Part 2

Master George Smith came of a family of armigers, or gentlemen, and was accounted a well-to-do farmer in those parts. His holding lay within the estate of the Baron Willoughby, the Lord of the Manor, and he held his lands in perpetuity on what was called a quit rent. This may have consisted of the yearly payment of a few shillings, a firkin of butter, or a flitch of bacon--any trifle in short which would suffice to indicate the farmer’s acknowledgment of the Baron as his overlord.

In the earlier feudal period, lands were granted in consideration of military service. The nobleman received his broad acres from the king upon condition of bringing a certain number of armed retainers into the field whenever summoned. The lord, in order to have the necessary retainers always at command, divided up his domain into small holdings amongst men who pledged themselves to join his banner when called upon. As a reminder of his obligation, each retainer was required to make some slight payment to his lord every year, and this was deemed an acquittance of rent. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, feudal tenure--that is the holding of lands in consideration of military service--had ceased to exist, but the custom of paying quit rent continued and it is observed in many parts of England to this day.

Master Smith sent his son to the grammar school in the neighboring village of Alford. It was perhaps one of the many schools of the kind founded by the wise young king, Edward the Sixth, for the benefit of the great mass of his subjects who could not afford to have their sons educated at the more expensive colleges. John was an apt scholar and made good progress, but even in early boyhood his mind was, as he tells us, “set upon brave adventure.” And so, although he applied himself diligently to learning whilst at school, he was impatient to cut loose from his books and go into the world of action.

This is not difficult to understand when we consider the lad’s temperament and the circumstances in which he was placed. Willoughby and Alford were on the coast. The people were for the most part sea-faring men. Many of them made voyages to the continent of Europe and some had visited more distant parts. Like most seamen, they were doubtless always ready to tell of their experiences, and we may be sure that little Jack Smith was an eager listener to their yarns.

He was nine years of age when England throbbed with excitement at the approach of the great Armada of Spain. He saw all the able-bodied men of his village hurrying south to join their country’s defenders, and without doubt he wished that he were old enough to go with them. A few weeks later, the gallant men of Willoughby came home to harvest their fields, undisturbed by fear of an invasion of the Dons. Every one of them had done his full share in the fight. Jack’s uncle had served on Francis Drake’s ship. That fierce sea-hawk was in the thick of the strife and it was a brave story that Master William Smith had to relate to his delighted nephew.

As the lad grew older, he began to read of the glorious deeds of his countrymen in former days, stories of battle and adventure on land and sea, of knights and sea captains, of shipwreck and discovery. Books were costly and hard to come by in those days and very few would be found in the home of even a prosperous farmer. But Jack Smith was fortunate in the fact that Robert and Peregrine, the sons of Lord Willoughby, were his schoolfellows and playmates. Through them he had access to the castle with its grand hall full of armor and weapons, its gallery of old portraits, and above all its library, containing many of the kind of books from which he derived the greatest pleasure.

More than that, Lord Willoughby was one of the most renowned warriors of his day. On the Continent his name was linked with those of Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Walter Raleigh. His feats of arms were recorded by historians and sung in ballads. One of these, which you may find in a curious old book named “Percy’s Reliques,” commences thus:

“The fifteenth day of July, With glistening spear and shield, A famous fight in Flanders, Was foughten in the field. The most courageous officers Were English captains three, But the bravest man in battel Was the brave Lord Willoughbie.”

This song was composed at about the time that Jack was at school, and you may depend upon it that he with every one else in Willoughby sang it, for they were all right proud of their lord.

Lady Willoughby was, of course, fond of recounting her husband’s brave exploits. He was at this time fighting in the Low Countries, and at every opportunity he sent her word of the adventures that befell him. Parts of these letters she would read to her sons, and Jack was often present. At other times she would sit in a large oaken chair before the great fireplace in the hall, the three lads and two huge stag-hounds grouped about her feet in the ruddy light of the log fire. Many a delightful evening was thus spent, the stately lady telling of the stirring deeds performed by her lord and the boys listening with breathless interest.

During one winter the little circle received a welcome addition in the son of Count Ployer. The young Frenchman was in England for the purpose of finishing his education. His father was a friend of Lord Willoughby and in company with the latter was fighting in the Low Countries. The young nobleman was thus in a position to contribute his share to the stories of military adventure in which they were all so deeply interested.

As he walked home in the dark after one of these recitals, Jack would flourish his staff and shout words of command to imaginary followers, or tilt at a bush, or wage a furious duel with a milestone. The baying of “Sir Roger,” the old watchdog at the homestead, would recall him to his senses, and he would steal up to his truckle bed in the attic wishing that he were a man and his own master.

