of laughter from her eyes. "I think you are about right, John. And
something did happen here in Deptford; in fact, there were several
things. First, I'll tell you that it was here that Queen Elizabeth
came in 1581 and visited the ship in which Drake had been around the
world. The Queen dined on board the vessel and knighted Drake while
there. Event number two was the death of Christopher Marlowe, one of
the greatest of all England's dramatists. Marlowe was only thirty
years old when he was killed in a vulgar fight in a tavern. Fancy!
Poor Anne of Cleves, after the early divorce from her royal husband,
lived near Deptford, at Place House. Writers say that she used often
to go up to London, and visit the Court, just as though she had not
been (for a few short days, to be sure) the 'first lady of the land,'
as you Americans say. Poor Anne! She always seemed a pitiful character
to my mind. She couldn't help it if Henry VIII didn't find her good to
look upon!"
Beyond Deptford, as they were smoothly gliding along, all at once
there came a loud report.
"Goodness!" cried John. "What in the world was that!" Then he shouted
with laughter at the frightened expression on Betty's face.
"Dearie me! It must be a 'blow-out'! Is that the trouble, Jo? Yes?
Well, come, girls; we may as well step out." There was forced
resignation in Mrs. Pitt's voice; she was trying not to mind the
delay.
For forty minutes she and the girls sat by the roadside and watched
the chauffeur and the two boys at work on the tire. It seemed as
though every part of this operation took longer than usual. The tools
seemed never so easily mislaid; it surely was a longer task than ever
to inflate the tube, and then to fit on the wheel-rim. Finally,
however, the three rose, grimy and dusty, but triumphant, and ready to
set forth once again.
The accident came just at the edge of Blackheath, amid very historic
surroundings. Some one has called Blackheath the Rotten Row of the
olden days, for there royalty and fashionable people of the town went
to ride and disport themselves, just as they now do in Hyde Park; and
there important guests on the way to London, were wont to be met with
much ceremony by the Mayor and certain great citizens. After the
battle of Agincourt, the victor, Henry V, when returning to London,
was given a magnificent reception at Blackheath, and many were the
speeches of praise which had been prepared. The great soldier cut them
all short, however, insisting that the honor be given God. At
Blackheath, his descendant, Henry VIII, first saw Anne of Cleves
(officially, that is), and straightway decided to divorce her. But
perhaps the most joyful scene of all those at Blackheath, took place
on the May morning when Charles II came into his own, and all England
was glad, after the dark days of the Commonwealth and the iron rule of
the sober Puritans.
"This," declared Mrs. Pitt a little later, "is 'Shooter's Hill.' That
should bear a familiar sound. How many have ever read Dickens's 'Tale
of Two Cities'? You have, I know, Philip. Well, in the second chapter,
the stage which carried Mr. Jarvis Lorry on his way, is described as
slowly mounting this very hill, while most of its passengers toil
along the wet, snowy road, by its side. Do you remember, Betty? You
must try to think over all of Dickens's works which you have ever
read, for we are coming to a district which that author knew well and
often put into his novels."
Sure enough, they almost felt as though they had stepped into the
world of Dickens's stories, for so many of the places mentioned
therein they were able to find. Slowly they drove through Rochester's
streets, stopping when they came to any spot of especial interest.
"Here's the old Bull Inn," said Mrs. Pitt, pointing it out as she
spoke. "It is supposed that there are no less than twenty-five inns
named in Dickens's 'Pickwick Papers' alone. This is one of them, for
Room Number Seventeen was Mr. Pickwick's bedroom, and there is also
Winkle's, which was 'inside of Mr. Tupman's.' Come, shall we go in?"
The landlord of the Bull has most carefully preserved and cared for
all which is of even the slightest interest in connection with Dickens
or his books. He most kindly took Mrs. Pitt and her party all about
the old house, showing them everything,--including the room where the
famous ball in "Pickwick Papers" was held.
Leaving the Bull, they noted the Crown Inn, on the site of the one
where Henry VIII went privately to take a look at Anne of Cleves, and
the old White Hart, built in Richard II's reign, which once sheltered
Samuel Pepys. In Restoration House (built in 1587) Charles II stayed
after his landing at Dover.
"'Dickens wrote thus about Restoration House in "Great
Expectations,"'" Betty read from the guidebook. "'I had stopped to
look at the house as I passed, and its seared red brick walls, blocked
windows and strong green ivy clasping even the stacks of chimneys with
its twigs and tendrils, as if with sinewy arms, made up a rich and
attractive mystery.'"
