Two days after the events last recorded, a horseman, followed at a
respectful distance by a mounted attendant, took his way up Stamford
Hill. He was young, and of singularly prepossessing appearance, with a
countenance full of fire and spirit, and blooming with health, and it
was easy to see that his life had been passed in the country, and in
constant manly exercise; for though he managed his horse--a powerful bay
charger--to perfection, there was nothing of the town gallant, or of the
soldier, about him. His doublet and cloak were of a plain dark material,
and had seen service; but they well became his fine symmetrical figure,
as did the buff boots defending his well-made, vigorous limbs. Better
seat in saddle, or lighter hand with bridle, no man could possess than
he; and his noble steed, which like himself was full of courage and
ardour, responded to all his movements, and obeyed the slightest
indication of his will. His arms were rapier and dagger; and his
broad-leaved hat, ornamented with a black feather, covered the luxuriant
brown locks that fell in long ringlets over his shoulders. So
_débonnair_ was the young horseman in deportment, so graceful in
figure, and so comely in looks, that he had excited no little admiration
as he rode forth at an early hour that morning from Bishopgate Street,
and passing under the wide portal in the old city walls, speeded towards
the then rural district of Shoreditch, leaving Old Bedlam and its
saddening associations on the right, and Finsbury Fields, with its
gardens, dog-houses, and windmills, on the left. At the end of
Bishopgate-Street-Without a considerable crowd was collected round a
party of comely young milkmaids, who were executing a lively and
characteristic dance to the accompaniment of a bagpipe and fiddle.
Instead of carrying pails as was their wont, these milkmaids, who were
all very neatly attired, bore on their heads a pile of silver plate,
borrowed for the occasion, arranged like a pyramid, and adorned with
ribands and flowers. In this way they visited all their customers and
danced before their doors. A pretty usage then observed in the environs
of the metropolis in the month of May. The merry milkmaids set up a
joyous shout as the youth rode by; and many a bright eye followed his
gallant figure till it disappeared. At the Conduit beyond Shoreditch, a
pack of young girls, who were drawing water, suspended their task to
look after him; and so did every buxom country lass he encountered,
whether seated in tilted cart, or on a pillion behind her sturdy sire.
To each salutation addressed to him the young man cordially replied, in
a voice blithe as his looks; and in some cases, where the greeting was
given by an elderly personage, or a cap was respectfully doffed to him,
he uncovered his own proud head, and displayed his handsome features yet
more fully.
So much for the master: now for the man. In his own opinion, at
least--for he was by no means deficient in self-conceit--the latter came
in for an equal share of admiration; and certes, if impudence could help
him to win it, he lacked not the recommendation. Staring most of the
girls out of countenance, he leered at some of them so offensively, that
their male companions shook their fists or whips at him, and sometimes
launched a stone at his head. Equally free was he in the use of his
tongue; and his jests were so scurrilous and so little relished by those
to whom they were addressed, that it was, perhaps, well for him, in some
instances, that the speed at which he rode soon carried him out of
harm's reach. The knave was not ill-favoured; being young, supple of
limb, olive-complexioned, black-eyed, saucy, roguish-looking, with a
turned-up nose, and extremely white teeth. He wore no livery, and indeed
his attire was rather that of a citizen's apprentice than such as
beseemed a gentleman's lacquey. He was well mounted on a stout sorrel
horse; but though the animal was tractable enough, and easy in its
paces, he experienced considerable difficulty in maintaining his seat on
its back.
In this way, Jocelyn Mounchensey and Dick Taverner (for the reader will
have had no difficulty in recognising the pair) arrived at Stamford
Hill; and the former, drawing in the rein, proceeded slowly up the
gentle ascent.
* * * * *
It was one of those delicious spring mornings, when all nature seems to
rejoice; when the newly-opened leaves are greenest and freshest; when
the lark springs blithest from the verdant mead, and soars nearest
heaven; when a thousand other feathered choristers warble forth their
notes in copse and hedge; when the rooks caw mellowly near their nests
in the lofty trees; when gentle showers, having fallen overnight, have
kindly prepared the earth for the morrow's genial warmth and sunshine;
when that sunshine, each moment, calls some new object into life and
beauty; when all you look upon is pleasant to the eye, all you listen to
is delightful to the ear;--in short, it was one of those exquisite
mornings, only to be met with in the merry month of May, and only to be
experienced in full perfection in Merry England.
