The month of February, 1696, had commenced, when one evening a rider was
seen coming across the marsh from the direction of the sea. He threw
himself from his horse, and called out loudly for Master Pearson. Jack
recognised his voice as that of the tall stranger, Long Sam, whom he had
met on his first arrival. He took Pearson, who went out to him, by the
arm, and walked up and down in front of the house rapidly for some time,
talking earnestly to him. Meantime, the dame and Elizabeth were
preparing the evening meal. The new arrival, whose appearance was very
different to what it had been formerly, now entered the house, and
placed himself before the table, to partake of the food provided for
him. While he was thus engaged, Pearson called Jack aside.
"Our friend here has business in London of importance, and requires a
trustworthy attendant. Are you disposed to accompany him?" he asked.
"You will find it, as I have before promised you, a good opportunity of
seeing the great city, and all your expenses will besides be paid, while
you will receive a handsome gratuity to boot. Take my advice: don't
throw the chance away. As I told you before, you will be as safe there
as you are in the middle of the fens, and you will, besides, very likely
find an opportunity of pushing your fortune, which you certainly will
not out here."
Jack thanked Pearson for the offer. The temptation was strong, and
whatever might have been his suspicions of the tall stranger, he
determined to accept it.
"You will set off to-morrow morning by daybreak, with eight horses.
Each of you will take charge of three and bestride another, and you will
be able to dispose of them in London or its neighbourhood for handsome
prices. They will make fine chargers, and will very likely be purchased
by officers of cavalry. Long Sam knows London well, and will make all
the necessary arrangements for their sale."
Elizabeth's colour changed when Jack told her that he was about to take
his departure for London.
"Going away!" she exclaimed; "I thought that you would remain here
always and help my mother look after the farm when Mr Pearson is away.
She much requires help. Oh, I wish that you were not going!"
"I hope to come back again soon, Elizabeth," he answered, taking the
young girl's hand. "You have made my stay here very pleasant, far
pleasanter than I expected, and I shall always remember you."
"And I, I am very sure, shall not forget you, Master Deane," replied
Elizabeth, looking up in his face. "I have never felt sad or dull as I
used sometimes to do before you came--and I have been very happy! My
only fear is that you will not recollect me as I shall you; and I want
to give you something to make you remember me. I have very few jewels
or any thing of value of my own, besides this ring. Please, then, take
it and wear it for my sake."
She took his hand, and put on his finger as she spoke a massive gold
ring of a peculiar make, with a chameleon and a vessel under full sail
engraved on it.
"It is all I have to give, but I entreat you to accept it, that you may
be reminded how grateful I am for the kindness you have shown me since
you came to live here!"
Jack did not like to refuse the gift, and yet he thought that he ought
not to accept it.
"I should ever remember you without it," he answered. "But it is too
valuable. Give me something of less cost, which I shall prize as much
for your sake as this, for I shall value whatever you give me."
"Oh, no, keep it!" she murmured. "It is the only thing I possess suited
for you. I have a locket and brooch and other jewels, but they are not
such as you would care for."
Jack could no longer resist the gift. He kissed her brow and thanked
her again and again, and promised never to forget her. He felt honestly
what he said.
Jack slept very little all that night, thinking of what he was to see in
London, and the adventures he might meet with on his journey there.
Whatever suspicions might have arisen in his mind he shut out, anxious
to have nothing to interfere with the pleasure he anticipated. The
light of Pearson's lamp, as it gleamed in his eyes when he came to call
him in the morning, aroused him from his sleep, and he found the horses
already at the door prepared for starting. The dame and Elizabeth were
on foot with breakfast prepared, and they gave him a friendly farewell,
as, following Long Sam's example, he stepped out to mount his horse. A
thick rime covered the ground, and a cold air blew across the fens, as
the two riders with their charges took their way south. Jack, who by
this time was well accustomed to the devious track across the fens, led
the way at as rapid a pace as the horses could move, closely followed by
Long Sam, who was now dressed as an ordinary jockey or rough-rider.
They stopped to bait at various places: sometimes at the private
residence of some gentleman who Long Sam said wished to look at their
horses; at other times at a farm-house, and occasionally at inns, but
these were generally avoided. While traversing an open country, Long
Sam called Jack by his side.
