XIV
Of the Disturbance in Pontefract Marketplace
It can hardly be said that Philip Lisle’s appeal to those gathered together in our barn had met with much success, for of all the men he spoke to, only two had promised to go with him, and both these were men who, however brave, were somewhat of weathercocks, and apt to turn to whatever their humour tempted them at chance times. Not that I would say aught against my dear friend Jack Drumbleforth, who was as brave and valiant as any man could be. But he had a somewhat flyaway disposition, this Jack, and was apt to take sides in a quarrel without knowing much of the matter in dispute. As for Frank Wood, he had done little all his life but make love to the girls and crack jokes with whosoever would talk with him, and he was fond of excitement and adventure. Both, then, went to the war more from a liking of change than from inclination, and neither needed much converting to the King’s side. And yet there were no braver soldiers fought in that quarrel than these two, who showed their natural gallantry many a time, and endured privation and care for the sake of the cause they had espoused.
“I had hoped to take a goodly company from here, Will,” said Philip Lisle, “and yet we have got but two volunteers so far. What do you think—shall I meet with any success in this neighbourhood?”
Now, I could not rightly answer him as to that, for I knew little of the feeling round about us, having rarely spoken to my acquaintance of matters concerning politics, which in my opinion were the natural concern of wise men, and not of humble folk like myself. But it occurred to me that Philip Lisle might easily satisfy himself on the subject by going with me to the market at Pontefract, and there making such inquiries among the people as he thought fit. Which project, when I mentioned it to him, he warmly commended, and promised to put in execution.
“Thou seest, Will,” said he, “his Majesty hath been exceeding gracious to me, who for many a long year carried on the trade of a robber and a highwayman, and thus forfeited my life many a time—though, indeed, I never robbed a poor man in all my life, but only such as could well afford to disburse. I hold here a free pardon, and have also served the King faithfully these many years, and I would fain do something for my master, if only to show my gratitude. For ’tis a poor dog, Will, that does not lick the hand that feeds it. An thou wouldst go with me, Will, I should be content, though I had but ye three.”
“But, sir, what would my mother and Lucy do—and your own daughter, Mistress Rose, too—what would they all do left alone here without protection? And the farm? Jacob is old and he gets feeble, though none dare say so in his presence, and things would go to rack and ruin in my absence.”
“Why,” said he, “we must all risk something when duty calls. As for Rose, she is well used to taking care of herself, though indeed it hath somewhat puzzled me to know how she is to make her way back to Carlisle while I am away from her.”
“That she must not do, sir,” I answered. “Let her abide here with my mother and sister, so that she will have women with her. Maybe things will go on quietly hereabouts.”
“I fear there will be strife round here, Will. Yonder castle will prove a bone of contention. However, Rose shall abide where she is, and she will thank thee herself for thy kindness.”
“Nay, sir, we want no thanks.” Nor did we, for we were only too pleased to have Mistress Rose amongst us. As for me, what with seeing her daily and thinking about her when I did not see her, I was rapidly becoming more interested in Rose Lisle than was well for my peace of mind. Nay, I already looked forward to some occasion when I might perhaps show my devotion for her by protecting her from the dangers which seemed to threaten all of us.
But Ben Tuckett, if he would not go to the wars, was minded to win some glory by showing his valour at home, and it presently turned out that he desired nothing so much as to be the protector and defender of the women in our house, and more especially of my sister Lucy. This much I learnt from him in person the day after the merrymaking, when he was leaving us to go back to his shop in Pontefract.
“I can see, Will,” said he, “that thou wouldst like to travel to the wars, and I wonder not at it. If I were a King’s man like thee, I would go. But I am not. I am for neither—only I wish they may soon get matters settled. But if I were thou, I would go.”
“The women, Ben, the women; and the farm! What is to become of them?”
“Why,” said Benjamin, scratching his head as if a fine idea had suddenly struck him—“why, how should I do as a guardian and a caretaker? ’Od’s rats, I know a good deal about farming, and what I don’t know Jacob Trusty will teach me. And as for taking care of the women, ah, I am a famous hand with quarterstaff and pikestaff, and can strike a blow with anybody.”
“And what of your own affairs, Master Ben—who is to look after them?”
“Why,” said he, “would it not be possible to combine the two, think you, Will? For surely ’tis but a step from Pontefract to Dale’s Field, and I do not see why I could not watch two birds at once. And then, Will, thou couldst go to the wars with a light heart.”