* * * * *
Arrived at the summit of the hill, commanding such extensively charming
views, Jocelyn halted and looked back with wonder at the vast and
populous city he had just quitted, now spread out before him in all its
splendour and beauty. In his eyes it seemed already over-grown, though
it had not attained a tithe of its present proportions; but he could
only judge according to his opportunity, and was unable to foresee its
future magnitude. But if London has waxed in size, wealth, and
population during the last two centuries and a-half, it has lost nearly
all the peculiar features of beauty which distinguished it up to that
time, and made it so attractive to Jocelyn's eyes. The diversified and
picturesque architecture of its ancient habitations, as yet undisturbed
by the innovations of the Italian and Dutch schools, and brought to full
perfection in the latter part of the reign of Elizabeth, gave the whole
city a characteristic and fanciful appearance. Old towers, old belfries,
old crosses, slender spires innumerable, rose up amid a world of quaint
gables and angular roofs. Story above story sprang those curious
dwellings; irregular yet homogeneous; dear to the painter's and the
poet's eye; elaborate in ornament; grotesque in design; well suited to
the climate, and admirably adapted to the wants and comforts of the
inhabitants; picturesque like the age itself, like its costume, its
manners, its literature. All these characteristic beauties and
peculiarities are now utterly gone. All the old picturesque habitations
have been devoured by fire, and a New City has risen in their
stead;--not to compare with the Old City, though--and conveying no
notion whatever of it--any more than you or I, worthy reader, in our
formal, and, I grieve to say it, ill-contrived attire, resemble the
picturesque-looking denizens of London, clad in doublet, mantle, and
hose, in the time of James the First.
Another advantage in those days must not be forgotten. The canopy of
smoke overhanging the vast Modern Babel, and oftentimes obscuring even
the light of the sun itself, did not dim the beauties of the Ancient
City,--sea coal being but little used in comparison with wood, of which
there was then abundance, as at this time in the capital of France. Thus
the atmosphere was clearer and lighter, and served as a finer medium to
reveal objects which would now be lost at a quarter the distance.
Fair, sparkling, and clearly defined, then, rose up Old London before
Jocelyn's gaze. Girded round with gray walls, defended by battlements,
and approached by lofty gates, four of which--to wit, Cripplegate,
Moorgate, Bishopgate, and Aldgate--were visible from where he stood; it
riveted attention from its immense congregation of roofs, spires,
pinnacles, and vanes, all glittering in the sunshine; while in the midst
of all, and pre-eminent above all, towered one gigantic pile--the
glorious Gothic cathedral. Far on the east, and beyond the city walls,
though surrounded by its own mural defences, was seen the frowning Tower
of London--part fortress and part prison--a structure never viewed in
those days without terror, being the scene of so many passing tragedies.
Looking westward, and rapidly surveying the gardens and pleasant
suburban villages lying on the north of the Strand, the young man's
gaze settled for a moment on Charing Cross--the elaborately-carved
memorial to his Queen, Eleanor, erected by Edward I.--and then ranging
over the palace of Whitehall and its two gates, Westminster Abbey--more
beautiful without its towers than with them--it became fixed upon
Westminster Hall; for there, in one of its chambers, the ceiling of
which was adorned with gilded stars, were held the councils of that
terrible tribunal which had robbed him of his inheritance, and now
threatened him with deprivation of liberty, and mutilation of person. A
shudder crossed him as he thought of the Star-Chamber, and he turned his
gaze elsewhere, trying to bring the whole glorious city within his ken.
A splendid view, indeed! Well might King James himself exclaim when
standing, not many years previously, on the very spot where Jocelyn now
stood, and looking upon London for the first time since his accession to
the throne of England--well might he exclaim in rapturous accents, as he
gazed on the magnificence of his capital--"At last the richest jewel in
a monarch's crown is mine!"
After satiating himself with this, to him, novel and wonderful prospect,
Jocelyn began to bestow his attention on objects closer at hand, and
examined the landscapes on either side of the eminence, which, without
offering any features of extraordinary beauty, were generally pleasing,
and exercised a soothing influence upon his mind. At that time Stamford
Hill was crowned with a grove of trees, and its eastern declivity was
overgrown with brushwood. The whole country, on the Essex side, was more
or less marshy, until Epping Forest, some three miles off, was reached.
Through a swampy vale on the left, the river Lea, so dear to the angler,
took its slow and silent course; while through a green valley on the
right, flowed the New River, then only just opened. Pointing out the
latter channel to Jocelyn, Dick Taverner, who had now come up, informed
him that he was present at the completion of that important undertaking.
And a famous sight it was, the apprentice said. The Lord Mayor of
London, the Aldermen, and the Recorder were all present in their robes
and gowns to watch the floodgate opened, which was to pour the stream
that had run from Amwell Head into the great cistern near Islington. And
this was done amidst deafening cheers and the thunder of ordnance.
