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<h2> CHAPTER XXIV </h2>
<h3> A SAFE PASS FOR KING'S MESSENGER </h3>
<p>A journey to London seemed to us in those bygone days as hazardous and
dark an adventure as could be forced on any man. I mean, of course, a poor
man; for to a great nobleman, with ever so many outriders, attendants, and
retainers, the risk was not so great, unless the highwaymen knew of their
coming beforehand, and so combined against them. To a poor man, however,
the risk was not so much from those gentlemen of the road as from the more
ignoble footpads, and the landlords of the lesser hostels, and the loose
unguarded soldiers, over and above the pitfalls and the quagmires of the
way; so that it was hard to settle, at the first outgoing whether a man
were wise to pray more for his neck or for his head.</p>
<p>But nowadays it is very different. Not that highway-men are scarce, in
this the reign of our good Queen Anne; for in truth they thrive as well as
ever, albeit they deserve it not, being less upright and courteous—but
that the roads are much improved, and the growing use of stage-waggons
(some of which will travel as much as forty miles in a summer day) has
turned our ancient ideas of distance almost upside down; and I doubt
whether God be pleased with our flying so fast away from Him. However,
that is not my business; nor does it lie in my mouth to speak very
strongly upon the subject, seeing how much I myself have done towards
making of roads upon Exmoor.</p>
<p>To return to my story (and, in truth, I lose that road too often), it
would have taken ten King's messengers to get me away from Plover's
Barrows without one goodbye to Lorna, but for my sense of the trust and
reliance which His Majesty had reposed in me. And now I felt most bitterly
how the very arrangements which seemed so wise, and indeed ingenious, may
by the force of events become our most fatal obstacles. For lo! I was
blocked entirely from going to see Lorna; whereas we should have fixed it
so that I as well might have the power of signalling my necessity.</p>
<p>It was too late now to think of that; and so I made up my mind at last to
keep my honour on both sides, both to the King and to the maiden, although
I might lose everything except a heavy heart for it. And indeed, more
hearts than mine were heavy; for when it came to the tug of parting, my
mother was like, and so was Annie, to break down altogether. But I bade
them be of good cheer, and smiled in the briskest manner upon them, and
said that I should be back next week as one of His Majesty's greatest
captains, and told them not to fear me then. Upon which they smiled at the
idea of ever being afraid of me, whatever dress I might have on; and so I
kissed my hand once more, and rode away very bravely. But bless your
heart, I could no more have done so than flown all the way to London if
Jeremy Stickles had not been there.</p>
<p>And not to take too much credit to myself in this matter, I must confess
that when we were come to the turn in the road where the moor begins, and
whence you see the last of the yard, and the ricks and the poultry round
them and can (by knowing the place) obtain a glance of the kitchen window
under the walnut-tree, it went so hard with me just here that I even made
pretence of a stone in ancient Smiler's shoe, to dismount, and to bend my
head awhile. Then, knowing that those I had left behind would be watching
to see the last of me, and might have false hopes of my coming back, I
mounted again with all possible courage, and rode after Jeremy Stickles.</p>
<p>Jeremy, seeing how much I was down, did his best to keep me up with jokes,
and tales, and light discourse, until, before we had ridden a league, I
began to long to see the things he was describing. The air, the weather,
and the thoughts of going to a wondrous place, added to the fine company—at
least so Jeremy said it was—of a man who knew all London, made me
feel that I should be ungracious not to laugh a little. And being very
simple then I laughed no more a little, but something quite considerable
(though free from consideration) at the strange things Master Stickles
told me, and his strange way of telling them. And so we became very
excellent friends, for he was much pleased with my laughing.</p>
<p>Not wishing to thrust myself more forward than need be in this narrative,
I have scarcely thought it becoming or right to speak of my own
adornments. But now, what with the brave clothes I had on, and the better
ones still that were packed up in the bag behind the saddle, it is almost
beyond me to forbear saying that I must have looked very pleasing. And
many a time I wished, going along, that Lorna could only be here and
there, watching behind a furze-bush, looking at me, and wondering how much
my clothes had cost. For mother would have no stint in the matter, but had
assembled at our house, immediately upon knowledge of what was to be about
London, every man known to be a good stitcher upon our side of Exmoor. And
for three days they had worked their best, without stint of beer or cider,
according to the constitution of each. The result, so they all declared,
was such as to create admiration, and defy competition in London. And to
me it seemed that they were quite right; though Jeremy Stickles turned up
his nose, and feigned to be deaf in the business.</p>
<p>Now be that matter as you please—for the point is not worth arguing—certain
it is that my appearance was better than it had been before. For being in
the best clothes, one tries to look and to act (so far as may be) up to
the quality of them. Not only for the fear of soiling them, but that they
enlarge a man's perception of his value. And it strikes me that our sins
arise, partly from disdain of others, but mainly from contempt of self,
both working the despite of God. But men of mind may not be measured by
such paltry rule as this.</p>
<p>By dinner-time we arrived at Porlock, and dined with my old friend, Master
Pooke, now growing rich and portly. For though we had plenty of victuals
with us we were not to begin upon them, until all chance of victualling
