At last a window, looking upon the scaffold, was thrown open, and a little group of men stepped out and drew near to the block in the centre. A tall man in dark clothing, with a mask over his eyes and nose, carried an axe; another similarly attired accompanied him, and with these two were several musketeers and an officer, who posted themselves at the corners of the scaffold. And then a great and awful silence fell upon the crowd, for the King appeared at the open window and stepped upon the scaffold, followed by the Bishop of London and Colonel Hacker, who had had his Majesty in keeping. The King was calm and confident, and he smiled as he looked up at the sky and let his eye travel across the great multitude, where many a head was bared. He removed the jewel from his neck and handed it to the Bishop, to whom he said some last words; then he stretched himself upon the scaffold, and the uplifted axe fell swiftly. A deep sigh rose from the great crowd, and there were hundreds around me that uttered sobs and cries.
We were close upon the scaffold. A bright jet of blood spurted across the boards near to me. I raised my kerchief and dipped it in the King’s blood, and have it to this day—a memento of that terrible event.
XLIII
Of Two Strange Meetings in One Day
It was about the middle of the afternoon of that eventful day that I set out from my lodging in Westminster, and walked by way of Whitehall towards Charing Cross. Whither I was bound or with what aim I do not now remember; most likely I had neither aim nor definite destination in my mind, but was simply moving about to calm myself, for the scene of the morning had wrought upon me heavily. Whatever most of his friends felt, none of them could exceed me in sympathy for the unfortunate King; and my heart had been further wounded during the morning by an account of his last interview with his two youngest children, which must indeed have been a bitter matter, and worse to face than the death which so soon followed. All these matters we had spoken of at Master Goodfellow’s, until I could bear no longer to talk of the subject, and had gone forth to walk about the city. I was half minded to saddle my horse and ride away from London, for it seemed to me, who from my birth had been trained to pray for the King’s good estate, that a curse must rest upon the city that had witnessed his murder. But I reflected that I had a duty to perform to myself and my friends—namely, the recovery of my money—and I resolved to stay a while longer, but made up my mind that if I got no redress within reasonable time, I would go home and trouble myself no more in the matter.
It was beginning to grow dark when I came over against Whitehall, where groups of people still lingered about the scene of the King’s death. The scaffold had by that time been removed, and there were no traces of the terrible scene of the morning. I was hurrying past the banqueting house, when a man in a cloak came across from the gardens which lie between Whitehall and the river, and walked behind me for a short space. Suddenly his steps quickened, and he gained upon me and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned quickly to look at him. There was an oil-lamp burning close at hand, and by its light I saw that the man was General Cromwell. His hat was drawn down over his face, and his uniform was hidden by a large horseman’s cloak, but there was no mistaking him when he lifted his head to look at me.
“Well, farmer,” said he, “I knew you, although I could not see your countenance. There are not many Englishmen that stand six feet four. Have you finished the business that brought you hither?”
“No, sir,” I answered, and stood watching him and wondering what thoughts ran in the mind of this remarkable man, who, in my opinion, had been the chief instrument in bringing about the King’s death.
“And how is that? For you have been about your business some time, I think?”
“Two months, sir, all but a day. And, indeed, I cannot waste more time upon it, and must presently return home and suffer the loss of my money rather than hang about in London.”
“Softly, farmer, softly. It will do the Commonwealth no good if its citizens suffer loss. As for your fine of two hundred pounds, that you must lose, being bound for it by reason of your opposition to the nation’s welfare, but you shall have returned all that was taken from you over and above.”
“Why, sir,” said I, “I am much obliged. You would not have me say that I acknowledge the justice of any fine, for I don’t, but I shall certainly be glad to have the value of my stock returned to me. But I have been so sent from one office to another, and from this man to that, that I have grown impatient of the whole matter, not being used to aught but plain yes and no until this time.”
“Ay,” he said, as if talking to himself, “these lawyers with their quibbles
