How Francis Bacon Cheated The Bailiffs

: The Panchronicon

It was at about this time that Copernicus Droop finally awakened. He lay

perfectly still for a minute or two, wondering where he was and what had

happened. Then he began to mutter to himself.



"Machinery's stopped, so we're on dry land," he said. Then, starting up

on one elbow, he listened intently.



Within the air-ship all was perfect silence, but from without there came

in faintly occasional
symptoms of life--the bark of a dog, a loud laugh,

the cry of a child.



Droop slowly came to his feet and gazed about. A faint gleam of daylight

found its way past the closed shutters. He raised the blinds and blinked

as he gazed out into a perfect thicket of trees and shrubbery, beyond

which here and there he thought he could distinguish a high brick wall.



"Well, we're in the country, anyhow!" he muttered.



He turned and consulted the date indicator in the ceiling.



"May 1, 1598," he said. "Great Jonah! but we hev whirled back fer

keeps! I s'pose we jest whirled till she broke loose."



He gazed about him and observed that the two state-room doors were open.

He walked over and looked in.



"I wonder where them women went," he said. "Seems like they were in a

tremendous hurry 'bout gettin' way. Lucky 'tain't a city we're in,

'cause they might'v got lost in the city."



After an attempt to improve his somewhat rumpled exterior, he made his

way down the stairs and out into the garden. Once here, he quickly

discovered the building which had arrested the attention of the two

women, but it being now broad daylight, he was able thoroughly to

satisfy himself that chance had brought the Panchronicon into the

deserted garden of a deserted mansion.



"Wal, we'll be private an' cosy here till the Panchronicon hez time to

store up more force," he said out loud.



Strolling forward, he skirted the high wall, and ere long discovered the

very opening through which the sisters had passed at sunrise.



Stepping through the breach, he found himself, as they had done, near

the main London highway in Newington village. The hurly-burly of sunrise

had abated by this time, for wellnigh all the villagers were absent

celebrating the day around their respective May-poles or at bear or

bull-baiting.



With his hands behind him, he walked soberly up and down for a few

minutes, carefully surveying the pretty wooden houses, the church in the

distance, and the stones of the churchyard on the green hill-slope

beyond. The architecture was not entirely unfamiliar. He had seen such

in books, he felt sure, but he could not positively identify it. Was it

Russian, Japanese, or Italian?



Suddenly a distant cry came to his ears.



"Hi--Lizzie--Lizzie, wench! Come, drive the pig out o' the cabbages!"



He stopped short and slapped his thigh.



"English!" he exclaimed. "'Tain't America, that's dead sure. Then it's

England. England in 1598," he continued, scratching his head. "Let's

see. Who in Sam Hill was runnin' things in 1598? Richard Coor de

Lion--Henry Eight--no--or was it Joan of Arc? Be darned ef I know!"



He looked about him again and selected a neighboring house which he

thought promised information.



He went to the front door and knocked. There was no reply, despite many

attempts to arouse the inmates.



"Might ha' known," he muttered, and started around the house, where he

found a side door half hidden beneath the projection of an upper story.



Here his efforts were rewarded at last by the appearance of a very old

woman in a peaked hat and coif, apparently on the point of going out.



"Looks like a witch in the story-books," he thought, but his spoken

comment was more polite.



"Good-mornin', ma'am," he said. "Would you be so kind as to tell me the

name of this town?"



"This be Newington," she replied, in a high, cracked voice.



"Newington," he replied, with a nod and a smile intended to express

complete enlightenment. "Ah, yes--Newington. Quite a town!"



"Is that all you'd be askin', young man?" said the old woman, a little

suspiciously, eying his strange garb.



"Why, yes--no--that is, can you tell me how far it is to London?" This

was the only English city of which he had any knowledge, so he naturally

sought to identify his locality by reference to it.



"Lunnun," said the woman. "Oh, it'll be a matter of a mile or better!"



Droop was startled, but highly pleased. Here was luck indeed.



"Thank you, ma'am," he said. "Good-mornin'," and with a cheerful nod, he

made off.



The fact is that this information opened up a new field of enterprise

and hope. At once there leaped into his mind an improved revival of his

original plan. If he could have made a fortune with his great inventions

in 1876, what might he not accomplish by the same means in 1598! He

pictured to himself the delight of the ancient worthies when they heard

the rag-time airs and minstrel jokes produced by his phonograph.



