"Since the prince will be here so soon it behoves us to prepare for him," he said. "Care must be taken that he does not want food for his men and forage for his horses. As you are all no doubt aware, a great quantity of provisions has been sent out of the town. This must be stopped." "You are right, Tom," cried Dr. Byrom. "But how stop it?" "Very easily," replied Syddall. "We must engage Ben Birch, the bellman, to go round to-night, and warn the townsfolk not to remove any more provisions." "A good plan," cried Dr. Byrom. "But will Ben Birch obey the order?" "If he won't I'll seize his bell and go round myself," rejoined Syddall. "But never fear, doctor; Ben will do it if he's well paid." "But where is he to be found?" cried Dr. Byrom. "'Tis getting late." "I know where to find him," replied Tom. "Before going home to bed he always takes his pot of ale and smokes his pipe at the Half Moon in Hanging Ditch. He's there now I'll warrant you." Everybody agreed that the plan was excellent, and ought to be carried out without delay, and Syddall, who undertook the entire management of the affair, was just preparing to set off to Hanging Ditch, which was at no great distance from his dwelling, when a knock was heard at the outer door. The company looked at each other. So many strange things occurred at this juncture that they could not help feeling some little uneasiness. "Don't be alarmed, gentlemen," said Tom. "I'll go and reconnoitre." So saying, he hurried up a staircase that quickly brought him to an upper room overlooking the street. CHAPTER XXI. BEN BIRCH, THE BELLMAN OF MANCHESTER. It was a fine moonlight night, almost as bright as day, and when Tom looked out he saw that the person who had just knocked was no other than Ben Birch. Now the bellman was a very important functionary at the time, and it seemed as if the town could not get on without him. Whenever anything was to be done the bellman was sent round. The magistrates constantly employed him, and he paced about the streets ringing his bell, and giving public notices of one kind or other, all day long. Tall and stout, with a very red face, Ben Birch looked like a beadle, for he wore a laced cocked hat and a laced great-coat. Fully aware of the importance of his office, he was consequential in manner, and his voice, when he chose to exert it, was perfectly stentorian. Ben Birch, we ought to add, was suspected of being a Jacobite. "Why, Ben, is that you?" cried Tom, looking at him from the window. "Ay, Mester Syddall, it's me, sure enough," replied the bellman. "I've got summat to tell you. Some mischievous chaps has been making free with your pow, and what dun yo think they've stuck on it?" "I can't tell, Ben." "Why, your feyther's skull. Yo can see it if yo look down. I noticed it as I were passing, and thought I'd stop and tell you."