"You will understand, Deane," he observed, "that you have a very simple
part to play when you reach London; but I must have your promise that
you will do nothing without my orders, and that you will make all the
inquiries I may direct, and gain all the information you can on certain
points which I will explain to you. You will thus be enabled to render
great service to an important cause, and run no risk or danger
yourself."
"As to that," answered Jack, "I am ready enough to run all sorts of
risks where there is a good object to be attained; and I would rather be
trusted than asked to act in the dark, as I am now doing!" Long Sam
smiled grimly.
"Others may not be so willing to trust you as you suppose," he answered.
"Indeed, it is better for all parties that you should not be acquainted
with what is taking place. I wish you, however, to understand, that the
men with whom I am engaged are persons of honour and character, and are
not likely to do any act unworthy of their position."
"Then there _is_ some plot or scheme afoot?" said Jack. "I have long
thought so, but could gain no information about the matter."
"You are right in that respect," answered Long Sam: "there is an
important scheme about to be carried out; and as soon as you have given
proof of your fitness to engage in it, you shall be informed as to the
particulars. In the meantime, all I require is simple obedience to my
directions, and then all will be well."
After riding for some distance across somewhat hilly country, on
reaching the summit of a height, he pulled up his horse, exclaiming,
"Why, surely that must be London!"
Before him, spread out, and extending some way both to the east and
west, were numberless streets of houses, with towers and spires rising
above them in all directions, Before them, glittering white in the
sunlight, rose the pinnacles of the magnificent fane of Saint Paul's,
with its lofty dome--just then verging towards completion, to the
satisfaction of its talented architect, Sir Christopher Wren--while
beyond could be seen, winding on through meadows and green fields, and
then amidst the houses and stores of London and Westminster, the city
and the borough, the blue stream of the Thames, covered with numerous
boats and barges. Keeping to the right, Long Sam led his companion
round the outside of London, at the back of the palace at Kensington, to
the village of Hammersmith.
"We shall there find proper stables, and a careful groom to look after
our horses," he observed; "and purchasers will not object to ride down
there to inspect them--they may deem them of more value than if they
were brought to their doors."
The village then consisted chiefly of a single street, with here and
there a few houses on either side of branch roads. Instead of selecting
the chief inn, Long Sam rode up to the door of a small house, with the
sign of "The Bear" swinging on poles before it. Some good-sized stables
showed that he had selected it more on account of the accommodation it
could afford the horses than that which they would find within its doors
for themselves.
"We're pretty full, masters," said the landlord, as he eyed the two
travellers; "but I'll manage to put you up as best I can, as it's cold
weather to sleep out in the lofts. I've got a room for you," he said,
looking at Long Sam, "where, by adding two or three feet to the bed, you
will find room to stretch yourself; and you, my lad, will be content
with a little closet we have got on the stairs. There's not much air or
light comes in, but it's pretty warm, considering it's near the kitchen
chimney; and as for light, you will do well enough without that at
night."
Jack, who had been accustomed to rough lodgings since he started with
Will Brinsmead, expressed himself perfectly satisfied with the
accommodation which was promised him. Long Sam, taking a valise which
he had before him, followed the landlord up to his room.
Jack soon found that his companion intended to make him act the part of
the careful groom, the person he spoke of, for some reason or other, not
being forthcoming.
"You must keep a watchful eye on the horses, Jack," he observed, when he
came down-stairs. "I have business which calls me elsewhere, and I must
entrust them to you. Take care that they are well fed, and that their
shoes are in good order. See that no tricks are played with them; for
in this city rogues of all sorts abound. Some, for instance, on
pretence of looking at them, may come in and lame them, perchance to
depreciate their value; you understand me? You must watch, too, that no
one, pretending to try their paces, gallops off, and leaves you to
follow if you list, and to find, when you come back, that the rest have
been disposed of in the same way."
"When I engaged for a ride, Master Smart, my object was to see the big
city," said Jack, in a tone of expostulation.
"Have patience, lad!" answered Long Sam; "you will see the city soon
enough, and perhaps have more time to spend in it than you expect I have
the means of rewarding you in a way that will suit your taste. So let
me hear no more grumbling, I pray thee!"