"A proud day it was for Sir Hugh Myddleton," Dick added; "and some
reward for his perseverance through difficulties and disappointments."
"It is to be hoped the good gentleman has obtained more substantial
reward than that," Jocelyn replied. "He has conferred an inestimable
boon upon his fellow-citizens, and is entitled to their gratitude for
it."
"As to gratitude on the part of the citizens, I can't say much for
that, Sir. And it is not every man that meets with his desserts, or we
know where our friends Sir Giles Mompesson and Sir Francis Mitchell
would be. The good cits are content to drink the pure water of the New
River, without bestowing a thought on him who has brought it to their
doors. Meantime, the work has well-nigh beggared Sir Hugh Myddleton, and
he is likely to obtain little recompense beyond what the consciousness
of his own beneficent act will afford him."
"But will not the King requite him?" Jocelyn asked.
"The King _has_ requited him with a title," Dick returned. "A title,
however, which may be purchased at a less price than good Sir Hugh has
paid for it, now-a-days. But it must be owned, to our sovereign's
credit, that he did far more than the citizens of London would do; since
when they refused to assist Master Myddleton (as he then was) in his
most useful work, King James undertook, and bound himself by indenture
under the great seal, to pay half the expenses. Without this, it would
probably never have been accomplished."
"I trust it may be profitable to Sir Hugh in the end," Jocelyn said;
"and if not, he will reap his reward hereafter."
"It is not unlikely we may encounter him, as he now dwells near
Edmonton, and is frequently on the road," Dick said; "and if so, I will
point him out to you, I have some slight acquaintance with him, having
often served him in my master's shop in Paul's Churchyard. Talking of
Edmonton, with your permission, Sir, we will break our fast at the
Bell,[1] where I am known, and where you will be well served. The host
is a jovial fellow and trusty, and may give us information which will be
useful before we proceed on our perilous expedition to Theobalds."
"I care not how soon we arrive there," Jocelyn cried; "for the morning
has so quickened my appetite, that the bare idea of thy host's good
cheer makes all delay in attacking it unsupportable."
"I am entirely of your opinion, Sir," Dick said, smacking his lips. "At
the Bell at Edmonton we are sure of fresh fish from the Lea, fresh eggs
from the farm-yard, and stout ale from the cellar; and if these three
things do not constitute a good breakfast, I know not what others do. So
let us be jogging onwards. We have barely two miles to ride. Five
minutes to Tottenham; ten to Edmonton; 'tis done!"
It was not, however, accomplished quite so soon as Dick anticipated. Ere
fifty yards were traversed, they were brought to a stop by an
unlooked-for incident.
Suddenly emerging from a thick covert of wood, which had concealed him
from view, a horseman planted himself directly in their path; ordering
them in a loud, authoritative voice, to stand; and enforcing attention
to the injunction by levelling a caliver at Jocelyn's head.
The appearance of this personage was as mysterious as formidable. The
upper part of his features was concealed by a black mask. His
habiliments were sable; and the colour of his powerful steed was sable
likewise. Boots, cap, cloak, and feather, were all of the same dusky
hue. His frame was strongly built, and besides the caliver he was armed
with sword and poniard. Altogether, he constituted an unpleasant
obstacle in the way.
Dick Taverner was not able to render much assistance on the occasion.
The suddenness with which the masked horseman burst forth upon them
scared his horse; and the animal becoming unmanageable, began to rear,
and finally threw its rider to the ground--luckily without doing him
much damage.
Meanwhile the horseman, lowering his caliver, thus addressed Jocelyn,
who, taking him for a robber, was prepared to resist the attack.
"You are mistaken in me, Master Jocelyn Mounchensey," he said; "I have
no design upon your purse. I call upon you to surrender yourself my
prisoner."
"Never, with life," the young man replied. "In spite of your disguise, I
recognise you as one of Sir Giles Mompesson's myrmidons; and you may
conclude from our former encounter, whether my resistance will be
determined or not."
"You had not escaped on that occasion, but for my connivance, Master
Jocelyn," the man in the mask rejoined. "Now, hear me. I am willing to
befriend you on certain conditions; and, to prove my sincerity, I engage
you shall go free if you accept them."
"I do not feel disposed to make any terms with you," Jocelyn said
sternly; "and as to my freedom of departure, I will take care that it is
not hindered."
