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.