"Doesn't that describe it exactly?" exclaimed Mrs. Pitt, with
enthusiasm. "That house always fascinated me, too. When Dickens last
visited Rochester, it is said that he was seen gazing long at this old
place, and some have thought that the result of those reflections
would have appeared in the next chapter of 'Edwin Drood,' which novel,
as you know, he never finished. Now, we'll drive out to take a look
at Gad's Hill. Luckily, this is Wednesday, so we will be admitted."
After making inquiries, Mrs. Pitt learned that the owner of Gad's Hill
throws it open only on the afternoon of each Wednesday; so they took
their luncheon first, and then motored the mile and a half to
Dickens's home.
Gad's Hill is charming! Dickens was devoted to this square,
vine-covered house, where he resided from 1856 to the time of his
death, in 1870. The story goes that when he was a small boy the place
had a great attraction for him, and that one day his father, wishing
to spur him on in a way peculiar to parents, reminded him that if he
worked hard and persevered until he was a grown man, he might own that
very estate, or one like it.
As they left the house, Mrs. Pitt said, "This hill is the spot where
took place the robbery of the travelers in Shakespeare's 'Henry IV.'
The inn just opposite Gad's Hill is the Falstaff Inn, probably built
about Queen Anne's time. It used to have an old sign with pictures of
Falstaff and the 'Merry Wives of Windsor' upon it. I read that in the
olden days ninety coaches daily stopped here. Fancy!"
"Well," observed Betty, "I shall certainly enjoy reading Dickens
better than ever, when I get home, for now I've seen his study where
he wrote. It makes things so much more real somehow, doesn't it, Mrs.
Pitt?"
Having visited the cathedral and the old castle, they now left
Rochester, and found that the run to Canterbury was rather longer than
they had realized.
"But really, you know," Mrs. Pitt had intervened, "Rochester is just
about halfway between the two, London and Canterbury, I would say. And
we did stop quite a bit to see the sights connected with Dickens."
At last, however, about six in the afternoon, they came in sight of
Canterbury, its great cathedral towering over all,--its timbered
houses, old city-gate, and narrow, picturesque streets. As usual, the
young people who never seemed to need a rest, desired to start
sight-seeing at once, but unfortunately a sudden thunder-shower came
up to prevent.
"Oh, well, it will stop soon," Betty assured them. "It always does in
England."
This time, the weather was not so kind, however. The rain continued
persistently, and the party was forced to remain at the inn the entire
evening.
Sunshine, even though it be sometimes a bit dim and watery, is never
long absent during an English summer, so the morning dawned bright and
clear. Just as they set forth from the hotel, Betty felt in her coat
pocket and found that her precious red notebook, in which she
inscribed all interesting facts and discoveries, was missing.
Philip promptly came to the rescue, saying: "I saw you put it behind
you on the seat of the motor, yesterday, and it's probably there
still. I'll go to the garage and see."
Betty gave Philip a grateful little smile, but insisted upon
accompanying him on his search. They came upon the treasure just where
it had been left, and soon rejoined the rest of the party in the
cathedral close, where John was in the midst of taking some
photographs.
The first near view which they had of Canterbury Cathedral was in
approaching it from under old Christchurch Gateway. In spite of its
great age, the cathedral, in contrast with the much blackened gateway,
appears surprisingly white and fair. The exterior is very beautiful;
the two towers are most majestic, and beyond, one sees the graceful
Bell Tower, rising from the point where the transepts cross. In olden
days, a gilded angel stood on the very top of the Bell Tower, and
served as a beacon to the many pilgrims traveling toward Becket's
shrine.
Walking about inside the cathedral, they saw, behind the altar, the
position of the once famous shrine. All that now remain to remind one
that this ever existed are the pavement and steps, deeply worn by the
feet of many generations of devout pilgrims.
"I told you something of the splendor of this shrine," Mrs. Pitt
suggested to them. "It was said that after his visit to it, Erasmus
(the Dutch scholar and friend of Sir Thomas More, you know) in
describing it, told how 'gold was the meanest (poorest) thing to be
seen.' See, here is the tomb of Henry IV, the only king who is buried
here, and there's the monument to the Black Prince. Above hang his
gauntlets, helmet, coat, and shield. Do you see them, John?"
