God and the King

by Marjorie Bowen

  CHAPTER III

  THE NIGHT OF JUNE 30th, 1688

  Some hours after his parting with Lady Sunderland, Mr. Sidney left amodest house in Greg Street, Soho Fields, in company with a commontarpaulin, whose rough clothes were in strong contrast to the richappointments of the notable beau he accompanied.

  It was a fine night, but cloudy. The two men proceeded in silencetowards Gerrard Street, the sailor with his hands in his pockets and Mr.Sidney swinging his cane.

  Every house they passed had the seven candles in the windows, and thesound of bells and shouting was as persistent as it had been in thedrawing-room of Sunderland House; the street was empty save for a fewwandering link-boys and beggars.

  As they, walking rapidly and steadily, approached St.Martin-in-the-Fields, the feeble rays of the oil-lamps over every tenthdoor, that only served to illuminate the signs and cast great shadowsfrom the passers-by, were absorbed in a red glare that touched the brickfronts of the precise houses with a deep glow.

  "A bonfire," remarked Mr. Sidney.

  The tarpaulin answered in the accents of a gentleman.

  "A pope-burning--had we not best take another way?"

  As Mr. Sidney hesitated the other added, with a laugh--

  "After all, is it not a good omen? Let us see this martyrdom," and hepressed into the confines of the crowd gathered round an enormousbonfire, which blazed in front of the church steps.

  Mr. Sidney followed, and the two found themselves absorbed into themultitude of apprentices, shopkeepers, clerks, and citizens of alldescriptions, who were engaged in celebrating the acquittal of thebishops by burning His Holiness in effigy.

  For awhile they were unnoticed in the general excitement, then Mr.Sidney's appearance was remarked. His plumed hat, his sword, hiscurling peruke, and the rich velvet mantle that concealed his personinstantly told them that he was not of their class. Suspicion wasroused that he was a spy of the Court, and they began to rudely jostlehim; but the sailor, who kept closely beside him, laughedgood-humouredly, and cried--

  "Gently, my friends. We are good Protestants come to see the burning ofthe Devil and the Pope."

  "Sure," came a quick answer, "if you were popish dogs you would scarcebe here to-night!"

  Sidney smiled at the eager young man who spoke.

  "No," he said. "Long live the King, the Church, and the Laws--eh, myfriend?"

  "I do not know so much about the first--but all my heart the second andthird!"

  The sailor looked sharply at the speaker, who was a youth of two- orthree-and-twenty, very plainly dressed, almost shabby, with a keen, darkface, intelligent, ardent eyes, and a quantity of untidy curly hair. Heseemed to be a student or clerk, and was obviously the leading spirit ofa band of youths of his own age, who were making most of the noise andclamour.

  He in his turn closely scrutinized the sailor, then said, in abrupttones of friendliness--

  "I'll get you through. You and the gentleman get behind me, and I'llmake 'em give away----"

  With the quick energy that seemed his characteristic he shouldered hisway through the press and forced a passage for Mr. Sidney and thesailor, bringing them to the steps of the church, where they had a goodview over the crowd, and stood directly behind the bonfire.

  He paused, a little breathless with fighting through the throng, andwith blows given and taken, and asked Mr. Sidney, whose splendour seemedto somewhat overawe him, if he had ever seen a pope-burning before.

  "Never," smiled that gentleman; but the sailor added instantly--

  "I have, many a time; 'tis the finest fun in the world."

  The young man looked at him with the sharp suspicious curiosity ofyouth. He was quick to notice the difference between speech and dress,and his instant's glance further confused him. The strong light of thebonfire showed a resolute-looking man, dressed in the coarse wornclothes of a common sailor, but unmistakeably a gentleman. He seemedamused and interested. A pleasant smile lit his face, and his grey eyeswere bright and self-contained.

  "You were like to be clapt up if the watch caught you at this," he said.

  The youth was gloriously scornful.

  "The watch! Do you think we would disperse for a regiment?"

  "Look out for the regiments then," smiled the sailor. "There aresixteen thousand men on Hounslow Heath."

  "How many of 'em would take arms against the city?" was the instantretort. "They too are good Protestants."

  "I perceive that you are something of a Politic," said Mr. Sidney; andthen all further remark was cut short by the arrival of the processioncarrying the Pope, at sight of which an almost solemn hush fell on thecrowd, who stopped supplying the bonfire with squibs, oil, and tar, anddrew back in close ranks before the steps of the church.