“Why, Ben, thou speakest as if it were a matter of joy to go and fight! Well, I like thy humour. Why, man, bethink thee! As for me, I see naught but sighs and sorrowing, tears and bloodshed for many a year to come.”
“What, do you think it will be as bad as that, Will? God forbid! However, if thou art minded to fight for the King, I will see to thy mother and Lucy, and to Mistress Rose, too. I am not a man of war myself, but I can defend them, I think, to some purpose.”
Now, it was certainly very kind of my old friend, Ben Tuckett, to make me so generous an offer, for there is no doubt that I was powerfully disposed to join the royal forces, being somewhat inclined to war from my boyhood, and having often thought over its glories and adventures as narrated to me by Jacob Trusty, who had a nice store of learning concerning Agincourt and Creçy. Again, there was the example of Jack Drumbleforth to influence me. I liked the idea of fighting shoulder to shoulder with Jack, who had a sure pluck, and would brave it out to the last gasp. In short, I was disposed to go with all my heart, but consideration for domestic matters held me back.
On the following Saturday, Philip Lisle, Jack Drumbleforth, and I rode into Pontefract, intending to see how certain of our acquaintance were disposed towards the Royalist cause. It was somewhat of a perilous thing to do, for the townspeople, taking them as a whole, were on the side of the Parliament, and we ran a risk of suffering some unpleasantness for our zeal. Nevertheless, we determined to do what we could, knowing that there were some at least amongst the men we should meet there who would hear us with favour, and maybe respond to our appeal. What Philip Lisle wanted was men who could turn out equipped and armed with a good horse apiece, likely to stand some wear and tear, and true enough to the Royalist cause to make the quarrel a personal matter.
Now, because it is the centre of a rich agricultural district, the market at Pontefract is always largely attended by the neighbouring farmers, so that on market or fair days there are several hundred people scattered together in the marketplace. There they meet and collect in groups, selling or buying various commodities of their trade, or talking together over subjects connected therewith. And in one part of the market swine are sold, and in another corn, and in a third cattle, so that certain streets and alleys are called Pig Market, Beast Fair, Corn Market, and so forth. In the centre of the Marketplace, and right against the church of St. Giles, stands the Butter Cross, round which the country wives congregate to sell their butter and eggs, and where there is a continual stream of chatter and gossip going on all day. A busy scene indeed it is on market-day; and as for the inns, they are as busy as the street, and do a good trade without intermission, for their doors are never shut, and the long-settles are always full of thirsty souls.
We had not been long in the town, and, indeed, had only just handed over our horses to the care of the ostler at the inn, when Ben Tuckett, who had returned to his shop on the previous day, caught sight of us in the crowd, and beckoned us to come to him. So we edged our way across the Marketplace at Ben’s shop-door, where he stood looking complacently about him, clad in a white apron, and appearing the very ideal of a prosperous tradesman. Jack laughed loudly at the sight of Ben in his apron, for he looked so consequential and so important that his pride seemed somewhat like that of the turkey. When we drew near him, however, Ben’s look of self-satisfaction changed to one of something like anxiety, and he drew us after him into his parlour, which lay behind the shop, and was out of earshot.
“Well,” said Jack, “thou lookest very mysterious, Master Ben. Art plotting something treasonable, or is there going to be a rise in candles?”
“There may be a rise in heads before long, Jack,” answered Ben, who was never put out nor annoyed. “Hark ye, gentlemen, I have news for you. Since I returned home last night, which, God knows, I did reluctantly enough, being so fond of Dale’s Field that I would—”
“To the point, good Ben, to the point,” said I impatiently.
“Well, then, since I came home, as I said, I have been making some inquiry amongst my fellows as to how folks are feeling in this town. Lads, there is not overmuch good disposition towards the King here. I fear ye will find little encouragement. I went amongst them last night and heard them talk,” said Ben, shaking his head, “and I heard some mighty seditious language, Master Lisle. Star Chamber—Strafford, Laud, Prynne, ship-money, tonnage and poundage—these were the strings continually harped upon. So have a care, gentlemen, what you say here, for I assure you that the burgesses are pretty sore, and would, maybe, give a sorer head to anybody who offended them.”
“That,” said Jack, “is a game which two can play at.”
“What would three of you do against a crowd? And there is a strong party amongst the magistrates who are Parliamentarians to the backbone. So, an I were you, I should keep quiet and leave the King to fight his own battles.”
