LONDON 'PRENTICES. A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF BLUFF KING HAL. BY JOHN TILLOTSON, Author of "Stories of the War," "Crimson Pages," "Shot and Shell," "London W Old London Bridge (1515). CHAPTER THE FIRST. AND DOTH THE JOYFUL FEAST OF JOHN THE BAPTIST TAKE HIS TURN." HEN from their long slumbers the Ephesian sleepers woke up to life and gazed again on their beautiful city, famous for the image which fell down from Jupiter, what strange changes they must, even in a hurried glance, have noticed! They had slept for nearly two hundred years, and two centuries are franght with changes in the history of a city. Two hundred years ago, this London city of ours was just emerging from the smouldering ruins of its former self. The good citizens who had tossed their caps in the air, broached the barrel, and set the bonfires ablaze to welcome King Charles, had seen their grand old city a prey to the flames, seen it reduced to so many thousand square acres of charred timber and calcined stone, but they saw the fable of the phoenix realised; a new city sprung from the embers of the old. Would any one of those good citizens, think you, recognise the city now? I trow not. But if one of the subjects of Carolus Secundus could, having seen something of the new city, make out by a few landmarks the general bearing of modern London, still the citizen who did homage to bluff King Hal would be altogether out of his reckoning. London in the days of Henry the Eighth bore scarcely any resemblance at all to the London of the reign of Queen Victoria. The Archbishop of Canterbury had his palace at Lambeth, as he still has, but it was far quieter than this now; there were no steamboats impatiently puffing to be off from the pier, and no boatmen, but the prelate's own, lounging on the wet steps, and touting for hire. At Kennington there was a royal palace, and the remains of another in Bermond's Eye, both at that date venerable. Fields surrounded London, on all sides than a team of pack-horses is like an express pasture and arable land; the Strand had train. It was lined on either side with shops ; gardens on each side; on the south, a fringe it had a gate, with a portcullis and a drawof noblemen's houses, with gardens running bridge. Generally on the top of the gatedown to the Thames; on the north were fields | houses were a few traitors' heads ventilating, which surrounded the Haymarket. This was and being pecked at by kites and crows. the case in many parts of Holborn, where the Sometimes there was a more miscellaneous Bishop of Ely had a wonderfully fine orchard. assortment of human butcher work-always From East Smithfield to Tower Hill the space enough to teach the people how wrong it was was unoccupied. Finsbury Fields were really to be disloyal, and what bad people came to such, and several windmills stood in them. | who did not honour and obey the king. Moorfields lay open towards Hoxton, and those called Goodman's afforded pasturage for cattle. In the rear of Houndsditch lay many fields and unoccupied spaces. Drury Lane was a pleasant, shadowy, retired spot, where lovers courted, ladies lost their hearts, and travellers sometimes lost their purses; rogues, undismayed by the smell of hemp, stealing "trash," according to the poet. At the top of the Strand was the cross built by Edward the king, first of that name, on the spot where his wife's body rested on its way to burial, and called by him the dear Queen-Chere Reine Cross. There were a few houses thereabouts, and a church dedicated to St. Martin, and standing in the fields; there was an hospital also dedicated to St. James, and a famous conduit. From Chere Reine Cross a country lane led off on the one side to St. Giles's Fields, and a broad road on the other led on to Westminster, where the king had his palace, and where the old minster invited to repose and prayer. Although divided from the city by the silent highway, the borough of Southwarkthe South Work of the Danes-was in its way famous. There was abundance of uncultivated land where lean kine grazed; there was a church dedicated to St. George the Martyr, there were two or three places of amusements, places for bear-baiting, which merry disport was generally well attended; there was a fair held pretty often in High Street, Borough, and there was the Marshalsea prison which the Wat Tyler rioters pulled down, but the authorities built up again. There was the old church of St. Mary Over the Ferry, sometimes called Our Lady's chapel, and there was the house of the Bishop of Winchester hard by the bridge. As for this bridge, it was no more like our London bridge The city itself was approached from Southwark by the Bridge Gate; besides this gate there were several others, and though they have been pulled down, yet the streets