Saying this, Long Sam, turning on his heel, walked away from the
stables, leaving Jack to groom the tired horses. Jack was fortunately
accustomed to make the best of every thing, and, therefore, though
somewhat hungry and tired, he set to work with whisp and brush to get
the dust and dirt of the roads off the animals, and to put them into a
condition to enjoy their food.
Several days passed by, during which Jack found himself almost a
prisoner in the stable-yard. Occasionally Long Sam appeared,
accompanied by various persons who took a look at the horses; but,
strange to say, although they were lavish in their praises of the
animals, no purchasers were found. At all events, the horses remained
in their stalls. Among two or three who one day came together, Jack
observed a person whose countenance he thought he recognised. The man
turned a cold, unmeaning glance towards him as he caught Jack's eye
fixed on his countenance.
"I am sure that is Master Stirthesoul!" Jack said to himself. "He is
the same man I met at Mr Harwood's, and the same who was in Master
Pearson's company at Saint Faith's. What can he have to do here?"
Jack resolved to solve the doubt by addressing him. Just as he was
about to open his lips, the man, giving him a somewhat menacing look,
turned round and followed Long Sam out of the stable. Jack saw him
whispering a few words into Long Sam's ears.
"Oh, he's all right and faithful!" he heard the latter say. "He knows
nothing, and if he did, he's not the lad to betray us!"
Jack could not tell whether these words were intended for his ears or
not. However, the visitors walked away without taking any further
notice of him.
In spite of Smart's promises, Jack began to feel very weary of
confinement in the precincts of the inn, and determine on insisting that
Long Sam should take his place.
"He pretends to be a groom, and therefore I do not see that he should
not act as one," said Jack to himself.
Just, however, as he was about to insist on this arrangement with his
companion, Long Sam told him that he might go into the city and take a
look round London, and see what he could of the sights.
"Only take care to find your way back again here before the evening," he
observed. "Keep in the broader streets, and don't tell any strangers
where you come from, or what has brought you to the city."
It was Sunday morning; and Jack, putting on his best garments which he
had brought with him, started on his walk. He took his way along a very
bad road leading to the Strand, with the fields and cabbage-gardens to
the right, and Hyde Park to the left, which then extended nearly to the
Palace of Kensington. Fortunately the weather was dry for the season of
the year, or he would have been splashed over from head to foot.
Besides Saint Paul's, a number of beautiful churches were already
raising their heads by the genius of Wren in various parts of London.
Seeing a number of people collecting before a church, and having never
failed at home in attending Divine Service, he took courage, and
followed the crowd within the building. Although he had been accustomed
occasionally to see people take their eyes off their books to watch the
entrance of a stranger, or to examine the dress of their neighbours, or
perhaps to exchange glances with one another, he was little prepared for
the style of behaviour in which the congregation of the church where he
now found himself indulged. Here were collected many of the beauties,
and a few of the fine gentlemen of the day. It may have been that they
lost little by not attending to the preacher. So Jack thought from what
he could catch of the discourse, little of which he could understand, so
full of flowers of rhetoric was it. Most of his neighbours were, at all
events, flirting and ogling all through the service, and as they entered
and took their seats all courtesied and bowed to their acquaintance, as
if they had been at a theatre. Jack could not help feeling thankful
when the service was brought to a conclusion.
"If this is the way the great people worship God in this big city, I am
afraid the citizens and poorer ones can pay very little attention to Him
at all," he thought.
Jack found himself looked at askance by several persons of ordinary
degree, among whom he stood at the farther end of the building. At
length he made his way into the open air. He much admired, however, the
coaches and sedan-chairs that came to fetch away all the grand people,
with little negro boys from the Sugar Islands to hold up the trains of
the ladies, and pages who sat on the steps of the gaily-painted coaches,
drawn, some by four, and some by six horses.
In a walk along the Mall, where, of course, no one paid the least
attention to the open-mouthed country lad, Jack saw a still greater
number of fashionable people. Among them was a very stout lady, carried
in a sedan-chair with painted panels, and he heard the passers-by remark
that she was the Princess Ann. Her chair was followed by another sedan,
which, he was told, contained the Lady Churchill, whose beautiful face
looked, however, in any thing but a good-humour. He saw many other
sights, some of them curious enough but altogether he was disappointed
with this his first day in London.
"They say that the streets are paved with gold; but that is a mistake.
They could only once have been gilt, and the fine gentlemen I have met
must have rolled in them, and the gilding must have stuck to their
clothes."