"By hockey!" he exclaimed, in irrepressible delight, "I'll make their

gol darned eyes pop out!"



As he marched up and down in the deserted garden, hidden by the friendly

brick wall, he bitterly regretted that he had limited himself to so few

modern inventions.



"Ef I'd only known I was comin' this fur back!" he exclaimed, as he

talked to himself that he might feel less lonely. "Ef I'd only known, I

could hev brought a heap of other things jest's well as not. Might hev

taught 'em 'bout telegraphin' an' telephones. Could ha' given 'em

steam-engines an' parlor matches. By ginger!" he exclaimed, "I b'lieve

I've got some parlor matches. Great Jehosaphat! Won't I get rich!"



But at this a new difficulty presented itself to his mind. He foresaw no

trouble in procuring patents for his inventions, but how about the

capital for their exploitation? Presumably this was quite as necessary

here in England as it would have been in America in 1876. Unfortunately,

his original plan was impossible of fulfilment. Rebecca had failed him

as a capitalist. Besides, she and Phoebe had both completely

disappeared.



It was long before he saw his way out of this difficulty, but by dint of

persistent pondering he finally lit upon a plan.



He had brought with him a camera, several hundred plates, and a complete

developing and printing outfit. He determined to set up as a

professional photographer. His living would cost him nothing, as the

Panchronicon was well stored with provisions. To judge by his

surroundings, his privacy would probably be respected. Then, by setting

up as a photographer he would at least earn a small amount of current

coin and perhaps attract some rich and powerful backer by the novelty

and excellence of his process. On this chance he relied for procuring

the capital which was undoubtedly necessary for his purpose.



By noon of the next day he had begun operations, having taken two or

three views of familiar scenes in the neighborhood, which he affixed as

samples to a large cardboard sign on which he had printed, in large

type:





----------------------------------------------------------------



AMERICAN PHOTOGRAPHER



THE ONLY ONE IN EXISTENCE



Step up and have your picture taken



----------------------------------------------------------------





This sign he nailed to a tree near the road which he made his

headquarters. He preferred to keep the location and nature of his abode

a secret, and so spent his days under his tree or sitting in the porch

of some neighboring house, for he was not long in making friends, and

his marvellous tales made him very popular.



It was difficult for him to fix a price at first, not being acquainted

with the coin of the realm, but he put his whole mind to the acquisition

of reliable information on this point, and his native shrewdness brought

him success.



He found that it was wisest for every reason to let it be believed that

the pictures were produced by hand. The camera, he explained, was a mere

aid to accuracy of observation and memory in reproduction of what he saw

through it. Thus he was able to command much higher prices for the

excellence and perfection of his work and, had he but known it, further

avoided suspicion of witchcraft which would probably have attached to

him had he let it be known that the camera really produced the picture.



In the course of his daily gossip with neighbors and with the customers,

rustic and urban, who were attracted by his fame, he soon learned that

"Good Queen Bess" ruled the land, and his speech gradually took on a

tinge of the Elizabethan manner and vocabulary which, mingling with his

native New England idioms, produced a very picturesque effect.



It was a warm night some weeks after Droop had "hung out his shingle" as

a professional photographer that he sat in the main room of the

Panchronicon, reading for perhaps the twentieth time Phoebe's famous

book on Bacon and Shakespeare, which she had left behind. The other

books on hand he found too dry, and he whiled away his idle hours with

this invaluable historic work, feeling that its tone was in harmony with

his recent experiences.



So to-night he was reading with the shutters tightly closed to prevent

attracting the gaze of outsiders. No one had yet discovered his

residence, and he had flattered himself that it would remain permanently

a secret.



His surprise and consternation were great, therefore, when he was

suddenly disturbed in his reading by a gentle knocking on the door at

the foot of the stairs.



"Great Jonah!" he exclaimed, closing his book and cocking his head to

listen. "Now, who--wonder ef it's Cousin Rebecca or Phoebe!"



The knock was repeated.



"Why, 'f course 'tis!" he said. "Couldn't be anybody else. Funny they

never come back sooner!"