among our friends was left behind. And during that first day we had no
need to meddle with our store at all; for as had been settled before we
left home, we lay that night at Dunster in the house of a worthy tanner,
first cousin to my mother, who received us very cordially, and undertook
to return old Smiler to his stable at Plover's Barrows, after one day's
rest.</p>
<p>Thence we hired to Bridgwater; and from Bridgwater on to Bristowe,
breaking the journey between the two. But although the whole way was so
new to me, and such a perpetual source of conflict, that the remembrance
still abides with me, as if it were but yesterday, I must not be so long
in telling as it was in travelling, or you will wish me farther; both
because Lorna was nothing there, and also because a man in our
neighbourhood had done the whole of it since my time, and feigns to think
nothing of it. However, one thing, in common justice to a person who has
been traduced, I am bound to mention. And this is, that being two of us,
and myself of such magnitude, we never could have made our journey without
either fight or running, but for the free pass which dear Annie, by some
means (I know not what), had procured from Master Faggus. And when I let
it be known, by some hap, that I was the own cousin of Tom Faggus, and
honoured with his society, there was not a house upon the road but was
proud to entertain me, in spite of my fellow-traveller, bearing the red
badge of the King.</p>
<p>'I will keep this close, my son Jack,' he said, having stripped it off
with a carving-knife; 'your flag is the best to fly. The man who starved
me on the way down, the same shall feed me fat going home.'</p>
<p>Therefore we pursued our way, in excellent condition, having thriven upon
the credit of that very popular highwayman, and being surrounded with
regrets that he had left the profession, and sometimes begged to intercede
that he might help the road again. For all the landlords on the road
declared that now small ale was drunk, nor much of spirits called for,
because the farmers need not prime to meet only common riders, neither
were these worth the while to get drunk with afterwards. Master Stickles
himself undertook, as an officer of the King's Justices to plead this case
with Squire Faggus (as everybody called him now), and to induce him, for
the general good, to return to his proper ministry.</p>
<p>It was a long and weary journey, although the roads are wondrous good on
the farther side of Bristowe, and scarcely any man need be bogged, if he
keeps his eyes well open, save, perhaps, in Berkshire. In consequence of
the pass we had, and the vintner's knowledge of it, we only met two public
riders, one of whom made off straightway when he saw my companion's
pistols and the stout carbine I bore; and the other came to a parley with
us, and proved most kind and affable, when he knew himself in the presence
of the cousin of Squire Faggus. 'God save you, gentlemen,' he cried,
lifting his hat politely; 'many and many a happy day I have worked this
road with him. Such times will never be again. But commend me to his love
and prayers. King my name is, and King my nature. Say that, and none will
harm you.' And so he made off down the hill, being a perfect gentleman,
and a very good horse he was riding.</p>
<p>The night was falling very thick by the time we were come to Tyburn, and
here the King's officer decided that it would be wise to halt, because the
way was unsafe by night across the fields to Charing village. I for my
part was nothing loth, and preferred to see London by daylight.</p>
<p>And after all, it was not worth seeing, but a very hideous and dirty
place, not at all like Exmoor. Some of the shops were very fine, and the
signs above them finer still, so that I was never weary of standing still
to look at them. But in doing this there was no ease; for before one could
begin almost to make out the meaning of them, either some of the wayfarers
would bustle and scowl, and draw their swords, or the owner, or his
apprentice boys, would rush out and catch hold of me, crying, 'Buy, buy,
buy! What d'ye lack, what d'ye lack? Buy, buy, buy!' At first I mistook
the meaning of this—for so we pronounce the word 'boy' upon Exmoor—and
I answered with some indignation, 'Sirrah, I am no boy now, but a man of
one-and-twenty years; and as for lacking, I lack naught from thee, except
what thou hast not—good manners.'</p>
<p>The only things that pleased me much, were the river Thames, and the hall
and church of Westminster, where there are brave things to be seen, and
braver still to think about. But whenever I wandered in the streets, what
with the noise the people made, the number of the coaches, the running of
the footmen, the swaggering of great courtiers, and the thrusting aside of
everybody, many and many a time I longed to be back among the sheep again,
for fear of losing temper. They were welcome to the wall for me, as I took
care to tell them, for I could stand without the wall, which perhaps was
more than they could do. Though I said this with the best intention,
meaning no discourtesy, some of them were vexed at it; and one young lord,
being flushed with drink, drew his sword and made at me. But I struck it
up with my holly stick, so that it flew on the roof of a house, then I
took him by the belt with one hand, and laid him in the kennel. This
caused some little disturbance; but none of the rest saw fit to try how
the matter might be with them.</p>
<p>Now this being the year of our Lord 1683, more than nine years and a half
since the death of my father, and the beginning of this history, all
London was in a great ferment about the dispute between the Court of the
King and the City. The King, or rather perhaps his party (for they said
that His Majesty cared for little except to have plenty of money and spend
it), was quite resolved to be supreme in the appointment of the chief
officers of the corporation. But the citizens maintained that (under their
charter) this right lay entirely with themselves; upon which a writ was
issued against them for forfeiture of their charter; and the question was
now being tried in the court of His Majesty's bench.</p>
