We turned from Whitehall into the crowded Strand.
"Murray will figure that this delay gives him time to bribe and buy
his will, either in Governor Burnet's Council or in the Government
here," continued Master Juggins, with a watchful eye against the
return of the spy. "At the worst he will think that he should be
able to withstand the law's execution for several years, and in that
time much may be done--aye, much may be done, and in more than one
way." he concluded grimly.
"Then doubtless Murray will send at once a swift messenger to New
York so that his friends may set to work in his interest," I
suggested.
Juggins stopped abruptly in the center of the footway.
"No, he will go himself. 'Tis too important for trusting to another.
That was well thought of, Master Harry. We must not let him get
ahead of us. You must sail on the first passage available. Do you
follow me."
And he started off as fast as his legs could carry him, bumping and
prodding his person against all who did not move from his path.
"Whither are we bound now?" I panted.
"To Master Lloyd's Coffee-House, where the ship-owners resort for
trade. We shall find news of the sailings there."
We followed the Strand past Temple Bar into Fleet Street, and so trod
a path into the labyrinth of the City--that congested hive of
humanity whence the mighty energies of England radiated in a constant
struggle for control of the world's arteries of trade. Used though I
was to the busy life of Paris, I was amazed by the throngs of people
hurrying to and fro, the concentration of effort that was everywhere
visible, the numbers of different races represented on the sidewalks,
the signs and letterings that hung over doorways and in windows,
proclaiming the multiplicity of endeavors to which the merchants of
the city were committed.
"Mark well what you see around you, Master Harry," Juggins instructed
me. "London hath prospered under King George. Here are come traders
out of Muscovy, Cathay, the further Indies, the Spanish Main, the
country of the Moors, Turkey, our own Western Plantations. And here
at last is Master Lloyd's Tavern."
Many men stood on the cobbles outside talking. The coffee-room and
taproom also were filled. Master Juggins pushed his way through the
shifting groups until he reached a burly, stout man who sat by
himself at a table, sucking fragrant Mocha from a bowl.
"And what will you ha', Bob Juggins!" demanded the burly man in a
sulky voice.
As he spoke he pushed the bowl of coffee from him and produced a
dog-eared record-book, bound in filthy sheepskin, from a pocket in
the skirts of his coat.
"A good afternoon to you, Tom Jenkins," returned Juggins. "You
gentry are sitting late this afternoon."
"We ha' been making up the subscriptions for the Baltic Fleet,"
yawned the burly man.
"And how are sailings to the Western Plantations?"
"Ameriky?"
"Aye, New York province."
"From Bristol?"
Master Juggins hesitated, then shook his head.
"No, I must have an early passage," he decided. "'Twould take too
long to ride thither."
The burly man consulted his record-book.
"We ha' the ship _New Venture_, Abbot, master, sailing from Greenwich
the end of the week--say, Saturday post meridian. What's your cargo?"
"'Tis not cargo, but a man I would send on her."
Master Jenkins shook his head forebodingly.
"I fear me she's full up, Bob."
"How does that happen?"
"But yesterday we sold four places on her--and she hath limited
quarters for passengers."
Juggins threw me a humorous glance.
"I'll be bound 'tis Master Murray of New York she's to carry," he
declared.
"Why, that's true," admitted Jenkins. "And some Frenchy, a friend o'
his."