THE NIGHT OF JUNE 30th, 1688
Some hours after his parting with Lady Sunderland, Mr. Sidney left a
modest house in Greg Street, Soho Fields, in company with a common
tarpaulin, whose rough clothes were in strong contrast to the rich
appointments of the notable beau he accompanied.
It was a fine night, but cloudy. The two men proceeded in silence
towards Gerrard Street, the sailor with his hands in his pockets and Mr.
Sidney swinging his cane.
Every house they passed had the seven candles in the windows, and the
sound of bells and shouting was as persistent as it had been in the
drawing-room of Sunderland House; the street was empty save for a few
wandering link-boys and beggars.
As they, walking rapidly and steadily, approached St.
Martin-in-the-Fields, the feeble rays of the oil-lamps over every tenth
door, that only served to illuminate the signs and cast great shadows
from the passers-by, were absorbed in a red glare that touched the brick
fronts of the precise houses with a deep glow.
"A bonfire," remarked Mr. Sidney.
The tarpaulin answered in the accents of a gentleman.
"A pope-burning--had we not best take another way?"
As Mr. Sidney hesitated the other added, with a laugh--
"After all, is it not a good omen? Let us see this martyrdom," and he
pressed into the confines of the crowd gathered round an enormous
bonfire, which blazed in front of the church steps.
Mr. Sidney followed, and the two found themselves absorbed into the
multitude of apprentices, shopkeepers, clerks, and citizens of all
descriptions, who were engaged in celebrating the acquittal of the
bishops by burning His Holiness in effigy.
For awhile they were unnoticed in the general excitement, then Mr.
Sidney's appearance was remarked. His plumed hat, his sword, his
curling peruke, and the rich velvet mantle that concealed his person
instantly told them that he was not of their class. Suspicion was
roused that he was a spy of the Court, and they began to rudely jostle
him; but the sailor, who kept closely beside him, laughed
good-humouredly, and cried--
"Gently, my friends. We are good Protestants come to see the burning of
the Devil and the Pope."
"Sure," came a quick answer, "if you were popish dogs you would scarce
be here to-night!"
Sidney smiled at the eager young man who spoke.
"No," he said. "Long live the King, the Church, and the Laws--eh, my
friend?"
"I do not know so much about the first--but all my heart the second and
third!"
The sailor looked sharply at the speaker, who was a youth of two- or
three-and-twenty, very plainly dressed, almost shabby, with a keen, dark
face, intelligent, ardent eyes, and a quantity of untidy curly hair. He
seemed to be a student or clerk, and was obviously the leading spirit of
a band of youths of his own age, who were making most of the noise and
clamour.
He in his turn closely scrutinized the sailor, then said, in abrupt
tones of friendliness--
"I'll get you through. You and the gentleman get behind me, and I'll
make 'em give away----"
With the quick energy that seemed his characteristic he shouldered his
way through the press and forced a passage for Mr. Sidney and the
sailor, bringing them to the steps of the church, where they had a good
view over the crowd, and stood directly behind the bonfire.
He paused, a little breathless with fighting through the throng, and
with blows given and taken, and asked Mr. Sidney, whose splendour seemed
to somewhat overawe him, if he had ever seen a pope-burning before.
"Never," smiled that gentleman; but the sailor added instantly--
"I have, many a time; 'tis the finest fun in the world."
The young man looked at him with the sharp suspicious curiosity of
youth. He was quick to notice the difference between speech and dress,
and his instant's glance further confused him. The strong light of the
bonfire showed a resolute-looking man, dressed in the coarse worn
clothes of a common sailor, but unmistakeably a gentleman. He seemed
amused and interested. A pleasant smile lit his face, and his grey eyes
were bright and self-contained.
"You were like to be clapt up if the watch caught you at this," he said.
The youth was gloriously scornful.
"The watch! Do you think we would disperse for a regiment?"
"Look out for the regiments then," smiled the sailor. "There are
sixteen thousand men on Hounslow Heath."
"How many of 'em would take arms against the city?" was the instant
retort. "They too are good Protestants."
"I perceive that you are something of a Politic," said Mr. Sidney; and
then all further remark was cut short by the arrival of the procession
carrying the Pope, at sight of which an almost solemn hush fell on the
crowd, who stopped supplying the bonfire with squibs, oil, and tar, and
drew back in close ranks before the steps of the church.