“You are a man of prudence, Master Tuckett,” said Philip Lisle, with a grim smile on his face, “but an indifferent partisan.”
“That’s true,” said Ben, “I am indifferent, because I care for neither party. As for me, I say, ‘A plague o’ both your houses.’ God send ye ruin not my shop in your quarrels.”
But in spite of Ben’s advice we went away from him still determined to do what we could. Nevertheless, as prudent men, we did not deem it advisable to draw upon us the notice of those who, as Ben said, favoured the Parliament. But we went amongst the crowd as if intent on our business or pleasure, speaking here to one and there to another, always selecting such as I knew to be well-disposed to the King, and doing what we could to induce likely looking fellows to join in with us. And amongst the yeomanry and the farmers, especially the younger men, we found many a man willing enough to join the Royalist army and to find horse and arms, but held back by the same obstacles which held me. There was a wife and child to protect, or an aged mother to care for; there were the farm and stock to manage, and so on. But we had many an expression of goodwill, and many a promise to do the right thing if occasion came that way.
Now, as we moved about amongst the crowd, I noticed that we were watched more than once by old Master Oldthwaite, who, as you will remember, expressed his sentiments somewhat freely at my merrymaking a few nights before. I knew Master Oldthwaite to be a strong partisan of the Parliamentary party, for I had heard him say that no king at all was better than a bad king, and he oft gave utterance to severe gibes and taunts against Laud and the bishops, saying that they were wolves which ate up the sheep, rather than shepherds that took care of their flocks. He was indeed somewhat celebrated in Pontefract for his sentiments, for as he carried on the trade of a corn-dealer in that town, he was often heard in the inn-parlours, where the tradesmen meet to discuss all sorts of matters. Nevertheless, since I and my father before me had had many a transaction with Master Oldthwaite, and always been good friends with him, I did not think he would do me an injury or conspire against any friend of mine. But it would appear that his political sympathies overcame his better feelings, for he took steps which presently resulted in much inconvenience to me and my companions.
It was drawing towards evening, and we three were standing in a quiet corner in the market square, conversing with a knot of young farmers, who were listening with great attention while Philip Lisle talked to them. There were a great many people round about us, and the noise and bustle of the market was as great as ever. Looking round I caught sight of Master Nicholas Pratt, a magistrate of the town, making for us through the crowd, followed in the rear by Master Oldthwaite and several others whom I knew to be stanch Parliamentarians. And then I felt that something was about to happen. In which presentiment I was not wrong, for Master Pratt, coming hastily to us, cried in a rough and insolent tone:
“How now, gentlemen, what do you mean by turning this public market into a recruiting-ground for the King? Do you not know that you are committing a breach of the peace?”
Now, we had all three, and those with us, turned upon him when he first spoke, and we now stared at him with astonishment. He was a large round-bellied man, with impudent manners and much pride, and as he stood swelling over us, I was reminded of our great turkey-cock at home.
“No, sir,” said Philip Lisle, “we do not know that we are breaking the peace.”
“Are you not recruiting for that traitor, Charles Stuart?” shouted the other, getting very red and fiery.
“We are recruiting for his Majesty the King, sir,” answered Philip Lisle, “as we have a right to do.”
“We will not have it in this free town, sir. Get you gone to where you came from. You are not known here. And you, Masters Dale and Drumbleforth, have a care what you do, and do not disgrace yourselves by associating yourselves with adventurers and braggadocios.”
“What, sir!” cried Philip Lisle, laying his hand on his sword, “do you dare to insult one of his Majesty’s officers?”
“Officers, quotha!” shouted a mocking voice from behind the magistrate. “Why, sirs, ’tis Black Phil, the highwayman. Pretty officer! If the King’s officers are of this kidney he must have scoured them from the gaols.”
Now, Philip Lisle was so much enraged at this insult that he instantly drew his sword, and rushed forward to wreak his vengeance on the speaker. This was the signal for an immediate raising of sticks and staves, and Jack and I, nothing loath, got back to back behind Philip Lisle and began to lay about us with energy, so that there was some very pretty fighting went on for the space of five or six minutes. But we were outnumbered by twelve to one, and presently Philip and Jack received such blows that they fell, and I was powerless.
“Carry them into my cellar,” shouted Pratt to his men, “and lock them up there till such time as justice can be done upon them.”
And therewith they haled us across the Marketplace and shoved us into the magistrate’s cellar, and locked us up with our bruises and our reflections, which just then were not at all pleasant.