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In Honour's Cause: A Tale of the Days of George the First, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 2. Signs Of The Times |
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_ CHAPTER TWO. SIGNS OF THE TIMES The water in the canal looked ruddy golden in the light glowing in the west, as the two pages passed through the courtyard along beneath the arches, where the soldiers on guard saluted them, and reached the long mall planted with trees. "Halt! One can breathe here," said Frank, with his eyes brightening. "Come along; let's have a run." "Quiet, quiet! What a wild young colt you are!--This isn't the country." "No; but it looks like a good makeshift!" cried Frank. "Who's disloyal now? Nice way to speak of his Majesty's Park! I say, you're short enough as it is." "No, I'm not. I'm a very fair height for my age. It's you who are too long." "Never mind that; but it's my turn to talk. Suppose you get cut shorter for saying disloyal things under the window of the Palace." "Stuff! Rubbish!" "Is it? They give it to the people they call rebels pretty hard for as trifling things," said Andrew, flushing a little. "They flogged three soldiers to death the other day for wearing oak apples in their caps." "What? Why did they wear oak apples in their caps?" "Because it was King Charles's day; and they've fined and imprisoned and hung people for all kinds of what they call rebellious practices." "Then you'd better be careful, Master Drew," said Frank merrily. "I say, my legs feel as if they were full of pins and needles, with standing about so much doing nothing. It's glorious out here. Come along; I'll race you to the end of this row of trees." "With the people who may be at the windows watching us! Where's your dignity?" "Have none. They wouldn't know it was us. We're not dressed up now, and we look like any one else." "I hope not," said Andrew, drawing himself up. Frank laughed, and his companion looked nettled. "It is nothing to laugh at. Do you suppose I want to be taken for one of the mob?" "Of course I don't. But, I say, look. I saw a fish rise with a regular flop. That must be a carp. They are fond of leaping out of the water with a splash. I say, this isn't a lake, is it? Looks like a river." "Oh, I don't know--yes, I do. Some one said it's part of a stream that comes down from out beyond Tyburn way, where they hang the people." "Ugh! Horrid! But look here, the water seems beautifully clear. Let's get up to-morrow morning and have a bathe. I'll swim you across there and back." "Tchah! I say, Frank, what a little savage you are!" "Didn't know there was anything savage in being fond of swimming." "Well, I did. A man isn't a fish." "No," said Frank, laughing; "he's flesh." "You know, now you belong to the Prince's household, and live in the King's Palace, you must forget all these boyish follies." "Oh dear!" sighed Frank. "We've got to support the dignity of the establishment as gentlemen in the Prince's train. It wants it badly enough, with all these sausage-eating Vans and Vons and Herrs. We must do it while things are in this state for the sake of old England." "I wish I had never come here," said Frank dismally. "No, I don't," he added cheerfully. "I am close to my mother, and I see father sometimes. I say, didn't he look well at the head of his company yesterday?" "Splendid!" cried Andrew warmly. "Here, cheer up, young one; you'll soon get to like it; and one of these days we'll both be marching at the heads of our companies." "Think so?" cried Frank eagerly. "I'm sure of it. Of course I like our uniform, and thousands of fellows would give their ears to be pages at the Palace; but you don't suppose I mean to keep on being a sort of lapdog in the anteroom. No. Wait a bit. There'll be grand times by-and-by. We must be like the rest of the best people, looking forward to the turn of the tide." Frank glanced quickly at the tall, handsome lad at his side, and quickened his pace and lengthened his stride to keep up with him, for he had drawn himself up and held his head back as if influenced by thoughts beyond the present. But he slackened down directly. "No need to make ourselves hot," he said. "You'd like to run, you little savage; but it won't do now. Let the mob do that. Look! that's Lord Ronald's carriage. Quick! do as I do." He doffed his hat to the occupant of the clumsy vehicle, Frank following his