Jack had been looking out all the day in the hopes of seeing the king,
of whose courage, wisdom, and remarkable clemency, he had often heard
his father and cousin Nat speak. They looked upon him, indeed, as the
bulwark of the Protestant faith in England, and notwithstanding all the
efforts which Mr Harwood and his daughter, and Master Pearson and
others had made to eradicate that notion from Jack's mind, it remained
in reality as firm as ever. The very reason which the king's enemies
brought forward to depreciate him, raised him more and more in his
opinion. His desire was at length gratified, when, on the 8th of
February, Long Sam told him, that if he would go and stand near the
gates of the Palace of Kensington he would there very likely get a
glimpse of the king.
"And hark you, my lad," he said, "you must observe carefully all that
happens at the time, and bring me word. Take your stand, also, with
your right foot before the left, and your hand in the breast of your
coat. A person will then probably come and speak to you, and you will
repeat to me all he says. If he does not speak, he will give you a
note, which you are to bring immediately to me."
Jack, as directed, took up his post at the gates of the palace at
Kensington. He had not long to wait, when the gates were thrown open,
and some guards appeared, and then a coach with six horses, within which
sat a gentleman with a long nose and prominent features, dressed in a
rich riding-suit. On either side were more horsemen, who Jack heard
were the King's Dutch guards. They were followed by several Dutch
officers of the court, among whom was the faithful Duke of Portland, and
others of high rank. Jack had a good view of that clear hawk's eye, and
the large Roman nose and the serious countenance, which expressed little
but acute penetration into the mind and motives of others, with all of
which the coinage of the realm had made his subjects familiar. The
sight of the great warrior and wisest statesman of the day, who knew
himself to be surrounded by plots, and yet went his way with perfect
coolness, had great effect upon Jack's somewhat excitable mind. He
threw up his cap, and shouted, "Hurrah! long live the King!" in as good
faith as any of the many bystanders; and his first impulse was to run
off, following the coach, shouting, as youths and boys are used to do
after any great personage. The king leaned forward over a paper which
he held in his hand, so that nearly the whole of his figure was visible
at the window of the coach, which took its way towards Richmond.
Suddenly Jack remembered the direction he had received from Long Sam.
Going back to the place he had before occupied, he put himself in the
position in which he had been standing. Looking round, he saw a person
who had come out of the palace observing him narrowly. The person, who
was dressed in the livery of the palace, at length passed close to him.
"Are you Long Sam's messenger?" he asked.
"At your service," answered Jack.
"Where does he lodge?" asked the stranger.
"At the Bear," was Jack's answer.
"Take this note, and deliver it quickly," said the stranger; "but do not
move from where you now stand till I have re-entered the palace."
Saying this, the stranger slipped a sealed packet into Jack's hand. He
immediately concealed it in his doublet, but as he did so a shade of
doubt crossed his mind that all was not right. He waited, however, a
few minutes till the person who had given him the packet had re-entered
the gate, and then took his way back to the Bear. He could not,
however, help occasionally looking round to observe whether his steps
were followed. He felt that he was engaged in some secret transaction;
and from some of the remarks which Long Sam had let drop, as well as the
appearance of the concealed Jesuit in his society, he could not help
fearing that the plot afoot was against the welfare of the king. He
reached the inn, however, in safety, and described exactly to Long Sam
all he had seen.
"But you must tell me honestly," he said, "whether this matter has any
thing to do with any proceeding which may injure the king. As I watched
him just now, I thought of the many brave actions which he has
performed, and his calmness and courage at the present time, and could
not help feeling that I would rather fight for him than against him."
"You are a foolish young man!" answered Long Sam, in a more angry tone
than he had ever used towards Jack. "Follow my directions, and all will
be right. I do not want to hurt your feelings," he added, seeing that
Jack's colour came to his cheek. "And now I must leave you."
"As to that," answered Jack, "I have no wish to quarrel with you, or any
other man; but it strikes me I have been made a `cat's-paw' of, and I
tell you frankly I should like to know our object in coming to London."
"Then as frankly I will tell you--I cannot give it," answered Long Sam.
"If you don't know your own interests, it's your own fault; but remain
here a few days longer, and I have no doubt you will learn all you wish
to know, and probably much more than I know now."