By the time Jack reached the age of thirteen, the desire to seek his fortune in the world had become too strong to be longer resisted. His mother was dead, his brother and sister were younger than himself and his father’s mind was still set upon making him a farmer. There was no one to whom he could turn for advice or assistance and so, with the self-reliance which he displayed through after-life, Jack determined to take matters into his own hands. The only things of any value which he possessed were his school books and satchel. These he sold for a few shillings. With this money in his pocket he was on the point of setting out for London, when the sudden death of his father upset his plan.

Master Smith left the farm to his son John, but placed it and the boy in the hands of a Master Metham, who was to act as guardian of both until such time as Jack should attain the legal age to inherit. This Master Metham was a trader, and he thought that he was doing very well by Jack when he put him in the way of learning business. He apprenticed the lad to Master Thomas Sendall, a shipowner and merchant of the neighboring seaport of Lynn. At first this arrangement was decidedly to Jack’s liking, for his guardian held out the prospect of voyages to the many foreign countries visited by Master Sendall’s vessels. But in this Jack was disappointed. Sailor-boys his master could easily get, but it was not such a ready matter to find a bright youngster for work in the counting-house. So Jack found himself pinned down to a desk in sight of the busy wharves and shipping. Here for some months he sat chafing at the inactivity and at length he determined to run away.

One night he slipped out of the warehouse in which he slept and, with his bundle of clothes slung on a stick over his shoulder, started for Willoughby, which he reached after a few days’ tramp. Jack went boldly up to his guardian’s house and told him that he had run away from his master, feeling assured that there was little chance of travel whilst he remained in his employment.

“Nor will I return,” said Jack in conclusion, “for I am determined to see the world and I beg of you to supply me with the means.” Now this speech smacked somewhat of over-confidence, for in those days truant apprentices were severely dealt with and Jack was liable to have been sent back to his master, who might then have flogged him. However, Master Metham knew that his friend Sendall would not wish to be troubled with an unwilling apprentice, and a plan occurred to him for curing Jack of his desire to roam. His idea was to give the lad so little money that he could not go very far with it and would soon experience a taste of hardship. This Master Metham thought would bring his ward home, eager to return to his desk and settle down to the sober life of a merchant’s clerk. The scheme might have worked very well with many boys, but Jack was not of the kind that turn back.

“As you will,” said Master Metham, after some thought. “Here is the money, and now go where you please.”

With that he handed our hero ten shillings.

“What is this?” cried Jack in amazement. “Ten shillings! Surely you jest Master Metham.”

“Not so,” replied his guardian, assuming a stern air. “Take the money and begone, or return it to me and go back to Master Sendall within the hour.”

Jack thrust the coins into his pocket and turned on his heel without another word. The next minute he was striding resolutely along the highroad to London.

As Master Metham watched the receding figure of his ward from the window, he could not help feeling admiration for the boy’s pluck, but a grim smile played about the merchant’s lips as he said to himself, “And I mistake not, yon humorist will be coming back in a fortnight or less, with pinched face and tightened waistbelt.”

But Master Metham proved to be a poor prophet. Several years passed before he set eyes on Jack again.

The journey to the capital was not unpleasant. The time was early summer, when the fields are clad in the greenest grass, with a thick sprinkling of wild flowers and the hedgerows give off the sweet smell of honeysuckle and violets. Shade trees lined the road, so that Jack was able to push along, even in the noonday heat, without serious discomfort. He was a strong, healthy lad, to whom a tramp of twenty miles in a day was no great matter. Often a passing wagoner gave him a lift and sometimes shared with him a meal of bread and bacon washed down with a draught of home-brewed ale. Milkmaids, going home with their pails brimful, would offer him a drink, and occasionally a farmer would ask him to the house to join in the family meal. He never failed to find a lodging for the night if it was only in a barn or a stable. Thus Jack, with a thriftiness which would have chagrined Master Metham, had he known of it, contrived to husband his little store of money and, indeed, he had not broken into it when a happy incident relieved him of all further anxiety on the score of ways and means.

He was plodding along one day when two horsemen overtook him. They looked back in passing and one of them suddenly reined in his horse and turned it round.

“Not Jack Smith!” he cried in evident delight. “Whither away comrade?”

“I am setting out on my travels, Peregrine,” replied Jack, trying to put on the air of a man of the world.

“And I also,” said the son of Lord Willoughby, for it was he, “but come, you must join us, and we can exchange the news as we ride along.” He ordered one of the two grooms who followed them to give his horse over to Jack and the other to take the wayfarer’s bundle. Having presented his young friend to the tutor and temporary guardian who accompanied him, Peregrine drew alongside of Jack whilst the latter told his story. The young lord in turn explained that he was on his way to Orleans in France, there to join his elder brother and complete his studies abroad after the manner of young noblemen of that day--and of this, for that matter. He insisted that Jack should accompany him as his guest, saying that it would be time enough to think of other plans after they should have reached their destination.