  The Pope was a huge figure of straw with a wax face, carried in a chairon the shoulders of four men. He was clothed in an expensive scarletsilk robe, and wore on his head a tiara of painted pasteboard, decoratedwith sparkling glass; his scornful and saturnine face, which, if meantfor the reigning pontiff, was a cruel libel on the most honourable andsimple of men, was turned a little to one side in the action oflistening to a huge black-horned Devil who was busily whispering in hisear, one stiff hand was raised with two fingers lifted in blessing, andthe other (both formed of white gloves stuffed, with glass beads on thebacks) hung limply by his side.

  The young man who had befriended Mr. Sidney and his friend gave somekind of a whistling signal, upon which the greater number of the crowdbroke into verses of a doggerel song against popery and the bishops. Aseach sang different words and tune the result was a mere lusty din, inwhich not a syllable was distinguishable; nevertheless the hundredvoices of hate, derision, scorn, and triumph addressing the dumbgrotesque image of a loathed religion had an impressive significance andcontained a deep warning.

  For these were not isolated nor feeble voices--the will and purpose of agreat nation echoed in them--nor were they the voices of merefanaticism, but the cries of protest raised by a jealous people whoseliberties had been struck at and broken.

  In the faces the leaping flames brought into relief against thesurrounding darkness might be traced that fearless English spirit thatwould not for long own a master; in the coarse jeers, hoots, and hissesmight be discerned that devotion to the reformed faith that had unitedAnglican and Dissenter (despite the high bid the King had made for thefavour of the latter), in stern and unyielding opposition to theRomanist worship that was in vain being forced on them.

  Mr. Sidney wondered if James could see these faces and hear these voicesit would give him pause; if even his hard bigotry would not learnsomething of the temper of a strong people roused. It seemed incrediblethat if the King could see these people now that he could forgetCromwell and his own exiled youth.

  The dummy Pope was lowered from his seat of mock triumph and pitchedforward into the centre of the flames, the Devil clinging to him, atwhich a savage roar rose as if real flesh and blood had been sacrificedto appease fierce passions.

  Mr. Sidney a little drew back against the flame-flushed pillars behindhim. As the spreading fire scorched his face so the temper of the crowdput a kind of awe into his heart.

  "Who is to manage these?" he murmured. He was no statesman. Then hepulled his companion by the sleeve. "There was a man killed to-day--letus get on----"

  But the sailor, with his arms folded across his breast, was watching thebonfire, in the heart of which the Pope appeared to be writhing as heshrivelled, while his wax face ran into one great tear, his tiara shrunkand disappeared, and the Devil, a black patch in the redness, emittedhorrid fumes of sulphur as he was consumed.

  "'Tis a pretty show," he said briefly.

  "But one not pleasing to the King's Majesty, do you think?" flashed thedark youth who had been their guide.

  "No," smiled the other. "I think it would grieve His Majesty even morethan the acquittal of the holy fathers----"

  The
young man laughed; he seemed very excited.

  "See you, sir, if you wait awhile you will see a warming-pan burnt--withthe pretended Prince of Wales, that Popish brat, within!"

  Mr. Sidney interrupted.

  "We have a boat to catch at Gravesend, if you could make a passage forus, my friend----"

  More than a little flattered at being thus addressed by so fine agentleman, the youth, by various shouted commands to his companions,elbowings and blows administered in a lively manner, steered Mr. Sidneyand the sailor out of the crowd with the same dexterity that he hadguided them to the church steps.

  On the confines of the press, Mr. Sidney, rather breathless, shook outhis mantle and adjusted his hat. The glow from the bonfire cast theirshadows long and leaping over the grass. In the distance towards thearchery fields and the Mall were other crowds and processions to be seenpassing in and out of the trees, and another bonfire was burning infront of the mansion of the Protestant Northumberlands. The air wasfull of the harsh colour of artificial light, the smell of powder andtar, of burning rag and oil, belching smoke and the crack of squib,rocket and bomb, mingled with noisy shouting of anti-Popish songs andhoarse cheers for the bishops, the Dissenters, and the Protestantsuccession.

  "This must be pleasant music at Whitehall," remarked the sailor, withgood-humoured indifference. He was standing now full in the light ofthe lantern at the corner of the church, and the young man, who had beenlooking at him with great eagerness, exclaimed softly--

  "It is Admiral Herbert!"

  He turned instantly.

