The Queen's Jubilee
IT was the morning of the 21st of June. Bert had risen almost as soon
as it was light, and, having made very special ablutions ere he donned
the ragged garments, which had anything but a festive appearance, he
was going to supply himself with a goodly number of the papers and
programmes for which he hoped to find a ready sale that day. But ere he
started, he stood for a moment at the area railings, and looked down
into the sailor's room. Early as it was, Mr. Corney was astir. Bert
saw him busy brushing his boots, with Cetywayo perched on his left
shoulder, making the work more difficult, though it went on briskly
notwithstanding, to the accompaniment of one of the sailor's favourite
hymns.
Mr. Corney ceased singing when he caught sight of the boy.
"Hullo!" he cried. "So you're up betimes?"
"And so are you," returned the boy. "Are you going to see the Jubilee,
Mr. Corney?"
"Ay, I'm going to see what I can see. Such a day will never come again
in my life. I mean to have a look at Queen Victoria, anyway. It's years
and years since I last sighted her. It was in London too—the first time
that ever I came to London from Scotland."
"From Scotland!" exclaimed Bert, in surprise. "Are you Scotch, then,
Mr. Corney?"
"Ay, I'm a Scotchman," he replied.
"How strange I never thought of that!" said Bert. "Now you say so, I
notice that you speak very much like Mrs. Kay."
"And who is Mrs. Kay?" he asked.
"Why, she used to live in the first front room; but she shifted a
fortnight ago. You could tell she was Scotch directly she opened her
mouth."
"And you can't find me out so quickly? Ah, well, I suppose I have
lost a bit of my Scotch tongue, knocking about the world. But a Scot
I am, and a loyal one too, for I mean to see the Queen to-day. It's
thirty years since I saw her, and her family has grown considerably
since then. Such an array of Princes and Princesses there'll be in the
procession to-day as never was seen before, they tell me."
Bert sighed. "I wish my Princess were here to see it all," he said to
himself.
Then he consoled himself with the thought that, if only he made a nice
sum of money this day, he would start on the morrow for Hampshire. "And
won't the Princess be surprised and pleased to see me!" he thought.
"Well, good-bye, Mr. Corney; I'm off," he shouted. "I hope you'll get a
good place and see 'everythink.'"
The dreary street in which Bert lived lay at no great distance from the
stately squares and crescents of West London. Laden with papers, he
soon found his way to the Marble Arch, and taking up his station there,
did a brisk trade amid the ever-swelling stream of persons which swept
by, intent on gaining a good position from which to view the show.
London wore an entirely new aspect on that brilliant morning. Its
sombre streets, with their prosaic monotony of outline and hue, were
transformed by vivid touches of colour and artistic decorative effects,
till they glowed with a beauty few Oriental cities could surpass.
Everywhere there was a lavish display of flags, bunting, floral
decorations, and emblazoned mottoes proclaiming a nation's love and
loyalty.
Early as was the hour, the streets were full of people, for many had
risen with the lark, and not a few, busied with final preparations,
had been astir all night. Already the church bells were making a merry
din, and giving the keynote of the engagements of that festive day.
Carriages, cabs, and omnibuses went by, carrying people to their chosen
places along the route. Every minute the crowds increased. All seemed
in good temper. The true spirit of jubilation was abroad.
Bert's spirits rose as he saw the signs of general festivity. He, too,
grew excited, and his shrill little voice rose eagerly in the cry: "Now
then, here you are! Special edition. Corr'ct account of the Jub'lee.
Order of the processions. List of Roy'lties. All you want to know, for
one penny."
Faster than he could have hoped, his papers disappeared. Some who
bought them looked pityingly at the boy's odd little figure in the
short, tight, ragged jacket which he had outgrown, small though he
was for his years. They noted how thin and white was the little face,
lit up by those eager eyes. But Bert had no pity for himself at that
moment. As he dropped the pennies into the pocket of his ragged
coat—there was no hole in the pocket; he had seen to that—he felt as
proud and elate as a man who is making his fortune. He was getting
quite rich, and his riches opened up to him such a joyous prospect.
To-morrow he would be off to Hampshire to see the Princess.
There! The last paper had gone. Now he was free to go and see what he
could, and take his share in the excitement of the day. He had already
decided whither he would turn his steps. From the Marble Arch to Hyde
Park Corner was not very far. Bert had been told that here the finest
possible view of the procession might be had, and, undeterred by the
crowds already pressing in that direction, he too made for this point
of vantage.
Although it still wanted more than an hour to the time when the
procession was to start, there were thousands of men and women, boys
and girls, packed together on the broad pavements. The roadway,
too, was blocked with vehicles. The squeezing was intense, the heat
stiffing, yet Bert dauntlessly pushed forward into the crowd, and
continued to work his way towards the front. He wanted to see what
passed, and he would see nothing if he remained at the back of the
pavement behind lines and lines of people.
In vain people pushed him back and told him to keep behind. Bert was
small and thin and wiry, and he pushed his way through every slightest
opening, and got the better of persons bigger than himself with a skill
which excited the ire of some and the amusement of others. Yet Bert
would have had a poor chance of seeing the procession had not a woman
who blocked his way suddenly fallen forward, unconscious from the heat
and pressure. Instantly there was a cry for the ambulance officers.
Some of these came forward to remove the sufferer, and in the hustling
that resulted from the disturbance Bert found himself carried to the
very edge of the pavement, close to a mounted constable, who, seeing
what a little chap he was, moved his horse a pace or two, so as not to
intercept his view.
