Ridley's
trusty sword he had always worn under his pilgrim's gown, and with
the dagger always used as a knife, he made his appearance once more
as a squire of degree, still putting the scallop into his hat, in
honour of Dacre as well as of St. James.
The party had to set forth very early in the morning, slowly gliding
along several streets in a barge, watching the motley crowds
thronging banks and bridges--a far more brilliant crowd than in these
later centuries, since both sexes were alike gay in plumage. From
every house, even those out of the line of the procession, hung
tapestry, or coloured cloths, and the garlands of flowers, of all
bright lines, with their fresh greenery, were still unfaded by the
clear morning sun, while joyous carillons echoed and re-echoed from
the belfry and all the steeples. Ridley owned that he had never seen
the like since King Harry rode home from Agincourt--perhaps hardly
even then, for Bruges was at the height of its splendour, as were the
Burgundian Dukes at the very climax of their magnificence.
After landing from the barge Ridley, with Grisell on his arm, and
Anton with his mistress, had a severe struggle with the crowd before
they gained the ascent of the stoop, where the upper steps had been
railed in, and seats arranged under the shelter of the projecting
roof.
Master Caxton was a gray-eyed, thin-cheeked, neatly-made Kentishman,
who had lived long abroad, and was always ready to make an Englishman
welcome.
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