As we see Jack thus fairly launched upon his adventures, we cannot help smiling to think how it would have surprised good Master Metham to learn how far ten shillings could carry our hero.

II.

LONDON TOWN IN SHAKESPEARE’S DAY

Old London as it looked from Highgate Hill--The travelers put up at “Ye Swanne” near New Gate--The start for White Hall to see Sir Francis Walsingham and the Queen--Their wonderment at the strange house signs--The saucy apprentices arouse their anger--Old Paule’s Cathedral and some celebrated mansions--The Royal Palace and a state procession--They go to the Globe, Will Shakespeare’s theatre--The boys see their first play in company with Doctor Hollister--Old London Bridge, its curious houses and its grizzly ornaments.

When our travelers reached the top of Highgate Hill, from which an extensive view could be had in every direction, they halted to survey the scene. London lay below, stretched along the banks of the Thames, and still several miles distant. In Queen Elizabeth’s reign it was a small place compared with what it is today. Its greatest distance across was then less than two miles, whereas, now it is nearly thirty. Nevertheless, London was by far the greatest city in England and amongst the largest in the world.

Jack and his companions looked down upon a closely packed collection of buildings within a wall whose moat, no longer needed for defence, had become half choked with refuse and rank vegetation. The streets were so narrow that, with the exception of Cheapside, which traversed the city from end to end, they were not discernible at that distance. The mass of red-tiled roofs was broken here and there by a market place or a churchyard and agreeably relieved by the gardens which lay at the backs of most of the houses. One hundred and more spires of parish churches shot up in relief against the background of the silvery river, for in those days the Thames was a clear and pure stream upon which swans disported even below London Bridge.

Scattering suburbs extended from the walls of the city in several directions. In Elizabeth’s time, the noblemen and wealthier citizens had deserted their old-time palaces and mansions in the filthy and crowded metropolis for healthier residences among the adjacent fields. Perhaps, Baynard Castle, mentioned in the opening scene of Shakespeare’s Richard the Third, was the only one of the old homes of the nobility occupied by its owner at that time. Most of the others had been given over to tenements in which the poorer people crowded. A large part of the London that the boys gazed upon in wonder and admiration was destroyed by the Great Fire in the year 1666.

It must be remembered that, despite the comparison we have made of the London of Shakespeare’s time and the city of today, the former was relatively of greater importance than the latter and exercised a greater influence on the affairs of the nation. It was the residence of the monarch and of all the important members of the government. Every person of note in the kingdom had a town house. By far the greater part of the business of the country was transacted at the capital. It set the fashion and furnished the news for the whole island. London was, in short, the heart and brains of England at this period.

It was late in the evening when the travelers, tired and hungry, passed through New Gate which, like Lud Gate and some others of the many entrances to the city, was used as a prison. A little later and they must have remained at one of the inns outside the walls for the night, or have left their horses and entered by the postern, for the portcullis was closed at sundown. They put up at “Ye Swanne” on Cheapside and hardly one hundred yards from the gate. It was a hostelry much frequented by north-country gentlemen. Master Marner, the host, gave them the best accommodations his house afforded for the sake of Lord Willoughby, who had often been his guest and, in fact, always lodged with him when in London. That nobleman, long accustomed to the freedom and frank comradeship of the camp, found himself much more at ease in one of Master Marner’s cosy rooms than in a chamber at Whitehall.

Neither of the lads had ever been in London, and after they had supped in the common room--which corresponded to the _café_ of a modern hotel--they were eager to go out and see the great sights of which they had heard so much. But to this Doctor Hollister, the tutor, would not consent, for in those days the capital was infested by footpads and brawlers after nightfall and the patrols of the watch afforded scant protection to wayfarers in the unlighted streets. The explanation of all this only whetted the desire of the lads to go abroad on the chance of witnessing some duel or fracas but Peregrine, at least, was under the authority of the Doctor and Jack by accepting his friend’s hospitality had placed himself in a similar position. So they restrained their impatience and went early to bed as all honest folk did at that period.

The following morning Doctor Hollister, accompanied by his young charges, set out for Whitehall carrying a letter from Lady Willoughby to Sir Francis Walsingham. The royal palace was at the extreme western end of London, whilst the Swan Inn stood hard by New Gate, at the eastern extremity, so that in order to reach their destination the travelers had to traverse the full extent of the city. A citizen of London at that time, having such a distance to cover, would most likely have taken a wherry at one of the many water stairs, where numbers of such boats were in waiting at all hours of the day and night. Jack and Peregrine, eager as they were to see the sights of the metropolis, would not hear of anything but walking and so the party set out at an early hour, taking their way along Cheapside, or the Cheap as it was then called.

