for what, in his cooler moments, he admitted to be a peccadillo, he
might sniff at the Pope, and bid him 'to do his devilmost.'

Fortune, who as the poet says, delights to favor the bold, stood his
friend on this occasion. Edward had been for some time collecting a
large force on the coast of Kent, to carry on his French wars for the
recovery of Guienne; he was expected shortly to review it in person;
but, then, the troops lay principally in cantonments about the mouth of
the Thames, and his majesty was to come down by water. What was to be
done?--the royal barge was in sight, and John de Norwood and Hamo de
Crevecoeur had broken up all the boats to boil their camp-kettles. A
truly great mind is never without resources.

"Bring me my boots!" said the Baron.

They brought him his boots, and his dapple-grey steed along with them.
Such a courser; all blood and bone, short-backed, broad-chested, and--
but that he was a little ewe-necked--faultless in form and figure. The
Baron sprang upon his back, and dashed at once into the river.

The barge which carried Edward Longshanks and his fortunes had by this
time nearly reached the Nore; the stream was broad and the current
strong, but Sir Robert and his steed were almost as broad, and a great
deal stronger. After breasting the tide gallantly for a couple of
miles, the knight was near enough to hail the steersman.

"What have we got here?" said the King. "It's a mermaid," said one.
"It's a grampus," said another. "It's the devil," said a third. But
they were all wrong; It was only Robert de Shurland. "Gramercy" said
the King, "that fellow was never born to be drowned!"