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"It's like a providence my meetin' you; for as it chances you was the last man in my mind. I happened down to Wyatt's yard just now, and if you'll believe me there's reason to believe he'll get an order to-morrow for another 14-footer," "Ay? . . . What for?" "Why, to enter for the cup you're givin' on Whit-Monday." "You're mistaken," said Cai. "'Tis Mrs Bosenna that's givin' the cup, not I."
Sir Thomas Wyatt's men, though they for some time fought bravely, many losing their lives, were at length put to flight, and a herald advancing, urged their leader to yield himself a prisoner, and to submit to the Queen's clemency.
Riding boldly to the Guildhall she appealed with "a man's voice" to the loyalty of the citizens, and denounced the declaration of Wyatt's followers as "a Spanish cloak to cover their purpose against our religion."
The great Western road into London was especially bad, and about Knightsbridge, in winter, the traveller had to wade through deep mud. Wyatt's men entered the city by this approach in the rebellion of 1554, and were called the "draggle-tails" because of their wretched plight.
Wyatt's map, copied from M. Dahse, shows an island backed by a ridge running nearly east-west. I found no river-holm, and only a small broadening of the Ancobra to about double its usual breadth. The banks at the sharp angle of junction are, however, low; and, perhaps, my predecessor saw them when flooded.
It was, as Gardiner asserted, not at the counsel of her ministers but by her own personal will that the laws against heresy had been laid before Parliament; and now that they were enacted Mary pressed for their execution. Her resolve was probably quickened by the action of the Protestant zealots. The failure of Wyatt's revolt was far from taming the enthusiasm of the wilder reformers.
Deep in thought respecting the inexplicable nature of this latest mystery, I turned in the direction of the bridge, and leaving behind me an ever-swelling throng at the gate of Wyatt's Buildings, proceeded westward.
Wain recognised his visitor and opened the window. Mr. Appleby could not help feeling how like Wain it was to work on a warm summer's night in a hermetically sealed room. There was always something queer and eccentric about Wyatt's step-father. "Can I have a word with you, Wain?" he said. "Appleby! Is there anything the matter? I was startled when you tapped. Exceedingly so." "Sorry," said Mr.
When we returned, Tom went up the side first, was nabbed, and I had hardly time, upon hearing him sing out, to shove off and escape myself. We were now ready, and two of the planks just over Wyatt's head were carefully turned over. He seemed for a moment paralysed for a moment only.
The "revenuers" by that time would be far away, and the pervasive security, always the sequence of a raid, successful or otherwise, would once more promote the manufacture of the brush whisky. The managers of the moon-shining interest had taken measures to guard Wyatt's aged father from this fantasy of woe, but they had not dreamed that the mountain coquette might care.
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