which mark their sites still retain their names: thus Cripplegate, Aldgate, Aldersgate, Bishopsgate, Moorgate, Newgate, and Ludgate. Stow and later writers name a considerable number of gates on the river side, namely, Dowgate, Botolphgate, Billingsgate, Walfgate, but they appear to have been only wharves or places for the landing of goods. None of these at any time were of note except Billingsgate, as being associated with the fish market, and Dow-or properly Dwr-Gate or Water Gate, on account of the ferry from Watling Street which crossed the river at this point. Temple Bar was not originally a city gate, for the wall of London (5,485 yards in circumference) passed along the eastern side of the Fleet Ditch, leaving Fleet Street in the out ward of Farringdon, together with the precincts of Whitefriars and King John's palace Bridewell. Narrow, dark, and close were many of the London streets; the plague lurked in the illventilated and ill-kept city. What we consider the essentials of health, Light and Air, were not particularly sought after by our forefathers, but they held firmly to their faith in muscular exertion, and the lads were all trained to handle the quarterstaff, waking up the echoes of a summer's eve with their clatter, and to pull a long bow at the Newington Butts or in the fields beyond Moorgate. People rose early, ate heartily, and went to bed by times. Altogether their lives were very different sort of lives from ours. The law looked after them rather more sharply than we should care for; dictated even as to what sort of clothing a tradesman, his wife, children, and 'prentices should wear; would allow of nothing that savoured of the breaking down of class distinction; dealt summarily with offenders by setting them in the pillory, nailing their ears to it, and slicing off the said ears to save the trouble of pulling the nails out again. In those days there were no poor's rates, the charitable doles given at the religious houses and in the church aisles on Sundays did this business. In every parish there was a churchhouse to which belonged spits, polls, and other articles for dressing provisions. Here, on occasions, the householders met and were merry, and gave their charity; the young people came there too, and had dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, and other amusements. In fact, say what you may in disparagement of the old times, it had its advantages over ours, and London was a right pleasant place, as Nick Sherring often said. And who could be a better judge than honest Nick, born and reared as he had been within the city walls? He surely ought to have known; indeed, there are few who would have questioned any of Nick's statements, for he always argued with a quarterstaff, an ugly instrument of controversy when wielded by a strong hand. Nick was by trade a blacksmith, and any one whose business or pleasure had taken him down the East Cheap must have seen him hard at work in the smithy, shoeing a horse with a sort of affectionate interest that was quite charming, or hammering away with good-will on the glowing iron, smiting on the anvil with a force that made him look like one of the Cyclops-with two good-looking eyes-forging thunderbolts for Zeus. Nick, without any stockings, stood six foot four and a half, "six foot and a half, putting it roundly," Master Stuckey, a mercers 'prentice at the sign of the Cardinal's Hat in Fleet Street, had once ventured to remark, but Nick gave it to him so roundly that Master Stuckey was glad to take back the complimentary inch and a half, and to suggest that they should drink some hot ale with sugar in it at the Boar's Head. Six foot four and a half, straight as an arrow, broad shouldered, full chested, sinewy limbs, dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, quick-tempered but good-humoured, a friend to stick by and a foe to fear. There was a difference of opinion as to whether Nick Sherring looked best in his work-a-day dress or his Sunday gear. It is most probable that he looked well both ways, but as we have to introduce him on a holiday, we must present him in his holiday attire. It was the Eve of St. John, a high day with the citizens of London, for that was the time when the marching watch was set, and there was a grand procession through the streets and very much rejoicing. Nick was dressed for the occasion. He wore a fustian coat-a full frock-a strong leather belt round his waist, fastened with a steel clasp; gaskins of black velvet, scarlet hose, short boots over the instep, and a bonnet of kersey cloth. He bore his quarterstaff over his shoulder, and thus equipped might have been seen an hour before sunset lounging at the door of the smithy in East Cheap, gazing at the motley crowd that hurried along the way hieing to the different