Just as Bert was congratulating himself on his good luck, there passed
before him the stretcher on which the policemen had placed the woman
who had swooned. To Bert's consternation, he recognised in the still,
purple, apparently lifeless visage of the woman, the face of Mrs. Kay.
He uttered a cry, and would have run after the ambulance, had not the
mounted constable called to him sharply to come back. Bert watched as
the policemen bore their burden across the broad road, now clear of all
traffic, for the procession was momentarily expected, to the ambulance
station below the arch at the top of Constitution Hill. Poor Mrs. Kay!
Was she dead? Had the sun's heat killed her? For Bert had heard of
people dying of sunstroke.
But now there rose from the direction of the Green Park the sound of
swelling voices raised in joyous acclamation. Louder and louder rose
the cries, and with a thrill of strange emotion, which brought tears to
his eyes, Bert realized that the supreme moment had arrived. The Queen
was coming!
In a few moments, the splendid cavalcade appeared. When the Queen
came, attended by her magnificent body-guard of princes, the public
enthusiasm knew no bounds. Foreign royalties were all very well; but
here was the one whom her people loved, and whom they had gathered in
such numbers to greet with every sign of loyalty and rejoicing. Next
in interest to the Queen came the members of her family. Bert's shrill
little voice had shouted lustily for the Queen; but as the carriages
containing the princesses went slowly by he was too lost in admiration
of their gentle looks and pretty dresses—the laces and satins and
furbelows, which to his childish imagination suggested lives of
unlimited luxury and enjoyment—to think of cheering.
"There's princesses for you!" he said to himself. "They're the real
thing, they are; and yet if my Princess was rigged up like that, I
guess she'd look just as well."
And there passed before his mind a picture of Prin, as she had appeared
in her old, shabby frock and broken shoes. Then he remembered how
different she had looked when she went away with the nurse.
"But she'll get shabby again when she comes back," he thought with a
sigh. "We shall never get enough money to buy nice clothes."
But now the last carriage belonging to the procession had gone by. The
police relaxed the restraint under which they had held the crowd. To
the relief of every one, the great pressure was at an end. People were
free to wander across the road and into the Green Park. Bert made use
of his liberty to run to the ambulance station and inquire for Mrs. Kay.
"Oh, she's coming round," said the policeman of whom he made inquiry.
"What do you know about her? Is she your mother?"
Bert shook his head, and explained that she was only an acquaintance,
lately a neighbour, whereupon the policeman pushed him with little
ceremony out of the way; but the boy had caught sight of Mrs. Kay,
lying with her eyes closed, and that purplish tint still on her face,
and it struck him that she looked very bad.
He turned towards the Green Park; but as he passed through the gateway,
some one touched him on the shoulder. He looked round, and to his
surprise found Mr. Corney beside him.
"What, you here, Mr. Corney!" he exclaimed. "It seems as if I was to
see people I know. There's poor Mrs. Kay in there." And he pointed
towards the little room in the base of the arch where the ambulance
patients were sheltered.
"Mrs. Kay?" repeated Mr. Corney, in momentary bewilderment, till he
remembered when he had heard mention of this individual before. "Was it
she they carried in there just before the procession came? I saw her
face as they went by, and, do you know, she reminded me of my sister!
A very different sort of person, of course—not too respectable, I am
afraid—older and stouter than Priscilla would be too, but still like
her. It's strange how one sees likenesses sometimes."
Bert nodded; but he was not paying great heed to what the old sailor
said. There was so much to divert him in all he saw.
In the relief of being able to move freely, the crowd was waxing merry.
Vendors of fruit and sherbet had come to the fore, and little picnic
parties were being formed here and there on the grass. Carriages too,
most of them empty, were passing by, for the road was open again for
traffic for a little while.
Bert became aware that he had eaten nothing since a very early hour,
and that he was parched with thirst. He resolved to spend one of his
halfpence on a glass of sherbet, and was turning to look for the seller
of this cooling refreshment, when his attention was attracted by an
open carriage which was driving towards the Park.
There were several prettily dressed children in the carriage,
accompanied by a woman, who appeared to be their nurse. On the back
seat was a girl older than the other children, and more quietly dressed
than they were. Her complexion was very fair, and long golden locks
fell over her shoulders. Bert's gaze was instantly arrested by this
girl; she was so like Prin. He had no idea, however, that it was his
sister, and could hardly believe his eyes when, as the carriage passed,
the girl turned in his direction with a movement of the head familiar
to him, and he saw that it was indeed Prin.
"Prin! Prin!" he cried aloud the next moment, and darted after the
carriage, heedless of danger to himself.
Prin heard the cry and looked back. She recognized the ragged, dusty,
deplorable little form pursuing the carriage. For a moment her eyes met
those of her brother, and he knew that she saw him. But suddenly her
face grew very red. She turned round quickly and looked in the opposite
direction.
[Illustration]
Instantly Bert understood. The Princess did not wish to see him. She
was ashamed to call him her brother. The thought smote him with a pang
of sharpest pain. He fell back at once, heedless of the perils of the
busy road. A mounted policeman, suspecting the boy of begging to the
annoyance of those within the carriage, was following at his heels.
Bert's sudden halt took him by surprise. He tried to pull up his horse,
but there was not time. The animal reared wildly, but struck Bert as it
reared. The boy fell senseless on the road.
Again the ambulance stretcher was in requisition. Bert was placed in
it, and carried at once to St. George's Hospital, for it was feared
that his hurt was serious.