river frontage. There was a line of bonfires stretching as far as
one could see, up and down the Thames; London Bridge was
illuminated; Southwark Bridge likewise; the entire river was aglow
with the flash and sheen of coloured lights; and constant
explosions of fireworks filled the skies with an intricate
commingling of shooting splendours and a thick rain of dazzling
sparks that almost turned night into day; everywhere were crowds
of revellers; all London seemed to be at large.
John Canty delivered himself of a furious curse and commanded a
retreat; but it was too late. He and his tribe were swallowed up
in that swarming hive of humanity, and hopelessly separated from
each other in an instant. We are not considering that the Prince
was one of his tribe; Canty still kept his grip upon him. The
Prince’s heart was beating high with hopes of escape, now. A
burly waterman, considerably exalted with liquor, found himself
rudely shoved by Canty in his efforts to plough through the crowd;
he laid his great hand on Canty’s shoulder and said–
“Nay, whither so fast, friend? Dost canker thy soul with sordid
business when all that be leal men and true make holiday?”
“Mine affairs are mine own, they concern thee not,” answered
Canty, roughly; “take away thy hand and let me pass.”
“Sith that is thy humour, thou’lt NOT pass, till thou’st drunk to
the Prince of Wales, I tell thee that,” said the waterman, barring
the way resolutely.
“Give me the cup, then, and make speed, make speed!”
Other revellers were interested by this time. They cried out–
“The loving-cup, the loving-cup! make the sour knave drink the
loving-cup, else will we feed him to the fishes.”
So a huge loving-cup was brought; the waterman, grasping it by one
of its handles, and with the other hand bearing up the end of an
imaginary napkin, presented it in due and ancient form to Canty,
who had to grasp the opposite handle with one of his hands and
take off the lid with the other, according to ancient custom. {1}
This left the Prince hand-free for a second, of course. He wasted
no time, but dived among the forest of legs about him and
disappeared. In another moment he could not have been harder to
find, under that tossing sea of life, if its billows had been the
Atlantic’s and he a lost sixpence.
He very soon realised this fact, and straightway busied himself
about his own affairs without further thought of John Canty. He
quickly realised another thing, too. To wit, that a spurious
Prince of Wales was being feasted by the city in his stead. He
easily concluded that the pauper lad, Tom Canty, had deliberately
taken advantage of his stupendous opportunity and become a
usurper.
Therefore there was but one course to pursue–find his way to the
Guildhall, make himself known, and denounce the impostor. He also
made up his mind that Tom should be allowed a reasonable time for
spiritual preparation, and then be hanged, drawn and quartered,
according to the law and usage of the day in cases of high
treason.
Chapter XI. At Guildhall.
The royal barge, attended by its gorgeous fleet, took its stately
way down the Thames through the wilderness of illuminated boats.
The air was laden with music; the river banks were beruffled with
joy-flames; the distant city lay in a soft luminous glow from its
countless invisible bonfires; above it rose many a slender spire
into the sky, incrusted with sparkling lights, wherefore in their
remoteness they seemed like jewelled lances thrust aloft; as the
fleet swept along, it was greeted from the banks with a continuous
hoarse roar of cheers and the ceaseless flash and boom of
artillery.
To Tom Canty, half buried in his silken cushions, these sounds and
this spectacle were a wonder unspeakably sublime and astonishing.
To his little friends at his side, the Princess Elizabeth and the
Lady Jane Grey, they were nothing.
Arrived at the Dowgate, the fleet was towed up the limpid Walbrook
(whose channel has now been for two centuries buried out of sight
under acres of buildings) to Bucklersbury, past houses and under