streets through which the pageant was to pass, and bent on getting eligible places. It was a pleasant night, I promise you, and Nick felt quite at his ease. The place itself was picturesque, which East Cheap is not now. The wooden houses, with projecting stories and innumerable gables, the twisted chimneys and carved timbers, the sign-boards swinging from iron frame-work, the old church tower rising high up in the blue sky above the houses, with the sunlight full upon it, the glimpse of the ancient fortress, built by the Conqueror, and before whose outer walls men and boys were busy kindling a huge bonfire; the throng of holiday people in their best of finery and best of humours-red, green, blue, yellow-with a priest's black gown or brown robe here, and a soldier's glittering helmet there-made up a picture that it would have been pleasant to put upon canvas. There was so much colour, so much life, and the music from the belfry was so pleasant, though Just a trifle too loud if you stopped close to the church to listen, that Nick might well be pardoned for the enjoyment he found in it. Tables were being ranged before several of the houses, spread with fair white cloths, and glittering with brilliant pewter. Hundreds of lamps suspended from cunningly wrought iron branches were wreathed with green birch, long fennel, orpin, St. John's wort, white lies, and such like, together with garlands of beautiful flowers hanging in festoons across the way. Music sounded from almost every house, flaunting wassailers, gay revellers, mummers, and minstrels all vying with each others in the novelty or richness of their attire, swept by in one unceasing stream; whilst the old or the infirm, prevented from joining in the crowd, sat at their open casements and called to each other across the way, telling of the bravery of their young days. From the door of the smithy Nick watched the crowd, accosting some, making merry with others, offering imaginary articles for disposal, anon bursting forth into some quaint old ballad, or shouting out lustily for 'prentices and clubs. He would nod familiarly to unknown passers-by, and set them wondering who he could be. He would gaze with wellfeigned astonishment and something of terror at the roof or upper window of an opposite house, and a score of fellows would stop to gaze with wonder also, and ask each other what it meant. He would gravely announce to the crowd of sight-seers whenever any one of the civic officials in their parti-coloured liveries chanced to pass, the name of some high and distinguished nobleman. Thus when one of the city marshals came trotting up the Cheap, Nick announced him to the crowd as Earl of Surrey. "What lack ye, my master," cried Nick, “what lack ye; ay, your reverence?" to a barefooted friar. "A fiue fat rectory for you, in a pleasant neighbourhood, seven miles from the Standard. Plenty of venison and old canary. What lack ye, what lack ye? Cheap, cheap, cheap!" The friar grumbled anything but a blessing, and so passed on, whereat Nick affected to be suddenly overcome with penitence, and could only relieve his feelings by a shont for clubs and 'prentices that woke up every echo, and brought forth a cloud of swallows from the eaves to find out what was the matter. Then Nick accosted a lawyer, calling him my lord, and inquiring gravely about some law case in which he said the plaintiff's name he never knew, and had forgotten the defendant's. The man of law bid him get out for an idle dog, who would wear a rope necklace one of these days, to which Nick retorted bravely; and so first with one and then with another he amused himself and those about him till the time came when he thought fit to leave the smithy and betake himself to the Stock's Market. While he was securing the door and giving it a sound kick to ascertain that it was safely fastened, a body of the City Carabineers came marching down the street, and Nick, who knew most of them and was liked by all, fell into step with them, and waved his bonnet as an affectionate adieu to an upper window, from whence the pretty face of Mistress Margery looked out, and it was said that on that face Nick had already cast sweet glances. Up the Cheap, the crowds giving way for the Carabineers, and into Gracechurch Street, a noble and a worshipful place at any time for the wealth of its traders and goodly dis. play of merchandise, now especially attractive, all wreathed with flowers and hung with lanterns that, at the going down of the sun, will be ablaze with light. Some of the houses are clothed with tapestry, and balconies are hung with cloth of gold; the orpin, St. John's wort, and white lilies figure conspicuously, and many curious devices in honour of the Baptist's day are everywhere displayed. The street is filled with sight-seers. Some