“Shiver my timbers, but she shall do nothing of the sort!” cried the king. “She shan’t turn her pretty fingers into tobacco stoppers. A hand like this was never made for such work.” And he pressed it gallantly to his lips.
“‘Oons, Will, I was wrong, it seems, in callin’ thee bashful,” observed Tattersall, laughing. “Thou seem’st free and easy enough now, I must say.”
“Well, I declare if it ben’t just like a play!” exclaimed Mrs. Smith, delighted.
“I hope our comedy mayn’t take a serious turn!” exclaimed Colonel Gunter, uneasily. “What’s that?” he added, as the tramping of horses, accompanied by the clattering of arms, was heard in the inn-yard. Cautiously lifting the edge of the curtain, he peeped forth, and immediately afterwards cried out in alarm, “The Iron-sides are upon us! Half a dozen or more of them are in the yard—and some are dismounting. We shall have them here in a moment.”
“Lord, preserve us! What’ll become of the king?” cried the hostess, almost sinking with fright.
“Peace, Joan!” said Charles. “My safety will depend a good deal upon your composure.”
All had started to their feet except the young monarch, who completely maintained his self-possession.
“Sit down all of you,” he said. “Do you, Wilmot, feign to be drunk—sleepily drunk, d’ye understand? Gunter, you must play the Puritan—you can act the part to the life, if you choose. I shall be as drunk as Wilmot—but wide awake.”
At this moment Bonfellow Smith rushed into the room exclaiming, distractedly,
“The troopers are here! the troopers are here! What’s to be done?”
“Be quiet!” rejoined his wife. “Go and see what they are about! We are all prepared for them.”
Overcoming his fright as well as he could, Smith left the room, and presently after ominous sounds were heard without, announcing that sentinels were being posted at the doors of the hostel with orders to shoot any one who might attempt to escape. A stern voice was then heard in the passage, holding a brief colloquy with the host, after which the door was thrown open, and a sergeant of Ironsides, in full accoutrements, with pistols in belt and drawn sword in hand, strode into the room, followed by three others, armed with carabines. Poor Bonfellow Smith did not venture further than the doorway, where he stood a terrified spectator of the scene, his naturally rosy countenance having become as white as his own apron.
Meanwhile, a great change had taken place in the appearance of three of the personages at the table. Lord Wilmot appeared to be fast asleep, with his head upon the board, and Charles, to judge from his looks, was completely overcome by liquor. Never was the appearance of a drunken man better simulated than by the king—head hanging down—eyes half shut, and stupid in expression—limbs wholly unequal to their office, since their owner could apparently neither rise from his chair nor guide the pipe to his lips. Colonel Gunter had put on a black skull-cap and spectacles, and smoothed down his bands. By elongating his features, he managed to give them a decidedly Puritanical expression.
Delves (for he was the sergeant of Ironsides in question) marched towards the group at the table. Colonel Gunter and Tattersall rose at his approach, but the other two remained as we have described them, except that Charles apparently made an effort to get up, and failing totally, seemed to maintain his balance in the chair with difficulty. Delves, though regarding him at first with suspicion, could evidently make nothing of him, but turning his attention to Lord Wilmot, seized him by the shoulder, and shook him lustily. Thus roused, his lordship looked up for a moment with the vacant stare of an intoxicated man, and then laid his head down again.
“Who are these drunken fellows?” demanded Delves of Tattersall.
“Two of my crew,” replied the skipper, “and both, I am sorry to say, the worse for liquor, as you can scarce fail to perceive.”
“It is only too apparent,” replied the sergeant, with a look of infinite disgust. “How art thou named, friend?” he added to the skipper. “Thy calling I can pretty well guess at.”
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