<p>This seemed to occupy all the attention of the judges, and my case (which
had appeared so urgent) was put off from time to time, while the Court and
the City contended. And so hot was the conflict and hate between them,
that a sheriff had been fined by the King in 100,000 pounds, and a former
lord mayor had even been sentenced to the pillory, because he would not
swear falsely. Hence the courtiers and the citizens scarce could meet in
the streets with patience, or without railing and frequent blows.</p>
<p>Now although I heard so much of this matter, for nothing else was talked
of, and it seeming to me more important even than the churchwardenship of
Oare, I could not for the life of me tell which side I should take to. For
all my sense of position, and of confidence reposed in me, and of my
father's opinions, lay heavily in one scale, while all my reason and my
heart went down plump against injustice, and seemed to win the other
scale. Even so my father had been, at the breaking out of the civil war,
when he was less than my age now, and even less skilled in politics; and
my mother told me after this, when she saw how I myself was doubting, and
vexed with myself for doing so, that my father used to thank God often
that he had not been called upon to take one side or other, but might
remain obscure and quiet. And yet he always considered himself to be a
good, sound Royalist.</p>
<p>But now as I stayed there, only desirous to be heard and to get away, and
scarcely even guessing yet what was wanted of me (for even Jeremy Stickles
knew not, or pretended not to know), things came to a dreadful pass
between the King and all the people who dared to have an opinion. For
about the middle of June, the judges gave their sentence, that the City of
London had forfeited its charter, and that its franchise should be taken
into the hands of the King. Scarcely was this judgment forth, and all men
hotly talking of it, when a far worse thing befell. News of some great
conspiracy was spread at every corner, and that a man in the malting
business had tried to take up the brewer's work, and lop the King and the
Duke of York. Everybody was shocked at this, for the King himself was not
disliked so much as his advisers; but everybody was more than shocked,
grieved indeed to the heart with pain, at hearing that Lord William
Russell and Mr. Algernon Sidney had been seized and sent to the Tower of
London, upon a charge of high treason.</p>
<p>Having no knowledge of these great men, nor of the matter how far it was
true, I had not very much to say about either of them or it; but this
silence was not shared (although the ignorance may have been) by the
hundreds of people around me. Such a commotion was astir, such universal
sense of wrong, and stern resolve to right it, that each man grasped his
fellow's hand, and led him into the vintner's. Even I, although at that
time given to excess in temperance, and afraid of the name of cordials,
was hard set (I do assure you) not to be drunk at intervals without coarse
discourtesy.</p>
<p>However, that (as Betty Muxworthy used to say, when argued down, and ready
to take the mop for it) is neither here nor there. I have naught to do
with great history and am sorry for those who have to write it; because
they are sure to have both friends and enemies in it, and cannot act as
they would towards them, without damage to their own consciences.</p>
<p>But as great events draw little ones, and the rattle of the churn decides
the uncertainty of the flies, so this movement of the town, and eloquence,
and passion had more than I guessed at the time, to do with my own little
fortunes. For in the first place it was fixed (perhaps from down right
contumely, because the citizens loved him so) that Lord Russell should be
tried neither at Westminster nor at Lincoln's Inn, but at the Court of Old
Bailey, within the precincts of the city. This kept me hanging on much
longer; because although the good nobleman was to be tried by the Court of
Common Pleas, yet the officers of King's Bench, to whom I daily applied
myself, were in counsel with their fellows, and put me off from day to
day.</p>
<p>Now I had heard of the law's delays, which the greatest of all great poets
(knowing much of the law himself, as indeed of everything) has specially
mentioned, when not expected, among the many ills of life. But I never
thought at my years to have such bitter experience of the evil; and it
seemed to me that if the lawyers failed to do their duty, they ought to
pay people for waiting upon them, instead of making them pay for it. But
here I was, now in the second month living at my own charges in the house
of a worthy fellmonger at the sign of the Seal and Squirrel, abutting upon
the Strand road which leads from Temple Bar to Charing. Here I did very
well indeed, having a mattress of good skin-dressings, and plenty to eat
every day of my life, but the butter was something to cry 'but' thrice at
(according to a conceit of our school days), and the milk must have come
from cows driven to water. However, these evils were light compared with
the heavy bill sent up to me every Saturday afternoon; and knowing how my
mother had pinched to send me nobly to London, and had told me to spare
for nothing, but live bravely with the best of them, the tears very nearly
came into my eyes, as I thought, while I ate, of so robbing her.</p>
<p>At length, being quite at the end of my money, and seeing no other help
for it, I determined to listen to clerks no more, but force my way up to
the Justices, and insist upon being heard by them, or discharged from my
recognisance. For so they had termed the bond or deed which I had been
forced to execute, in the presence of a chief clerk or notary, the very
day after I came to London. And the purport of it was, that on pain of a
heavy fine or escheatment, I would hold myself ready and present, to give
evidence when called upon. Having delivered me up to sign this, Jeremy
Stickles was quit of me, and went upon other business, not but what he was
kind and good to me, when his time and pursuits allowed of it.</p>
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