Some of these worthies wore cockades or badges, and later on Tom
learned to know them as Darby captains, Tash captains, or
Cock-and-bottle captains, according to the special sort of
marauding which they favoured. He met one party of the dreaded
Mohocks, or Mohawks, reeling along half intoxicated already, and
ripe for any offensive mischief, which later in the day they were
certain to perpetrate. They eyed the young rustic askance as it
was, and Tom heard a whisper go through their ranks:
"Pity 'tis so early i' the day, or we'd sweat him rarely."
But he held his head high, and swaggered along as though he felt
himself a match for all and any who might attack him. Yet inwardly
he felt that he would never go abroad in town without a sword at
his girdle. What the "sweating" might be, he knew not; but he was
assured that it was some sort of assault upon his person.
At length he reached his destination, which was a shop of fine
appearance in Drury Lane, just off the main thoroughfare of
Holborn. It was then a street of some pretensions, albeit a narrow
one, and Tom's eyes soon espied the name he was in search of over
the door of a shop round which a score or more of gallants were
lounging. In the doorway itself stood a very fine youth, at least
he was fine as to his raiment, although he wore no wig and was but
an apprentice of better figure and deportment than most.
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