He laid his book upon the table and started down the stairs just as the

knocking was heard for the third time.



"Comin'--comin'!" he cried. "Save the pieces!"



He threw open the door and started back in alarm as there entered a

strange man wrapped in a black cloak, which he held so as to completely

hide his features.



The new-comer sprang into the little hallway and hastily closed the door

behind him.



"Close in the light, friend," he said.



Then, glancing about him, he ascended the stairs and entered the main

room above.



Droop followed him closely, rubbing his hand through his hair in

perplexity. This intrusion threatened to spoil his plans. It would

never do to have the neighbors swarming around the Panchronicon.



The stranger threw off his cloak on entering the upper room and turned

to face his host.



"I owe you sincere acknowledgment of thanks, good sir," he said,

gravely.



He appeared to be about thirty-five years of age, a man of medium

stature, dark of hair and eyes, with a pale, intellectual face and a

close-clipped beard. His entire apparel was black, save for his

well-starched ruff of moderate depth and the lace ruffles at his wrists.



"Wal, I dunno," Droop retorted. "Marry, an I hed known as thou wast not

an acquaintance----"



"You would not have given me admittance?"



The calm, dark eyes gazed with disconcerting steadiness into Droop's

face.



"Oh--well--I ain't sayin'----"



"I hope I have not intruded to your hurt or serious confusion, friend,"

said the stranger, glancing about him. "To tell the very truth, your

hospitable shelter hath offered itself in the hour of need."



"What--doth it raineth--eh?"



"Oh, no!"



"What can I do fer ye? Take a seat," said Droop, as the stranger dropped

into a chair. "Thou knowest, forsooth, that I don't take photygraphs at

night--marry, no!"



"Are you, then, the new limner who makes pictures by aid of the box and

glass?"



"Yea--that's what I am," said Droop.



"I was ignorant of the location of your dwelling. Indeed, it is pure

accident--a trick of Fortune that hath brought me to your door

to-night."



Droop seated himself and directed an interrogative gaze at his visitor.



"My name's Droop--Copernicus Droop," he said. "An' you----"



"My name is Francis Bacon, Master Droop--your servitor," he bowed

slightly.



Droop started up stiff and straight in his chair.



"Francis Bacon!" he exclaimed. "What! Not the one as wrote Shakespeare?"



"Shakespeare--Shakespeare!" said the stranger, in a slow, puzzled tone.

"I do admit having made some humble essays in writing--certain

modest commentaries upon human motives and relations--but, in good

sooth, the title you have named, Master Droop, is unknown to me.

Shakespeare--Shakespeare. Pray, sir, is it a homily or an essay?"



"Why, ye see, et's--as fur's I know it's a man--a sorter poet or genius

or play-writin' man," said Droop, somewhat confused.



"A man--a poet--a genius?" Bacon repeated, gravely. "Then, prithee,

friend, how meant you in saying you thought me him who had written

Shakespeare? Can a man--a poet--be written?"



"Nay--verily--in good sooth--marry, no!" stuttered Droop. "What they

mean is thet 'twas you wrote the things Shakespeare put his name

to--you did, didn't you?"



"Ahem!" said the stranger, with dubious slowness. "A poet--a genius, you

say? And I understand that I am reputed to have been the true author

of--eh?"



"Yes, indeed--yea--la!" exclaimed Droop, now sadly confused.



"Might I ask the name of some work imputed to me, and which this--this

Shake--eh----"



"Shakespeare."



"Ay, this Shakespeare hath impudently claimed for his own credit and

reputation?"



"Well--why--suffer me--jest wait a minute," said Droop. He clutched the

book he had been reading and opened it at random. "Here," he said.

"'Love's Labor's Lost,' for instance."



"What!" exclaimed Bacon, starting indignantly to his feet. "'Tis but a

sennight I saw this same dull nonsense played by the Lord Chamberlain's

players. 'Love's Labor's--" he broke off and repressed his choler with

some effort. Then in a slow, grave voice he continued: "Why, sir, you

have been sadly abused. Surely the few essays I have made in the field

of letters may stand my warrant that I should not so demean myself as is

implied in this repute of me. Pray tell me, sir, who are they that so

besmirch my reputation as to impute to my poor authority the pitiful

lines of this rascal player?"