Everything they saw was novel to the boys, neither of whom had ever been in a town larger than Lynn. The gable roofs and projecting upper stories of the houses were much like what they were accustomed to at home, but they had seldom seen one of three stories and here were many rising to four and five. In the narrow side streets which they passed, the dwellings approached so closely that persons sitting at their upper windows might easily converse with their neighbors across the way, or even shake hands with them by leaning out.

Before almost every house hung a painted board suspended from an iron bracket, similar to the sign of the “D’Eresby Arms” displayed by the village tavern at Willoughby. For a moment the boys thought that they must be in a town full of inns and Doctor Hollister was mightily amused by the puzzled expression with which they looked from one to another of the crude and curious pictures. The explanation was simple enough when the tutor made it. In the reign of Elizabeth the simple device of numbers to distinguish the different houses of a street had not yet been thought of and so one saw all manner of things pictured and hung over the entrances. There were angels, dragons, castles, mountains, Turks, bears, foxes, birds, books, suns, mitres, ships, and in fact every conceivable kind of object. So, a man wishing to indicate his place of abode might say: “I lodge with the widow Toy, at the sign of the _Bell_ in Paule’s Churchyard” and, since there was at the time a veritable widow Toy, living in a house on the east side of the churchyard and distinguished by the sign of a Bell, who doubtless took in lodgers when favorable opportunity offered, it is not impossible that one or another of the acquaintances made by our party during their stay in London uttered precisely such a remark to them.

As our friends passed along the street, apprentices standing in front of their master’s shops invited their patronage or made saucy comments upon their appearance for, although they were dressed in their best clothes, it was easy to see that a country tailor had fashioned their garments.

“Ho Richard! Dick Hopple!” cried one of these prentices to an acquaintance across the street. “Cast thy gaze upon his worship and the little worshipfuls going to Paule’s to buy a sixtieth.” This was an allusion to the lottery under royal patronage which was conducted in a booth set up in the churchyard of the cathedral. It attracted many countrymen to the capital, who could generally afford to purchase no more than a fractional share, perhaps one-tenth, of a ticket.

“Peace boy!” said Doctor Hollister, sternly.

“Honorificabilitudinitatibus!” glibly replied the lad with a mock obeisance. This extraordinary word, which Shakespeare had put into the mouth of one of his characters, caught the fancy of the London populace as a similar verbal monstrosity--Cryptoconcodycyphernostamata--did about twenty-five years ago.

Doctor Hollister had the greatest difficulty in restraining the boys from replying to these gibes with their fists and Jack, in particular, begged earnestly to be permitted to “lay just one of them by the heels.” But the Doctor had been a chorister of Paule’s in his boyhood and he knew the formidable character of the London apprentices and how, at the cry of “Clubs! Clubs!” they would swarm with their staves to the aid of one of their number.

Presently they came to the great cathedral, and were surprised to find that the holy edifice was used as a public thoroughfare, even animals being driven across its nave, whilst hawkers displayed their wares around the columns and gallants and gossips lounged about on the seats--all this, too, during the celebration of divine service. The lads who had been brought up in reverence of their country church were shocked at the sights around them and little disposed to linger in the building.

Leaving the churchyard of the cathedral, Doctor Hollister led the way down Dowgate Hill to the water front, wishing to afford the boys sight of two unusually interesting buildings. One of these was Baynard Castle, of which mention has already been made, but the other had the greater attraction for Jack on account of being the residence of his hero, Sir Francis Drake. It had formerly been known as Eber House, when it was the palace of Warwick, the “Kingmaker,” whom you will remember as the titular character of “The Last of the Barons.” Later the place was occupied by that “false, fleeting, perjured Clarence” whose dream is one of the most impressive passages in Shakespeare’s tragedy, Richard the Third.

Passing Westminster and the little village of Charing Cross, our travelers came upon the Palace of Whitehall fronting upon the Thames and with Saint James’s Park at its back. In Elizabeth’s time this royal residence was the scene of such splendid entertainments as marked its occupancy by her father, Henry the Eighth. At this period it stood outside of London on the outskirts of what was the distinct city of Westminster.

Sir Francis Walsingham received Doctor Hollister kindly and promised to facilitate the journey of the party to France. The Queen was about to go to the royal chapel in state and the minister secured a favorable position from which the country visitors had a good view of Elizabeth and her attendants. In the meanwhile a secretary was instructed to write the passports and letters to be delivered to the Doctor before his departure.