Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 98 — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a A LY NT EE SNS he had sustained in Sherwood Forest. As the sun rose, Allan-a-dale, dressed as a begging friar, knocked at the abbey wicket. CHAPTER XIII. THE EXECUTION. Ir was about three hours past midday in Not- tingham when Sheriff Warman, who had just returned from inspecting the new gallows he had erected in the morning for the accommo- dation of the captive outlaws, was disturbed at his dinner by the announcement that two friars wished access to the prisoners, to give them the last rites of the church. ‘‘Let the dogs die unconfessed,” said War- man, brutally. ‘‘ They have the prison chap- lain, if they will. I want no strange friars about my prisoners. Tell them to come in here. ‘Fore Heaven, I'll answer them soon enough.” A few moments later, the burly big friar and the little slim one who had left Sherwood Forest that very morning, came into the room, looking dusty and tired. ** Well, my masters, what would ye?” asked the sheriff, in a surly tone. ‘** Admittance to shrive the unfortunate men who are to die at sunset,” replied the small friar, in sweet soft tones. ‘You cannot go in,” snapped Warman. “They have the prison chaplain, and they have rejected him with insult. t them die uncon- fessed.” : ‘‘ But it is not the wont of English law to kill body and soul together,” urged the little friar. ‘ Every criminal has a right to choose bis priest, master sheriff.” **Not when J am the master,” retorted War- nian, witha coarse chuckle. ‘‘I say you can- n >t goin—so go out.” And he laughed loudly at his own small wit. Here the tall friar suddenly advanced and ‘s} oke for the first time. * And I say we can go in,” he growled out. ** Look here, master sheriff, is this order good?” As he spoke he displayed, right under the sheriff’s nose, a place of parchment, bearing the signature of Bis iop Gilbert of Hereford, Abbot of Fountain Abbey, Canon of Durham, and a dozen other titles, addressed to the Sheriff of Nottingham, as follows: “In the name of the Blessed St. Dunstan, admit the bearers, Brother Hilary, of the Bernardine Or- der, and Lay-Brother Cyril, probationer of the same order, to shrive the outlaws of Robin Hood's band, condemned to die this evening, ‘GILBERT OF HEREFORD.”’ 09? Py ‘Well, sir sheriff, can we goin now ?” asked the little friar, ina tone of triumph, when the other had finished reading. ° ‘“¢T suppose so,” responded Warman, sullenly. ‘Not thet this is any compulsion in law, mas- ter Cyril, if that be your name; but the bishop isa friend of mine. Therefore goin, and make all the praying you please.” As he spoke, he turned again to his meal, and the two priests, nothing loth, left the room, escorted by one of the sheriff’s men, who led them to the doorof the cell occupied by Little John and Seathelock. As they approached the door, they heard sounds of boisterous revelry within, very much unlike what might be expected of men con- demned to die within three or four hours, and the jailer grinned as he said: “They're right merry fellows, father, but ow’il not be able to bring them to confession. arry, they drove Father Ambrose, our chap- lain, out this morning with their ribald jests, and would hear none of his preaching.” ‘But by St. Dunstan, jan make them hear mine,” growled the big friar, showing an enor- mous fist, ‘‘or ’ll know the reason why. Open the door, friend jailer, and let usin. Before we come out they'll be quiet enough I'll warrant you, or mine arm has forgot its cunning.” The jailer stared respectfully at the big friar, for there is something in size and strength that always inspires a certain amount of awe. Then he opened the door and admitted the two priests to the prisoners, closing it hurriedly again, but notin time to escape a great hunch of bread which Little John sent skimming at his head as soon as the door was opened. There sat the two outlaws, free from their manacles, but unarmed, beside a table spread with bread and cheese, a pasty of wild ducks and two preat jugs of ale, looking the picture of jollity as they roared outa tavern catch at the ge their voices. \ ey did not interrupt their occupation for she entry of the two friars until the chorus was : q Robin Hood. through, when each applied himself to his jug and took a long draught. Then Little John spoke up, good-naturedly enough, but still menacingly, saying: ‘Friars, we want none of ye. If ye value whole skins, be off, for we don’t want to hurt ye, but we do want to be left alone. Begone, ere we get angry with ye.” ‘‘Unhappy man,” began the big friar in a sepulchral tone; “art thou not aware that death—” He said no more, for Little John flipped a yiece of bread with such nice aim that it struck his nose, while Will Scarlet performed the same kindly office for his mouth, Instantly the burly friar turned searlet with anger, and made one great stride forward, With one buffet he sent Will Scarlet flying off his stool into the cell-cor- ner, and in another moment he had dragged Little John off his seat and ran him across the floor. Then, with a sudden heave and trip, he threw the tall outlaw on top of Will Scarlet and threw back his hood, revealing the rubicun visage of Friar Tuck as he shouted; ‘*How now, ye scurvy knaves, will ye lay hands on a minister of Holy Church again?” Little John and Scathelock were used to horse- lay, and took their overthrow in good part, or they both lay and laughed at the sudden sur- rise, Then Little John pointed to the little monk and whispered: ‘**Who’s yonder, friar?’ Maid Marian’s face made its appearance in a moment from under the cowl as she stepped for- ward and saidin a low tone: ‘*Get up and keep up your noise till I give the signal. Ki ht the friar.” he quickwitted outlaws took the hint, and scrambled up, after which they began a mock fight with the friar for the benefit of the jailer outside. They tore round the room shouting, smashed tables, jugs, stools and all, on the stone floor, wrestled at intervals with each other and Tuck; and during the whole excitement the friar continued to bellow at the top of his voice reproofs, exhortations and texts of warning, as if he were expostulating with the obstinute pen- itents. The din soon became deafening, and it seemed as if pandemonium had broken loose in- side the cell. All the while, Maid Marian kept crouched close to the door, listening: and she could hear voices and hurrying steps outside, which told her that they were attracting all the attention they desired. Soon quite a crowd was collected outside and she beckoned to the wrestlers to redouble theif noise, which they cid. Friar Tuck caught up the table by the leg, dishes and all, and shattered it on the stone floor, at a single blow, bellowing: “Aha! Satan, I have thee at last! Get thee behind me! Repent, for death approaches! I am brother Hilary who has converted thousands of murderers. Repent, ye knaves!” ** Never!” shouted Little John, burling the fragments of a stone-ware jug at the grated window of the cell. ‘*No priests! Hurrah for Robin Hood!” Then they picked up the table-legs and began to play quarter-staff therewith, Father Hilary exhorting to repentance between the st rokes, till the table-legs were in splinters and only one heavy stool remained uninjured in the cell. Then Marian heard calls outside: ‘* Open the cell door; the villains will kill the brave monk.” She gave the signal just as the first rusty bolt began to creak in its staples and the outlaws took the bint. Down they both went on their knees, and when the door flew open, there was Father Hilary, with the three-legged stool elevated, bellowing: ‘* Now, ve knaves, will 'ye confess or not?” And Little John’ and Will Scarlet wagged their heads and shivered as they shouted: ‘Yes! Yes, father! We will, we will! We crave pardon!” Then Father Hilary stepped back and waved his hand to the jailer aad the gaping crowd of guards staring in. ‘‘Go away, brethren. The danger is over,” he said, quietly. ‘‘I havetouched the stubborn hearts of these poor sinners at last, and they are willing to listen to the ministrations of our dear brother Cyril here, Leave us alone.” He spoke with such dignity that all retired abashed, and once more the door was closed on them. Maid Marian listened, till she was satis- fied, from the retiring steps, that they were out of earshot; then darted forward to the kneeling men and said in a low tone: ‘¢ from henceforth you must be converted and ? ee o_o. ! ll walk to the gallows among the monks. Remem- ber, help is at hand. Now join me, and sing the Dies Irce.” A moment later they all began to sing the fa- mous medieval hymn, and as they proceeded, the male voices took up so much of the melody that under its cover Marian was enabled to speak her instructions to each of the outlaws, holding her mouth close to his ear. ‘Your irons will be put on, as you leave the prison,” she said, ‘‘but we shall have a key to unlock them, for we have the right as friars to take charge of the prisoners till they are turned over to the hangman. Be ready to run when I give the word, That is all you need know till the time comes.” After that they continued singing aloud in the most unwearied manner, with occasional pauses of low conversation, which the outsiders imagined were for confessional purposes, till the declining sun and the blasts of trumpets in the shop announced that the ¢risis was near at hand. When the rattle of armor in the court-yard heralded the approach of the guards, and Sheriff Warman made his appearance with the death- warrant, the two prisoners looked piously re- signed to their fate, while their spiritual advisers were supporting them on either hand, and all four were singing away lustily. Rakiy sheriff looked sour as he approached them. ‘Stop that crying of cats,” he said, sarcastic- earth aa I have something to read to these vil- ains. ‘* Rash and wicked man,” answered Little John, with a snuffle, ‘‘we who are going straight to mansions of bliss need none of thy readings. es to the scaffold. We long to ascend on righ. ‘*Ay, lead on, master sheriff,” added Will Scarlet, with a wink to his companion, ‘‘We are wicked wretches, for we have slain the king’s deer in our time. Oh, what a basting our master gave thee, only two days ago, mes ! Yes, I can afford to die, since I saw that. The sheriff looked more sour than ever, as he read out the death-warrant amid a deep silence, and then said: ‘* Now, we have lost time enough. Take them to the gallows-tree at once,” The guards were advancing when Friar Tuck waved them aside, and pcinted to the manacled wrists of the prisoners. ‘They are secured,” he said, boldly, “ with the chains of the church. Pope Clement grant- ed to our founder, the holy St. Bernard, the privilege that our order should always have the custody of prisoners on their way to the gal- lows, and we are responsible for their safety, Lead on, sir sheriff.” Warman would willingly have refused the concession, but he dared not. He knew. him- self to be intensely unpopular, and us the exe- cution was to take place in the market-square of Nottingham, he aes greatly a riot among the people. He bethought himself that the common people loved the name of the out- lawed ear] and his followers, and that if he ap- peared unduly harsh to men condemned to death, it would give a pretext for a riot, which the monks could easily raise, Accordingly, he gave a sullen half assent to the proposition, and led the way to the street, the doomed men in the center of a hollow aTiBte of guards, but still supported by the riars. _ As they came out into the street, they found it occupied by a great crowd of people, and heard a great buzz of voices, over which rose the solemn tones of a penitential psalm, sung by a long procession of monks, bearing at their head the embroidered banner of Fountain Abbey. This procession came marching up the streets, just as the funeral train issued from the prison gates, and the sheriff bowed low as he recog- nized the figure of the new Bishop of Hereford, riding on a mule, at the head of the procession, but only dressed in the robes of the Abbot of Fountain Abbey, his lesser eo The bishop wore his cowl down, as did all the monks of the abbey, who followed him by twos, with down- cast heads, singing the lugubrious hymn of peni- tence, Silently, and as if by mutual consent, the guards of the sheriff fell backfrom the vicinity of the prisoners, while the mouks of Fountain Abbey closed in round them and continued the procession to the scaffold. The people pressed around on all sides and so the closely packed throng moved along to the market-place, in the midst of which stood two tall pallowses the morning work of Sir Roger Warman. ; S JOO (E(0) EO MMICE