The Pope was a huge figure of straw with a wax face, carried in a chair
on the shoulders of four men. He was clothed in an expensive scarlet
silk robe, and wore on his head a tiara of painted pasteboard, decorated
with sparkling glass; his scornful and saturnine face, which, if meant
for the reigning pontiff, was a cruel libel on the most honourable and
simple of men, was turned a little to one side in the action of
listening to a huge black-horned Devil who was busily whispering in his
ear, one stiff hand was raised with two fingers lifted in blessing, and
the other (both formed of white gloves stuffed, with glass beads on the
backs) hung limply by his side.
The young man who had befriended Mr. Sidney and his friend gave some
kind of a whistling signal, upon which the greater number of the crowd
broke into verses of a doggerel song against popery and the bishops. As
each sang different words and tune the result was a mere lusty din, in
which not a syllable was distinguishable; nevertheless the hundred
voices of hate, derision, scorn, and triumph addressing the dumb
grotesque image of a loathed religion had an impressive significance and
contained a deep warning.
For these were not isolated nor feeble voices--the will and purpose of a
great nation echoed in them--nor were they the voices of mere
fanaticism, but the cries of protest raised by a jealous people whose
liberties had been struck at and broken.
In the faces the leaping flames brought into relief against the
surrounding darkness might be traced that fearless English spirit that
would not for long own a master; in the coarse jeers, hoots, and hisses
might be discerned that devotion to the reformed faith that had united
Anglican and Dissenter (despite the high bid the King had made for the
favour of the latter), in stern and unyielding opposition to the
Romanist worship that was in vain being forced on them.
Mr. Sidney wondered if James could see these faces and hear these voices
it would give him pause; if even his hard bigotry would not learn
something of the temper of a strong people roused. It seemed incredible
that if the King could see these people now that he could forget
Cromwell and his own exiled youth.
The dummy Pope was lowered from his seat of mock triumph and pitched
forward into the centre of the flames, the Devil clinging to him, at
which a savage roar rose as if real flesh and blood had been sacrificed
to appease fierce passions.
Mr. Sidney a little drew back against the flame-flushed pillars behind
him. As the spreading fire scorched his face so the temper of the crowd
put a kind of awe into his heart.
"Who is to manage these?" he murmured. He was no statesman. Then he
pulled his companion by the sleeve. "There was a man killed to-day--let
us get on----"
But the sailor, with his arms folded across his breast, was watching the
bonfire, in the heart of which the Pope appeared to be writhing as he
shrivelled, while his wax face ran into one great tear, his tiara shrunk
and disappeared, and the Devil, a black patch in the redness, emitted
horrid fumes of sulphur as he was consumed.
"'Tis a pretty show," he said briefly.
"But one not pleasing to the King's Majesty, do you think?" flashed the
dark youth who had been their guide.
"No," smiled the other. "I think it would grieve His Majesty even more
than the acquittal of the holy fathers----"
The young man laughed; he seemed very excited.
"See you, sir, if you wait awhile you will see a warming-pan burnt--with
the pretended Prince of Wales, that Popish brat, within!"
Mr. Sidney interrupted.
"We have a boat to catch at Gravesend, if you could make a passage for
us, my friend----"
More than a little flattered at being thus addressed by so fine a
gentleman, the youth, by various shouted commands to his companions,
elbowings and blows administered in a lively manner, steered Mr. Sidney
and the sailor out of the crowd with the same dexterity that he had
guided them to the church steps.
On the confines of the press, Mr. Sidney, rather breathless, shook out
his mantle and adjusted his hat. The glow from the bonfire cast their
shadows long and leaping over the grass. In the distance towards the
archery fields and the Mall were other crowds and processions to be seen
passing in and out of the trees, and another bonfire was burning in
front of the mansion of the Protestant Northumberlands. The air was
full of the harsh colour of artificial light, the smell of powder and
tar, of burning rag and oil, belching smoke and the crack of squib,
rocket and bomb, mingled with noisy shouting of anti-Popish songs and
hoarse cheers for the bishops, the Dissenters, and the Protestant
succession.
"This must be pleasant music at Whitehall," remarked the sailor, with
good-humoured indifference. He was standing now full in the light of
the lantern at the corner of the church, and the young man, who had been
looking at him with great eagerness, exclaimed softly--
"It is Admiral Herbert!"
He turned instantly.
"My name is not for public hearing to-night," he said quickly. "And, God
of Heaven, boy, how did you know me?"