The northwest transept, so say all guidebooks and vergers (and they
certainly ought to be truthful), was the scene of the murder of the
Archbishop a Becket. There is even a stone in the floor which marks
the precise spot; but, contrary to her usual habit, Mrs. Pitt
absolutely pointed out that all this is false.
"I'm sorry, children," she said, "but I must contradict this. Becket
was killed at five o'clock on a dreary December afternoon of 1170.
Four years later, the cathedral was entirely destroyed by fire.
Therefore, it is not possible that they can show visitors the exact
spot where the tragedy took place. William of Sens came over from
France, and in 1184, finished the building which we now see.
"This nave," she continued, as they again entered it, "is one of the
longest in England, and the choir is several feet higher. Do you
notice? It is an unusual feature. Also, the fact that the walls bend
very gradually inward as they near the east end of the choir, is
worthy of note. Here, as at St. Paul's and a number of other
cathedrals, business was carried on, even during services, and
pack-horses and mules went trailing through. It's curious to think of,
isn't it?"
[Illustration: "WILLIAM OF SENS, IN 1184, FINISHED THE BUILDING WHICH
WE NOW SEE."--_Page 264._]
Canterbury's cloisters are wonderfully ancient. Blackened as they are
by the centuries, and their still exquisite carvings broken, yet here,
more than in the edifice itself, can one imagine the scene of Becket's
terrible death.
"The residence of the Archbishop stood alongside the church," Mrs.
Pitt proceeded, "and here the murderers came unarmed, upon their
arrival in the town, to interview him. Becket was unmoved by their
threats, so they left him to go and arm themselves. The entreaties of
the monks that their master should seek safety in the cathedral would
have been of no avail had not the hour for evening service arrived.
Can't you almost think how dark and cold these stones must have seemed
on that winter afternoon, when Becket marched along with majestic
deliberateness through these very cloisters, in by that little door,
and up to the altar. A feeling of dread and terror was everywhere.
Most of the monks had fled to places of hiding, and the Archbishop
found himself alone with his three or four faithful friends, whom he
commanded to unbolt the heavy church doors, which, in a panic, they
had barred. No sooner had the armed men rushed in than the challenge
came from Reginald Fitzurse, as Tennyson gives us the scene:
'Where is the Archbishop, Thomas Becket?'
and Becket's brave answer:
'Here.
No traitor to the King, but Priest of God,
Primate of England. I am he ye seek.
What would ye have of me?'
They responded, 'Your life!' and there immediately followed the
horrible death."
Mrs. Pitt drew a long breath and sighed.
"Such were the deeds of those unenlightened days. These fierce Norman
knights, wishing to gain favor in the eyes of the King, and hearing
him say in a moment of anger, that he wished himself rid of the
troublesome Archbishop, they at once proceeded to Canterbury and
killed him. It was all the outcome of the continual strife and
struggle for power, between the Church and the State."
"What did they do to those three Normans?" demanded John indignantly.
"Nothing. I believe they went free. But Henry II himself tried to
atone for the deed in doing penance by walking barefooted to
Canterbury and Becket's shrine. Come, let's go outside now."
They then wandered about the precincts of the cathedral, pausing by
some lovely, ruined arches which tell of an ancient monastery.
Everywhere stretch smooth lawns, with grand old trees, and here and
there the houses of those connected with the church. Also, very close
by stands the King's School, which was founded by Archbishop Theodore
in the seventh century, 'for the study of Greek,' and later refounded
by Henry VIII. Here that famous Canterbury boy, Christopher Marlowe,
was educated. The school is well worth a visit, if only to see the
beautiful outside Norman stairway.
Mrs. Pitt next led the way down Mercery Lane, at the corner of which
stood The Chequers of Hope, the inn where Chaucer's pilgrims put up.
"You remember the old gate by which we entered the town yesterday,"
said Mrs. Pitt. "Well, under that same arch came the pilgrims as they
approached from London. Although the city-wall then boasted
twenty-one towers and six gates, the West Gate is the only remaining
bit. Here, at the inn which stood conveniently near the cathedral, the
pilgrims stayed, and in Mercery Lane they bought their
souvenirs,--probably rosaries or phials of Holy Water. At the further
end of the Lane stood the ancient rush-market. Rushes were then in
great demand, you recollect, for people used them to strew over their
floors."