  "My name is not for public hearing to-night," he said quickly. "And, Godof Heaven, boy, how did you know me?"

  The young man flushed.

  "You used to come to the 'Rose' in Charing Cross--near here, youremember? My uncle kept it----"

  Arthur Herbert smiled.

  "Yes--I remember; and who are you?"

  "A scholar at St. John's now," answered the youth, in the same eager,excited way; "that is thanks to my Lord Dorset----"

  "Why, I recall," said Mr. Sidney; "'tis my lord's last genius, sure--hewho wrote a satire against the court last year with one CharleyMontague--a parody on Mr. Dryden's bombast, which sorely vexed him----"

  "The same, sir," answered the young man, flushing deeper with pleasure."Lord Dorset is the Maecenas of the age, as I have truly found----"

  "Well," said the Admiral, "you seem a likely spark--stick to yourPope-burning and you'll find yourself at Court yet--that is good advice.What is your name? I don't read poetry."

  "I don't write it, sir," retorted the other, with an engaging touch ofimpudence. "Only verses--a little satire and a little truth."

  Arthur Herbert laughed.

  "Well, what is your name?"

  "Prior, sir--Matthew Prior."

  "Good evening, Mr. Prior, and remember that you did not see meto-night--silence, mind, even to your friends the Whigs."

  "I know enough for that, sir," responded the student simply. He took offa battered hat with a courtly air of respect, and discreetly turned awayand slipped back into the crowd.

  The two gentlemen continued their way.

  "We run some risk, you observe," smiled Mr. Sidney. "Who would havereckoned on that chance?"

  "None but good Protestants are abroad to-night," answered the Admiral;"but I doubt if you will be safe in London much longer----"

  "I will come to The Hague as soon as I dare--tell His Highness so much;but I would not have my going prejudice those who must remain at theirposts--it would give a colour to rumours if I was to return to TheHague----"

  "My Lord Sunderland manageth the rumours," smiled Herbert.

  "My Lord Sunderland," repeated Mr. Sidney reflectively, "is difficultstuff to handle. I tell you plainly that I do not know how far he willgo."

  "But he will not betray us?"

  "No--I can go warrant for that."

  They turned down the Strand and walked along the river, which was livelywith water-men and boats of music and great barges.

  "M. Zuylestein will be sending Edward Russell with further news," saidMr. Sidney. "Look out for him, I pray you, at The Hague."

  "Edward Russell must be weary of running to and fro England andHolland," remarked Herbert. "And how long will the King allow M.Zuylestein to drill parties against him?"

  Mr. Sidney answered shortly.

  "Mr. Russell hath my reason of hatred to the house of Stewart, and asfor M. Zuylestein he is too clever to give His Majesty a chance tointerfere."

  They paused at one of the landing stages, and Herbert shouted to an idlepair of oars that was looking for custom.

  "Now, farewell," he said, "lest you shame my appearance--I shall be atGravesend to-night and, given fair wind, at Maaslandsluys in a day." Hepressed Mr. Sidney's hand, smiled, and hastened down the steps.

  With a sobbing swish of water the boat drew up; the oars clanked in therowlocks. Mr. Sidney watched the tall figure in the red breeches of thesailor step in, look back and wave his hand; then the boat joined theothers that covered the dark river, and was soon lost to sight in thecross glimmers of lanterns and half-seen shapes.

  Mr. Sidney remained gazing down the Thames--behind him the great capitalrejoicing with their bells and rockets and bonfires, their shouting andsinging, behind him the luxurious palace where the King must be enduringa sharp humiliation. Mr. Sidney smiled; he thought with a keenness rarein his soft nature of his brother who had laid down his life on TowerHill through the intrigues of the Duke of York, now King. It astonishedhimself how much the memory of that injury rankled. He had not lovedhis brother to half the measure that he hated the man who had broughthim to death. Indolent in mind and temper, he loathed cruelty, and theblood of Algernon Sidney was not the only witness to the cruelty ofJames Stewart. Mr. Sidney had seen the look on the fair face of LordMonmouth when he landed at the Tower stairs; he had seen well-born menand women, implicated only indirectly in the late rebellion, shipped offto Virginia as slaves, while the Italian Queen and her women quarrelledover the price of them; he had seen, in this short reign, many acts ofan extraordinary tyranny and cruelty, and his thoughts dealttriumphantly on Mr. Herbert, slipping down the river out of the tumultand excitement to the quiet of Gravesend with an important little paperin his seaman's coat pocket.