The young man flushed.
"You used to come to the 'Rose' in Charing Cross--near here, you
remember? My uncle kept it----"
Arthur Herbert smiled.
"Yes--I remember; and who are you?"
"A scholar at St. John's now," answered the youth, in the same eager,
excited way; "that is thanks to my Lord Dorset----"
"Why, I recall," said Mr. Sidney; "'tis my lord's last genius, sure--he
who wrote a satire against the court last year with one Charley
Montague--a parody on Mr. Dryden's bombast, which sorely vexed him----"
"The same, sir," answered the young man, flushing deeper with pleasure.
"Lord Dorset is the Maecenas of the age, as I have truly found----"
"Well," said the Admiral, "you seem a likely spark--stick to your
Pope-burning and you'll find yourself at Court yet--that is good advice.
What is your name? I don't read poetry."
"I don't write it, sir," retorted the other, with an engaging touch of
impudence. "Only verses--a little satire and a little truth."
Arthur Herbert laughed.
"Well, what is your name?"
"Prior, sir--Matthew Prior."
"Good evening, Mr. Prior, and remember that you did not see me
to-night--silence, mind, even to your friends the Whigs."
"I know enough for that, sir," responded the student simply. He took off
a battered hat with a courtly air of respect, and discreetly turned away
and slipped back into the crowd.
The two gentlemen continued their way.
"We run some risk, you observe," smiled Mr. Sidney. "Who would have
reckoned on that chance?"
"None but good Protestants are abroad to-night," answered the Admiral;
"but I doubt if you will be safe in London much longer----"
"I will come to The Hague as soon as I dare--tell His Highness so much;
but I would not have my going prejudice those who must remain at their
posts--it would give a colour to rumours if I was to return to The
Hague----"
"My Lord Sunderland manageth the rumours," smiled Herbert.
"My Lord Sunderland," repeated Mr. Sidney reflectively, "is difficult
stuff to handle. I tell you plainly that I do not know how far he will
go."
"But he will not betray us?"
"No--I can go warrant for that."
They turned down the Strand and walked along the river, which was lively
with water-men and boats of music and great barges.
"M. Zuylestein will be sending Edward Russell with further news," said
Mr. Sidney. "Look out for him, I pray you, at The Hague."
"Edward Russell must be weary of running to and fro England and
Holland," remarked Herbert. "And how long will the King allow M.
Zuylestein to drill parties against him?"
Mr. Sidney answered shortly.
"Mr. Russell hath my reason of hatred to the house of Stewart, and as
for M. Zuylestein he is too clever to give His Majesty a chance to
interfere."
They paused at one of the landing stages, and Herbert shouted to an idle
pair of oars that was looking for custom.
"Now, farewell," he said, "lest you shame my appearance--I shall be at
Gravesend to-night and, given fair wind, at Maaslandsluys in a day." He
pressed Mr. Sidney's hand, smiled, and hastened down the steps.
With a sobbing swish of water the boat drew up; the oars clanked in the
rowlocks. Mr. Sidney watched the tall figure in the red breeches of the
sailor step in, look back and wave his hand; then the boat joined the
others that covered the dark river, and was soon lost to sight in the
cross glimmers of lanterns and half-seen shapes.
Mr. Sidney remained gazing down the Thames--behind him the great capital
rejoicing with their bells and rockets and bonfires, their shouting and
singing, behind him the luxurious palace where the King must be enduring
a sharp humiliation. Mr. Sidney smiled; he thought with a keenness rare
in his soft nature of his brother who had laid down his life on Tower
Hill through the intrigues of the Duke of York, now King. It astonished
himself how much the memory of that injury rankled. He had not loved
his brother to half the measure that he hated the man who had brought
him to death. Indolent in mind and temper, he loathed cruelty, and the
blood of Algernon Sidney was not the only witness to the cruelty of
James Stewart. Mr. Sidney had seen the look on the fair face of Lord
Monmouth when he landed at the Tower stairs; he had seen well-born men
and women, implicated only indirectly in the late rebellion, shipped off
to Virginia as slaves, while the Italian Queen and her women quarrelled
over the price of them; he had seen, in this short reign, many acts of
an extraordinary tyranny and cruelty, and his thoughts dealt
triumphantly on Mr. Herbert, slipping down the river out of the tumult
and excitement to the quiet of Gravesend with an important little paper
in his seaman's coat pocket.