One might stay on indefinitely in Canterbury, and still not discover
all its treasures and interesting nooks and corners. The streets are
narrow, crooked, and contain many very old houses. There is at
Canterbury a castle; one may see the ruins of St. John's Hospital, and
of St. Sepulchre's Nunnery, where Elizabeth Barton, the "Holy Maid of
Kent," once lived; the old gate of St. Augustine's Monastery still
stands, though it is now restored; by exploring, traces of the
city-wall may be found, and the weavers' houses which hang over the
little river offer a delightful view. Interest is endless in
Canterbury. But as it is impossible to see it all, especially in
limited time, the visitor usually seeks out the best known and most
famous places; and surely, after the great cathedral itself, ranks
St. Martin's Church.
A little way out of the town, and up against a sunny hillside, is this
tiny "Mother Church of England." Imbedded in the rough stone of the
square, Norman tower are the huge stems of giant vines. Altogether, a
more primitive, ancient appearing building cannot well be imagined.
"Well," remarked Betty impressively, "this is the very oldest place
we've been in yet. It makes me feel as Stonehenge did, somehow."
"Yes, that's true," assented Mrs. Pitt. "The two places do give you
similar sensations. It's simply that you feel the age. I've always
thought that if I were suddenly blindfolded, carried away, and set
down in St. Martin's Church at Canterbury, that I should know where I
was just from the atmosphere, which is so heavy with the weight of the
years."
It is claimed for St. Martin's that it is the most ancient church in
all England, a land filled with ancient churches. It is in the
vicinity of sixteen hundred years old, for Bede states that it was
built while the Romans were still in possession, and certain it is
that numerous Roman bricks may be seen to this day in the outer wall.
The church was perhaps erected for the use of Queen Bertha, whose
husband, Ethelbert, King of Kent, was also converted to Christianity,
and baptized here. After the arrival of St. Augustine, it is believed
that he and his followers came here to worship. Inside, the little
church is a curious conglomeration of different styles of
architecture; here a Roman doorway, there a Norman, and here an
ancient Saxon arch. Some of the relics in the church are the Saxon
font, built of twenty-two separate stones, a tomb which has been
called that of Queen Bertha, and two Elizabethan brasses. The party
found a most excellent and intelligent guide, a woman, who showed them
the vessel which held the Holy Oil (a very valuable thing), and the
"leper's squint," a slit in the wall to which the unfortunate sick men
were allowed to come and listen to the service.
"That's something like the 'nun's squint' at St. Helen's Church in the
city," observed Barbara.
On the way back to their hotel, John and Philip strayed into the old
Guildhall which contains some portraits, which failed to impress the
boys, however.
"S'pose they were old Mayors or some such fellows," said John, when
questioned as to what he saw. "Couldn't bear 'em, with their bright
velvet clothes and high ruffs. I'm glad I didn't live then! Excuse me
from ruffs!"
"If the important men of the town wore such gay and frivolous attire,
they had to pay for it surely," Mrs. Pitt added. "Last night I was
reading that in the records of Canterbury for the year 1556, the Mayor
was required to provide for his wife every year, before Christmas, a
scarlet gown and a bonnet of velvet. That was enforced by law! Fancy!
The women may have had a hand in that, for they very naturally wanted
to make sure not to be outdone by the men in the point of fine
clothes."
As the automobile again passed under the West Gate, on its way back to
London, Betty turned to Mrs. Pitt, and said in her quiet little way:
"I think you were right in what you said when we were at Salisbury. I
think, too, that's the most beautiful of all the cathedrals I've seen.
But Canterbury, both the town and church, is very, very interesting.
I like the stories about Becket and the pilgrims, too. I'd like to
come again some day. Please take hold of my hand, John; I want to
stand up a minute and watch that dear Bell Tower as long as I can."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GOOD-BY TO LONDON
"A wire for you, Master John."
The butler's interruption while the family was at breakfast one August
morning, caused a sudden hush of expectancy.
"A telegram for me!" replied John, trying to assume sufficient dignity
for the momentous occasion,--the arrival of the first message he had
ever received. "Why, what can it be?"
"Do open it, John. It must be a cable," Betty pleaded, fearing
something might be wrong at home.
"Yes, hurry, dear," put in Mrs. Pitt.
Just the second that the contents were revealed, a great shout of joy
went up, and John and Betty fairly jumped up and down in their
excitement.