example; and they were responded to by a handsome, portly man with a bow and smile. "I say," said Frank, "how stupid a man looks in a great wig like that." "Bah! It is ridiculous. Pretty fashion these Dutchmen have brought in." "Dutchmen! What Dutchmen?" "Oh, never mind, innocence," said Andrew, with a half laugh. "Just think of how handsome the gentlemen of the Stuart time looked in their doublets, buff boots, long natural hair, and lace. This fashion is disgusting. Here's old Granthill coming now," he continued, as the trampling of horses made him glance back. "Don't turn round; don't see him." "Very well," said Frank with a laugh; "but whoever he is, I don't suppose he'll mind whether I bow or not." "Whoever he is!" cried Andrew contemptuously. "I say, don't you know that he is one of the King's Ministers?" "No," said Frank thoughtfully. "Oh yes, I do; I remember now. Of course. But I've never thought about these things. He's the gentleman, isn't he, that they say is unpopular?" "Well, you are partly right. He is unpopular; but I don't look upon him as a gentleman. Hark! hear that?" he shouted excitedly, as he looked eagerly toward where the first carriage had passed round the curve ahead of him on its way toward Westminster. "Yes, there's something to see. I know; it must be the soldiers. Come along; I want to see them." "No, it isn't the soldiers; it's the people cheering Lord Ronald on his way to the Parliament House. They like him. Every one does. He knows my father, and yours too. He knows me. Didn't you see him smile? I'll introduce you to him first time there's a levee." "No, I say, don't," said Frank, flushing. "He'd laugh at me." "So do I now. But this won't do, Frank; you mustn't be so modest." The second carriage which had passed them rolled on round the curve in the track of the first and disappeared, Frank noticing that many of the promenaders turned their heads to look after it. Then his attention was taken up by his companion's words. "Look here," he cried; "I want to show you Fleet Street." "Fleet Street," said Frank,--"Fleet Street. Isn't that where Temple Bar is?" "Well done, countryman! Quite right." "Then I don't want to see it." "Why?" said Andrew, turning to him in surprise at the change which had come over his companion, who spoke in a sharp, decided way. "Because I read about the two traitors' heads being stuck up there on Temple Bar, and it seems so horrible and barbarous." "So it is, Frank," whispered Andrew, grasping his companion's arm. "It's horrible and cowardly. It's brutal; and--and--I can't find words bad enough for the act of insulting the dead bodies of brave men after they've executed them. But never mind; it will be different some day. There, I always knew I should like you, young one. You've got the right stuff in you for making a brave, true gentleman; and--and I hope I have." "I'm sure you have," cried Frank warmly. "Then we will not pass under the old city gate, with its horrible, grinning heads: but I must take you to Fleet Street; so we'll go to Westminster Stairs and have a boat--it will be nice on the river." "Yes, glorious on an evening like this," cried Frank excitedly; "and, I say, we can go round by Queen Anne Street." "What for? It's out of the way." "Well, only along by the Park side; I want to look up at our windows." "But your mother's at the Palace." "Father might be at home; he often sits at one of the windows looking over the Park." "Come along then," cried Andrew mockingly; "the good little boy shall be taken where he can see his father and mother, and--hark! listen! hear that?" he cried excitedly. "Yes. What can it be?" "The people hooting and yelling at Granthill. They're mobbing his carriage. Run, run! I must see that." Andrew Forbes trotted off, forgetting all his dignity as one of the Princess's pages, and heedless now in his excitement of what any of the well-dressed promenaders might think; while, laughing to himself the while, Frank kept step with him, running easily and looking quite cool when the tall, overgrown lad at his side, who was unused to outdoor exercise, dropped into a walk panting heavily. "Too late!" he said, in a tone of vexation. "There the carriage goes, through Storey's Gate. Look at the crowd after it. They'll hoot him till the soldiers stop them. Come along, Frank; we shall see a fight, and perhaps some one will be killed." _ |
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