and warm us with thy gracious rays, O flaming sun ofsovereignty!"
"Sanctify the ground with the touch of thy foot, that we may eat thedirt and be ennobled!"
"Deign to spit upon us, O Sire, that our children's children may tell ofthy princely condescension, and be proud and happy for ever!"
But the humorous tinker made the 'hit' of the evening and carried offthe honours. ?Kneeling, he pretended to kiss the King's foot, and wasindignantly spurned; whereupon he went about begging for a rag to pasteover the place upon his face which had been touched by the foot, sayingit must be preserved from contact with the vulgar air, and that heshould make his fortune by going on the highway and exposing it toview at the rate of a hundred shillings a sight. ?He made himself sokillingly funny that he was the envy and admiration of the whole mangyrabble.
Tears of shame and indignation stood in the little monarch's eyes; andthe thought in his heart was, "Had I offered them a deep wrong theycould not be more cruel--yet have I proffered nought but to do them akindness--and it is thus they use me for it!"