"I hold a warrant from the Star-Chamber for your arrest," said the man
in the mask; "and you will vainly offer resistance if I choose to
execute it. Let this be well understood before I proceed. And now to
show you the extent of my information concerning you, and that I am
fully aware of your proceedings, I will relate to you what you have done
since you fled with that froward apprentice, whose tricks will assuredly
bring him to Bridewell, from the Three Cranes. You were landed at London
Bridge, and went thence with your companion to the Rose at Newington
Butts, where you lay that night, and remained concealed, as you fancied,
during the whole of the next day. I say, you fancied your retreat was
unknown, because I was aware of it, and could have seized you had I been
so disposed. The next night you removed to the Crown in Bishopgate
Street, and as you did not care to return to your lodgings near Saint
Botolph's Church without Aldgate, you privily despatched Dick Taverner
to bring your horses from the Falcon in Gracechurch Street, where you
had left them, with the foolhardy intention of setting forth this
morning to Theobalds, to try and obtain an interview of the King."
"You have spoken the truth," Jocelyn replied in amazement; "but if you
designed to arrest me, and could have done so, why did you defer your
purpose?"
"Question me not on that point. Some day or other I may satisfy you. Not
now. Enough that I have conceived a regard for you, and will not harm
you, unless compelled to do so by self-defence. Nay more, I will serve
you. You must not go to Theobalds. 'Tis a mad scheme, conceived by a hot
brain, and will bring destruction upon you. If you persist in it, I
must follow you thither, and prevent greater mischief."
"Follow me, then, if you list," Jocelyn cried; "for go I shall. But be
assured I will liberate myself from you if I can."
"Go, hot-headed boy," the man in the mask rejoined, but he then added
quickly; "yet no!--I will not deliver you thus to the power of your
enemies, without a further effort to save you. Since you are resolved to
go to Theobalds you must have a protector--a protector able to shield
you even from Buckingham, whose enmity you have reason to dread. There
is only one person who can do this, and that is Count Gondomar, the
Spanish lieger-ambassador. Luckily, he is with the King now. In place of
making any idle attempts to obtain an interview of his Majesty, or
forcing yourself unauthorised on the royal presence, which will end in
your arrest by the Knight Marshall, seek out Count Gondomar, and deliver
this token to him. Tell him your story; and do what he bids you."
And as he spoke the man in the mask held forth a ring, which Jocelyn
took.
"I intended to make certain conditions with you," the mysterious
personage pursued, "for the service I should render you, but you have
thwarted my plans by your obstinacy, and I must reserve them to our
next meeting. For we _shall_ meet again, and that ere long; and then
when you tender your thanks for what I have now done, I will tell you
how to requite the obligation."
"I swear to requite it if I can--and as you desire," Jocelyn cried,
struck by the other's manner.
"Enough!" the masked personage rejoined. "I am satisfied. Proceed on
your way, and may good fortune attend you! Your destiny is in your own
hands. Obey Count Gondomar's behests, and he will aid you effectually."
And without a word more, the man in the mask struck spurs into his
horse's sides, and dashed down the hill, at a headlong pace, in the
direction of London.
Jocelyn looked after him, and had not recovered from his surprise at the
singular interview that had taken place when he disappeared.
By this time, Dick Taverner having regained his feet, limped towards
him, leading his horse.
"It must be the Fiend in person," quoth the apprentice, contriving to
regain the saddle. "I trust you have made no compact with him, Sir."
"Not a sinful one I hope," Jocelyn replied, glancing at the ring.
And they proceeded on their way towards Tottenham, and were presently
saluted by the merry ringing of bells, proclaiming some village
festival.
NOTE: [1] Lest we should be charged with an anachronism, we may mention that
the Bell at Edmonton, immortalized in the story of John Gilpin, was in
good repute in the days we treat of, as will appear from the following
extract from John Savile's Tractate entitled, _King James, his
Entertainment at Theobald's, with his Welcome to London_. Having
described the vast concourse of people that flocked forth to greet their
new Sovereign on his approach to the metropolis, honest John
says--"After our breakfast at Edmonton at the sign of _the Bell_, we
took occasion to note how many would come down in the next hour, so
coming up into a chamber next to the street, where we might both best
see, and likewise take notice of all passengers, we called for an
hour-glass, and after we had disposed of ourselves who should take the
number of the horse, and who the foot, we turned the hour-glass, which
before it was half run out, we could not possibly truly number them,
they came so exceedingly fast; but there we broke off, and made our
account of 309 horses, and 137 footmen, which course continued that day
from four o'clock in the morning till three o'clock in the afternoon,
and the day before also, as the host of the house told us, without
intermission." Besides establishing the existence of the renowned _Bell_
at this period, the foregoing passage is curious in other respects.