"Father and mother coming!" John cried. "On the way now! Taking us to
Switzerland! It's great!"
Betty's radiant face showed what delight the prospect of seeing her
father and mother gave her. Glancing at Mrs. Pitt almost at once,
however, she hastened to say:
"We're both sorry to go away from you all, though, and I hope they'll
let us come back. We've had such a good time in England! Don't you
think we can go on with our trip here after Switzerland?"
"I really can't tell, dear, for this is all so unexpected. I don't
know what your father's plans may be, but I hope he will bring you
back to me. I'd be very sorry if it were all at an end! But to think I
shall so soon see your father!" Mrs. Pitt sat staring into the grate,
and seemed to be lost in her thoughts.
After the general commotion caused by the news had somewhat subsided,
and they had all adjusted themselves to the new plans, Mrs. Pitt
decided to spend the remaining week in the city, as she had still so
much there to show John and Betty. The weather being quite cool and
comfortable, they could easily go about.
It happened that two events of those busy days made an everlasting
impression on the minds of both John and Betty. First, there was
their glimpse of the King and Queen; and then, there was the fire.
As they emerged at about noon one day from the National Gallery, where
Mrs. Pitt had been showing them some of the best pictures, Philip
heard some one on the steps of the building say that the King and
Queen had come to town to be present at the unveiling of a statue.
They were soon to pass through St. James Park on their way from
Whitehall, it was understood, and our friends at once hastened in that
direction. For some time they waited with the crowd, and it was not
exactly agreeable, for the day was damp and foggy, and a fine rain had
set in. All the while, John was getting more and more aroused, and
when he finally saw a small company of the Horse Guards, he so forgot
himself as to shout:
"Hurrah! Here they come!"
Because of the rain, the Guards, wearing their blue capes lined with
scarlet, were rather less picturesque than usual, but the black horses
were as fine as ever.
"They step as if they were proud of going along with the King and
Queen," Betty said in a loud whisper to Barbara.
Between two small squadrons of the Guards came a modest closed
carriage in which Their Majesties rode. Fortunately for the young
visitors, they both kept bending forward and bowing very graciously
from the windows, so that they could be distinctly seen. The sober
British crowd was characteristically well-behaved. No demonstration of
any sort was given the Royalties, except that the men removed their
hats. Swiftly the carriage rolled up the wide avenue toward Buckingham
Palace.
"Humph! They don't make much fuss about it, do they?" was all John
said, while Betty was especially impressed by how very much the King
and Queen resembled their photographs.
The following morning an interesting trip to Smithfield was taken.
Going by the "Tube," the ride seemed a short one, and they soon found
themselves at Smithfield Market.
"Have you ever seen Faneuil Hall Market in Boston?" demanded Mrs. Pitt
laughingly, whereupon John and Betty, the two Bostonians, were rather
ashamed to admit that they had not.
"Somehow we never have time at home," was Betty's remark. "And I think
perhaps we never really wanted to very much, either."
"Well, you wouldn't understand why, then, but it always reminded me of
this great Smithfield Market," went on Mrs. Pitt and then added a bit
boastfully, "I've been to Faneuil Hall several times."
What they saw was a large, lofty building, with a roof of glass and
iron, equipped as a most thoroughly up-to-date meat-market. A street
runs directly through the center, and from this, one can get a
splendid idea of both halves.
"This great barren square of Smithfield was the place where they had
the tournaments in the olden days, and because of that, the name was
probably once 'Smooth-field.' Edward III held a brilliant tournament
here, and also Richard II, who invited many foreign guests to be
present for that important event. The processions which preceded, as
well as the tournaments themselves, were most elaborate. One old
writer fairly dazzles us by his description of 'sixty horses in rich
trappings, each mounted by an esquire of honor,--and sixty ladies of
rank, dressed in the richest elegance of the day following on their
palfreys, each leading by a silver chain a knight completely armed for
tilting. Minstrels and trumpets accompanied them to Smithfield amidst
the shouting population: there the Queen and her fair train received
them.' Then this same author tells at much length of the commencing of
the tournament, and says 'they tilted each other until dark. They all
then adjourned to a sumptuous banquet, and dancing consumed the
night.' For several days and nights this same performance was
repeated. That gives you a slight idea of the aspect Smithfield bore
in the days when it was far outside the limits of the 'City.'"
After pausing a few minutes in her talk, while they walked about the
square, Mrs. Pitt proceeded: