Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1902-07-12

fore him, the rebel leader drew no rein nor
waited for the messengers. The tower was
his journeys end, the palace his citadel.
He knew not that a thousand had turned
from him at Hay Hill and the fields. He
knew not that Roy Of Calverton pressed
close upon him, and spoke of victory in
that pursuit.
My Lord of Pembroke waits for them
at Charing, the outlaw said, urging on
ward to the gate; I'VE shall not miss that
play, comradesi Nay, my heart is heavy
for these poor devils and their sorry mas
querade Such is the gulf that lies between
the end and the ambition. Many pay when
traitor bays. God knows they shall be
charged a good account presently
He had sheathed his sword at this time
and none that rode with him remembered
his arms. Those poor devils by the road
side, some trembling with their fears, some
fallen for very weakness, some believing
death to be their neighbor, what judges
part should Sherwoods men play in such
jouse. Homeless outcasts, what conspiracy
could these beggars contrive? Ay, death
would claim them soon enough-death and
the prison and the gibbet. Let them cherish
what grace the day should give them, Roy
said; at Charing he should see finer sight.
IF my Lord of Pembroke be yet out of
petticoats he hath this Wyatt, surely.
Nevertheless l mistrust him, comrades.
There is a mans work to do in London;
belize our hands shall be needed therei"
He pressed on at canter upon the main
high road as though the echo of the dis
being come to Charing, he asked vainly for
tidings of my lords men. The din of riot
was not here. Such rebels as Jagged hug
ged bloody wounds or lay moaning at the
gates of the mobiles houses. The village
itself walked with gossipers. You had
counted hundred about the cross who told
in wonder their story of the march. To
these ever and anon a single horseman,
flying as from pursuit, gave assurance of
WAITS victory, or was named a boaster
by one that followed him. Maids watched
from the windows of the houses or carried
water to the wretched laggards who craved
for Gods sake. Bells were still tolling in
the Minister Church; cannon were heard
from London Bridge. But go a hundred
PAGES to the fields and all is of the common
day again. Men work cOntentedly in pleas
with their market burden; friend speaks to
friend of sale and barter; the children run
to the schoolhouse unfearingly.
Roy passed through Charing with q sure
hand upon his bride, and being assured
that the need of him lay eastward, he set
his men for Ludgate and the Hill at Pauls
God knows what shall befall if fear Of
this Wyatt hath opened the gates" he
said; Il would as leave count upon yon old
woman's prattle as upon my Lord of Penn
broke's wisdom, Let Wyatt pass in and
all may yet be undone! There is magic of
a name which sheaths the stoutest sword
I Press on, friends, lest the play be done ere
We see the groundlings"'
! He gave a ready example to them, and
IiiOSe lHdl TOue dItef MIN would draw
again and go with naked swords in their
hands Every step now is toward the heart
| of the riot 70 that discordant music they
| play by Pauls and the hill. Grooms and
! serving men at the doors of the great
| houses in the Strand cry Hasten, hasten
1 for Gods sake"' Men, showing their hurts,
| stumble and fall by wall and archway;
| they leave bloody tracks behind them Ap-
prentices who bawl The gate is down.,
| The gate is down. swarm about the horse
men and jeer their hardness. AS the scene
| is approached. the Bar by Temple and
| thence to Fleet street, the shouts become
| more discordant, the riot more distinctly
to be heard, the fortunes of the day more
| truly to be read. For here is great press
| OF people, leaping and contending, that
! they may not miss the spectacle. Every
! lattice shows its array of anxious faces;
| the very roofs are peopled by the doubling
! citizens. Lend ear. and above that brawl-
ing uproar you shall not mistake the voice
| more resonant of the angry mob that cries
so valiantly, "A Wyatt! A Wyattw Battle
| RACES in truth, the din of conflict the ii
mate encounter. INDUSTRIOUS bludgeons beat
| upon the iron of the gates: every arauebus
| belcheS its vomit of lingering smoke. There
| are arrows flying in the air. great stones
| hurled. scythes waved as banners, pixies
| shiyered against the unyielding barriers.
| The chief rebel himself, beating at the por-
tai. calls loudly:
I Il am Wyatt; the queen has granted all
my petitionsr'
| But none of those who serve the gate
| lays down his arms, none cries welcome
In lull OF the storm mark the voice of