"Why, in very truth--marry, it's in that book. It was printed in

Chicago."



Bacon glanced contemptuously at the volume without deigning to open it.



"And prithee, Master Droop, where may Chicago be?"



"Why it was in--no! I mean it will be--oh, darn it all! Chicago's in

Illinois."



"Illinois--yes--and Illinois?" Bacon's dark eyes were turned in grave

question upon his companion.



"Why, that's in America, ye know."



"Oh!" said Bacon. Then, with a sigh of great relief: "Ah!" he exclaimed.



"Yea, verily--in sooth--or--or thereabouts," said Droop, not knowing

what to say.



"Ah, in America! A land of heathen savages--red-skinned hunters of men.

Yes--yes! 'Twere not impossible such persons might so misapprehend my

powers. 'Twould lie well within their shallow incapacities, methinks, to

impute to Francis Bacon, Barrister of Gray's Inn, Member of Parliament

for Melcombe, Reversionary Clerk of the Star Chamber, the friend of the

Earl of Essex--to impute to me, I say, these frothings of a villain

player--this Shake--eh? What?"



"Shakespeare."



"Ay."



Bacon paced placidly up and down for a few moments, while Droop followed

him apologetically with his eyes. Evidently this was a most important

personage. It behooved him to conciliate such a power as this. Who could

tell! Perhaps this friend of the Earl of Essex might be the capitalist

for whom he was in search.



For some time Master Bacon paced back and forth in silence, evidently

wrapped in his own thoughts. In the meantime Droop's hopes rose higher

and higher, and at length he could no longer contain himself.



"Why, Master Bacon," he said, "I'm clean surprised--yea, marry, am

I--that anybody could hev ben sech a fool--a--eh? Well, a

loon--what?--as to hev said you wrote Shakespeare. You're a man o'

science--that's what you are. You don't concern yourself with no

trumpery poetry. I can see that stickin' out."



Bacon was startled and examined himself hurriedly.



"What!" he exclaimed, "what is sticking out, friend?"



"Oh, I was jest sayin' it in the sense of the word!" said Droop,

apologetically. "What I mean is, it's clear that you're not a triflin'

poet, but a man of science--eh?"



"Why, no. I do claim some capacity in the diviner flights of lyric

letters, friend. You are not to despise poetry. Nay--rather contemn

those who bring scorn to the name of poet--vain writers for filthy

pence--fellows like this same Shakespeare."



"Yes--that's what I meant," said Droop, anxious to come to the point.

"But your high-water mark is science--philosophy--all that. Now, you're

somethin' of a capitalist, too, I surmise."



He paused expectant.



"A what, friend?"



"Why, you're in some Trust er other, ain't ye?--Member of Congress--I

mean Parlyment--friend of Lord What's-'is-name--Clerk of the

Star--suthin' or other. Guess you're pretty middlin' rich, ain't ye?"



Bacon's face grew long at these words, and he seated himself in evident

melancholy.



"Why, to speak truth, friend," he said, "I find myself at this moment in

serious straits. Indeed, 'tis an affair of a debt that hath driven me

thus to your door."



"A debt!" said Droop, his heart sinking.



"Ay. The plain truth is, that at this moment I am followed by two

bailiffs--bearers of an execution of arrest upon my person. 'Twas to

evade these fellows that I entered this deserted garden, leaving my

horse without. 'Tis for this cause I am here. Now, Master Droop, you

know the whole truth."



"Great Jonah!" said Droop, helplessly. "But didn't you say you had

friends?"



"None better, Master Droop. My uncle is Lord Burleigh--Lord High

Treasurer to her Gracious Majesty. My patron is the Earl of Essex----"



"Why don't they give ye a lift?"



Bacon's face grew graver.



"Essex is away," he said. "On his return my necessities will be speedily

relieved. As for mine uncle, to him have I applied; but his lordship

lives in the sunshine of her Majesty's smiles, and he cannot be too

sudden in aid of Francis Bacon for fear of losing the Queen's favor

else."



"Why so?"



"A long tale of politics, friend. A speech made by me in Parliament in

opposing monopolies."



"Oh!" said Droop, dismally. "You're down on monopolies, air ye?"



Bacon turned a wary eye upon his companion.



"Why ask you this?" he said.



