The Prince and the Pauper

Chapter 22

All attempts to make the King serviceable to the troop had failed.

He had stubbornly refused to act; moreover, he was always trying

to escape. He had been thrust into an unwatched kitchen, the

first day of his return; he not only came forth empty-handed, but

tried to rouse the housemates. He was sent out with a tinker to

help him at his work; he would not work; moreover, he threatened

the tinker with his own soldering-iron; and finally both Hugo and

the tinker found their hands full with the mere matter of keeping

his from getting away. He delivered the thunders of his royalty

upon the heads of all who hampered his liberties or tried to force

him to service. He was sent out, in Hugo's charge, in company

with a slatternly woman and a diseased baby, to beg; but the

result was not encouraging--he declined to plead for the

mendicants, or be a party to their cause in any way.

Thus several days went by; and the miseries of this tramping life,

and the weariness and sordidness and meanness and vulgarity of it,

became gradually and steadily so intolerable to the captive that

he began at last to feel that his release from the hermit's knife

must prove only a temporary respite from death, at best.

But at night, in his dreams, these things were forgotten, and he

was on his throne, and master again. This, of course, intensified

the sufferings of the awakening--so the mortifications of each

succeeding morning of the few that passed between his return to

bondage and the combat with Hugo, grew bitterer and bitterer, and

harder and harder to bear.

The morning after that combat, Hugo got up with a heart filled

with vengeful purposes against the King. He had two plans, in

particular. One was to inflict upon the lad what would be, to his

proud spirit and 'imagined' royalty, a peculiar humiliation; and

if he failed to accomplish this, his other plan was to put a crime

of some kind upon the King, and then betray him into the

implacable clutches of the law.

In pursuance of the first plan, he purposed to put a 'clime' upon

the King's leg; rightly judging that that would mortify him to the

last and perfect degree; and as soon as the clime should operate,

he meant to get Canty's help, and FORCE the King to expose his leg

in the highway and beg for alms. 'Clime' was the cant term for a

sore, artificially created. To make a clime, the operator made a

paste or poultice of unslaked lime, soap, and the rust of old

iron, and spread it upon a piece of leather, which was then bound

tightly upon the leg. This would presently fret off the skin, and

make the flesh raw and angry-looking; blood was then rubbed upon

the limb, which, being fully dried, took on a dark and repulsive

colour. Then a bandage of soiled rags was put on in a cleverly

careless way which would allow the hideous ulcer to be seen, and

move the compassion of the passer-by. {8}

Hugo got the help of the tinker whom the King had cowed with the

soldering-iron; they took the boy out on a tinkering tramp, and as

soon as they were out of sight of the camp they threw him down and

the tinker held him while Hugo bound the poultice tight and fast

upon his leg.

The King raged and stormed, and promised to hang the two the

moment the sceptre was in his hand again; but they kept a firm

grip upon him and enjoyed his impotent struggling and jeered at

his threats. This continued until the poultice began to bite; and

in no long time its work would have been perfected, if there had

been no interruption. But there was; for about this time the

'slave' who had made the speech denouncing England's laws,

appeared on the scene, and put an end to the enterprise, and

stripped off the poultice and bandage.

The King wanted to borrow his deliverer's cudgel and warm the

jackets of the two rascals on the spot; but the man said no, it

would bring trouble--leave the matter till night; the whole tribe

being together, then, the outside world would not venture to

interfere or interrupt. He marched the party back to camp and

reported the affair to the Ruffler, who listened, pondered, and

then decided that the King should not be again detailed to beg,

since it was plain he was worthy of something higher and better--

wherefore, on the spot he promoted him from the mendicant rank and

appointed him to steal!

Hugo was overjoyed. He had already tried to make the King steal,

and failed; but there would be no more trouble of that sort, now,

for of course the King would not dream of defying a distinct

command delivered directly from head-quarters. So he planned a

raid for that very afternoon, purposing to get the King in the

law's grip in the course of it; and to do it, too, with such

ingenious strategy, that it should seem to be accidental and

unintentional; for the King of the Game-c***s was popular now, and

the gang might not deal over-gently with an unpopular member who

played so serious a treachery upon him as the delivering him over

to the common enemy, the law.

Very well. All in good time Hugo strolled off to a neighbouring

village with his prey; and the two drifted slowly up and down one

street after another, the one watching sharply for a sure chance

to achieve his evil purpose, and the other watching as sharply for

a chance to dart away and get free of his infamous captivity for

ever.

Both threw away some tolerably fair-looking opportunities; for

both, in their secret hearts, were resolved to make absolutely

sure work this time, and neither meant to allow his fevered

desires to seduce him into any venture that had much uncertainty

about it.

Hugo's chance came first. For at last a woman approached who

carried a fat package of some sort in a basket. Hugo's eyes

sparkled with sinful pleasure as he said to himself, "Breath o' my

life, an' I can but put THAT upon him, 'tis good-den and God keep

thee, King of the Game-c***s!" He waited and watched--outwardly

patient, but inwardly consuming with excitement--till the woman

had passed by, and the time was ripe; then said, in a low voice--

"Tarry here till I come again," and darted stealthily after the

prey.

The King's heart was filled with joy--he could make his escape,

now, if Hugo's quest only carried him far enough away.

But he was to have no such luck. Hugo crept behind the woman,

snatched the package, and came running back, wrapping it in an old

piece of blanket which he carried on his arm. The hue and cry was

raised in a moment, by the woman, who knew her loss by the

lightening of her burden, although she had not seen the pilfering

done. Hugo thrust the bundle into the King's hands without

halting, saying--

"Now speed ye after me with the rest, and cry 'Stop thief!' but

mind ye lead them astray!"

The next moment Hugo turned a corner and darted down a crooked

alley--and in another moment or two he lounged into view again,

looking innocent and indifferent, and took up a position behind a

post to watch results.

The insulted King threw the bundle on the ground; and the blanket

fell away from it just as the woman arrived, with an augmenting

crowd at her heels; she seized the King's wrist with one hand,

snatched up her bundle with the other, and began to pour out a

tirade of abuse upon the boy while he struggled, without success,

to free himself from her grip.

Hugo had seen enough--his enemy was captured and the law would get

him, now--so he slipped away, jubilant and chuckling, and wended

campwards, framing a judicious version of the matter to give to

the Ruffler's crew as he strode along.

The King continued to struggle in the woman's strong grasp, and

now and then cried out in vexation--

"Unhand me, thou foolish creature; it was not I that bereaved thee

of thy paltry goods."

The crowd closed around, threatening the King and calling him

names; a brawny blacksmith in leather apron, and sleeves rolled to

his elbows, made a reach for him, saying he would trounce him

well, for a lesson; but just then a long sword flashed in the air

and fell with convincing force upon the man's arm, flat side down,

the fantastic owner of it remarking pleasantly, at the same time--

"Marry, good souls, let us proceed gently, not with ill blood and

uncharitable words. This is matter for the law's consideration,

not private and unofficial handling. Loose thy hold from the boy,

goodwife."

The blacksmith averaged the stalwart soldier with a glance, then

went muttering away, rubbing his arm; the woman released the boy's

wrist reluctantly; the crowd eyed the stranger unlovingly, but

prudently closed their mouths. The King sprang to his deliverer's

side, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, exclaiming--

"Thou hast lagged sorely, but thou comest in good season, now, Sir

Miles; carve me this rabble to rags!"