on horseback, some on foot, nobility from Westminster and the Strand, mobility from Lambeth and the Borough; Babel seems to have returned or Bedlam broken loose from the hubbub that is made by the people. Vendors of all sorts of meats and every kind of liquor are proclaiming the excellent qualities of what they have for sale; there is a quack doctor selling nostrums to cure all sorts of sickness-elixirs to insure long life, love potions to cure the heartache. There is a bear dancing to the music of a pipe and tabor. There are half-a-dozen mountebanks exhibiting | of the City 'prentices were amusing their astounding tricks-tricks that make a coun- leisure with the noble exercise of the quartertryman say, "They be hand and glove with staff. Leaning over the barriers, Nick watched Old Horney, I'll be sworn ;" and a Londoner the sport, commenting on what was being to respond, "Oh, this is nothing to what we done. can do; don't see this sort of thing at Clovergrass, eh ?" In the Stock's Market, occupying the space where the Bank of England, Royal Exchange, and Mansion House now stand, a very dense crowd had assembled. The market itself was built in the year 1282, by Henry Wallis, Mayor, and appointed to be a market for fish and flesh. Hard by the market-house, on the occasion to which we refer, a raised platform had been erected, protected from the weather by a canvas covering, gaily striped with white and scarlet. The platform and canopy were fully decorated with the plants appropriate to the day, and there was a goodly display of flags and ensigns. The platform had been erected for the accommodation of the wives and daughters of the civic officers, as well as the convenience of any distinguished visitors who might grace the show with their presence. But amongst the bouquet of female beauty thus brought together, she who was the fairest of the fair, and whose nobility of expression might well compare with the proudest daughter of England, was Alice Keble, daughter of Sir Henry Keble, one of the principal men in the city. Her figure was exquisitely symmetrical, her features regular and noble, her complexion of the fairest and clearest hue, the brilliant expression of her eyes and the sharply defined eyebrows added to the loveliness of her appearance. She wore a simple but elegant head-dress of goldsmith's work; her waist, according to the fashion of the time, was made long and slender, encircled by a jewelled chain; the sleeves of her dress were tight at the shoulder, a rich border of fur displaying an undersleeve puffed, slashed, and otherwise decorated; her dress, open in the front, displayed below it a beautifully embroidered petticoat. And every cavalier lifted his bonnet whilst riding by, and sturdy Nick followed their example in honour of Mistress Keble. At length, parting company with his carabineer friends, Nick made his way to an enclosure out of the way of the crowd, within which a few "Hammer away, lads; bravely done, a good stroke and a bold. Foul play, Studelyshame!-you handle your staff like a yard measure. Good again-your pate was not broken for nothing last Shrovetide, Dolly, we live and learn-steady, boys-too much action-nay, never get angry over it—” 66 'Angry, Master Sherry," says one of the lads with a face as red as a forge fire-" is it not enough to make one angry when he "— the "he" was Studely-" hits me like that." "No-not angry, Dolly-playfully tap him on the sconce, lad-crack-well done!" "Why not show us how?" quoth Master Studely, with a sneer on his lip just smo. thered, and withal a rather rueful face for Dolly's reminder. "With good heart," was Sherring's answer, as he leapt the barrier and stood amongst them-towering above them all--a galleon among cock-boats. "Now, who'll play with me?" Play with him! It looked like earnest work to come within reach of his cudgel. Against all comers, I take the field," said Nick; "on horseback or on foot, with blunted lances or à outrance-0 yez, O yez!' There was a laugh when he had finished his proclamation, and then a movement in the crowd outside, then a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped forward, and, as Sherring had done before him, leapt the barrier, and stood within the enclosure, his hand on his hip, and a broad smile on his open face. He was habited in a full frock of the finest scarlet cloth, with the royal initial on his back and breast, a flat cap with parti-coloured ribbons on his head, and had large rosettes on his shoes. "I'll accept thy challenge, good Knight of the Chepe," he said, advancing, "if any one of these worshipful gentlemen will for the nonce lend me his quarterstaff." Half-a-dozen were at his disposal; he selected the largest and heaviest. "Hammer away, then," said Nick; "perform thy devoir like good knight and true." |