"Why, only to--" He paused. "To say sooth," he continued, with sudden

resolution, "I want to get a monopoly myself--two or three of 'em. I've

got some A1 inventions here, an' I want to get 'em patented. I thought,

perhaps, you or your friends might help me."



"Ah!" Bacon exclaimed, with awakening interest. "You seek my influence

in furtherance of these designs. Do I apprehend you?"



"That's jest it," said Droop.



"And what would be the--ahem--the recognition which----"



"Why, you'd git a quarter interest in the hull business," said Droop,

hopefully. "That is, provided you've got the inflooence, ye know."



"Too slight--too slight for Francis Bacon, Master Droop."



Copernicus thought rapidly for a minute or two. Then he pretended

indifference.



"Oh, very good!" he said. "I'll take up with Sir Thomas

Thingumbob--What's-'is-name."



Bacon pretended to accept the decision and changed the subject.



"Now permit me to approach the theme of my immediate need," he said.

"These bailiffs without--they must be evaded. May I have your

assistance, friend, in this matter?"



"Why--what can I do?"



"Pray observe me with all attention," Bacon began. "These my habiliments

are of the latest fashion and of rich texture. Your habit is, if I may

so speak, of inferior fashion and substance. I will exchange my habit

for yours on this condition--that you mount my horse forthwith and ride

away. The moon is bright and you will be pursued at once by these scurvy

bailiffs. Lead them astray, Master Droop, to the southward, whilst I

slip away to London in your attire, wherein I feel sure no man will

recognize me. Once in London, there is a friend of mine--one Master

Isaac Burton--who is hourly expected and from whom I count upon having

some advances to stand me in present stead. What say you? Will you

accept new clothing and rich--for old and worn?"



Droop approached his visitor and slowly examined his clothing, gravely

feeling the stuff between thumb and finger and even putting his hand

inside the doublet to feel the lining. Bacon's outraged dignity

struggled within him with the sense of his necessity. Finally, just as

he was about to give violent expression to his impatience, Droop stepped

back and took in the general effect with one eye closed and his head

cocked on one side.



"Jest turn round, will ye?" he said, with a whirling movement of the

hand, "an' let me see how it looks in the back?"



Biting his lips, the furious barrister turned about and walked away.



"Needs must where the devil drives," he muttered.



Droop shook his head dismally.



"Marry, come up!" he exclaimed. "I guess I can't make the bargain,

friend Bacon."



"But why?"



"I don't like the cut o' them clothes. I'd look rideec'lous in 'em.

Besides, the's too much risk in it, Bacon, my boy," he said, familiarly,

throwing himself into the arm-chair and stretching out his legs

comfortably. "Ef the knaves was to catch me an' find out the trick I'd

played 'em, why, sure as a gun, they'd put me in the lock-up an' try me

fer stealin' your duds--your habiliments."



"Nay, then," Bacon exclaimed, eagerly, "I'll give you a writing, Master

Droop, certifying that the clothes were sold to you for a consideration.

That will hold you blameless. What say you?"



"What about the horse and the saddle and bridle?"



"These are borrowed from a friend, Master Droop," said Bacon. "These

rascals know this, else had they seized them in execution."



"Ah, but won't they seize your clothes, Brother Bacon?" said Droop,

slyly.



"Nay--that were unlawful. A man's attire is free from process of

execution."



"I'll tell ye wherein I'll go ye," said Droop, with sudden animation.

"You give me that certificate, that bill of sale, you mentioned, and

also a first-class letter to some lord or political chap with a pull at

the Patent Office, an' I'll change clothes with ye an' fool them bailiff

chaps."



"I'll e'en take your former offer, then," said Bacon, with a sigh. "One

fourth part of all profits was the proposal, was it not?"



"Oh, that's all off!" said Droop, grandly, with a wave of the hand. "If

I go out an' risk my neck in them skin-tight duds o' yourn, I get the

hull profits an' you get to London safe an' sound in these New Hampshire

pants."



"But, good sir----"



"Take it or leave it, friend."



"Well," said Bacon, angrily, after a few moments' hesitation, "have your

will. Give me ink, pen, and paper."



These being produced, the barrister curiously examined the wooden

penholder and steel pen.



