e bulk of
the insurgents, who quietly left for their homes, placing all
confidence in the smooth promises of the youthful monarch.

Some interesting scenes followed their return. The gates of the Abbey of
St. Albans were forced open, and a throng of townsmen crowded in, led by
one William Grindcobbe, who compelled the abbot to deliver up the
charters which held the town in serfage to the abbey. Then they burst
into the cloister, sought the millstones which the courts had declared
should alone grind corn at St. Albans, and broke them into small pieces.
These were distributed among the peasants as visible emblems of their
new-gained freedom.

Meanwhile, Wat Tyler had remained in London, with thirty thousand men at
his back, to see that the kingly pledge was fulfilled. He had not been
at Mile End during the conference with the king, and was not satisfied
with the demands of the peasants. He asked, in addition, that the forest
laws should be abolished, and the woods made free.

The next day came. Chance brought about a meeting between Wat and the
king, and hot blood made it a tragedy. King Richard was riding with a
train of some sixty gentlemen, among them William Walworth, the mayor of
London, when, by ill hap, they came into contact with Wat and his
followers.

"There is the king," said Wat. "I will go speak with him, and tell him
what we want."

The bold leader of the peasants rode forward and confronted the monarch,
who drew rein and waited to hear what he had to say.

"King Richard," said Wat, "dost thou see all my men there?"

"Ay," said the king. "Why?"

"Because," said Wat, "they are all at my command, and have sworn to do
whatever I bid them."

What followed is not very clear. Some say that Wat laid his hand on the
king's bridle, others that he fingered his dagger threateningly.
Whatever the provocation, Walworth, the mayor, at that instant pressed
forward, sword in hand, and stabbed the unprotected man in the throat
before he could make a movement of defence. As he turned to rejoin his
men he was struck a death-blow by one of the king's followers.

This rash action was one full of danger. Only the ready wit and courage
of the king saved the lives of his followers,--perhaps of himself.

"Kill! kill!" cried the furious peasants, "they have killed our
captain."

Bows were bent, swords drawn, an ominous movement begun. The moment was
a critical one. The young king proved himself equal to the occasion.