"Why, Master Droop," he said, "from what unknown bird have you plucked

forth this feather?"



"Feather!" Droop exclaimed. "What feather?"



"Why this?" Bacon held up the pen and holder.



"That ain't a feather. It's a pen-holder an' a steel pen, man. Say!" he

exclaimed, leaning forward suddenly. "Ye hain't ben drinkin', hev ye?"



To this Bacon only replied by a dignified stare and turned in silence to

the table.



"Which you agoin' to write first," said Droop, considerately dropping

the question he had raised.



"The bill of sale."



"All right. I'd like to have ye put the one about the patent real

strong. I don't want to fail on the fust try, you know."



Bacon made no reply, but dipped his pen and set to work. In due time the

two documents were indited and carefully signed.



"This letter is addressed to my uncle, Lord Burleigh," said Bacon. "He

is at the Palace at Greenwich, with the Queen."



"Shall I hev to take it to him myself?"



"Assuredly."



"Might hev trouble findin' him, I should think," said Droop.



"Mayhap. On more thought, 'twere better you had a guide. I know a worthy

gentleman--one of the Queen's harbingers. Take you this letter to him,

for which purpose I will e'en leave it unsealed that he may read it. He

will conduct you to mine uncle, for he hath free access to the court."



"What's his name?"



"Sir Percevall Hart. His is the demesne with the high tower of burnt

bricks, near the west end of Tower Street. But stay! 'Twere better you

did seek him at the Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap."



"Sir Percevall Hart--Boar's Head--Eastcheap. That's in London City, I

s'pose."



"Yes--yes," said Bacon, impatiently. "Any watchman or passer-by will

direct you. Now, sir, 'tis for you to fulfil your promise."



"All right," said Droop. "It's my innin's--so here goes."



In a few minutes the two men had changed their costumes and stood

looking at each other with a very evident disrelish of their respective

situations.



Droop held his chin high in the air to avoid contact with the stiff

ruff, while his companion turned up the collar of his nineteenth-century

coat and held it together in front as though he feared taking cold.



"Why, Master Droop," said Bacon, glancing down in surprise at his

friend's nether extremities, "what giveth that unwonted spiral look to

your legs? They be ribbed as with grievous weals."



Droop tried to look down, but his wide ruff prevented him. So he put one

foot on the table and, bringing his leg to the horizontal, gazed

dismally down upon it.



"Gosh all hemlock--them's my underdrawers!" he exclaimed. "These here

ding-busted long socks o' yourn air so all-fired tight the blamed

drawers hez hiked up in ridges all round! Makes me look like a bunch o'

bananas in a bag!" he said, crossly.



"Well--well--a truce to trivial complaints," said Bacon, hurriedly,

fearful that Droop might withdraw his consent to the rescue. "Here are

my cloak and hat, friend; and now away, I pray you, and remember--ride

to southward, that I may have a clear field to London."



Droop donned the hat and cloak and gazed at himself sorrowfully in the

glass.



"Darned ef I don't look like a cross 'tween a Filipino and a crazy

cowboy!" he muttered.



"And think you I have not suffered in the exchange, Master Droop?" said

Bacon, reproachfully. "In very truth, I were not worse found had I

shrunken one half within mine own doublet!"



After some further urging, Droop was induced to descend the stairs, and

soon the two men stood together at the breach in the brick wall. They

heard the low whinnying of a horse close at hand.



"That is my steed," Bacon whispered. "You must mount with instant speed

and away with all haste to the south, Master Droop."



"D'ye think I won't split these darned pants and tight socks?" said

Droop.



"Hush, friend, hush!" Bacon exclaimed. "The bailiffs must not know we

are here till they see you mount and away. Nay--nay--fear not. The hose

and stockings will hold right securely, I warrant you."



"Well, so long!" said Droop, and the next moment he was in the saddle.

"G'lang there! Geet ap!" he shouted, slapping the horse's neck with his

bridle.



With a snort of surprise, the horse plunged forward dashing across the

moonlit field. A moment later, Bacon saw two other horses leap forward

in pursuit from the dark cover of a neighboring grove.



"Good!" he exclaimed. "The lure hath taken!"



Then leaning over he rubbed his shins ruefully.



"How the night wind doth ascend within this barbarous hose!" he

grumbled.



More

;