by Mark Twain
CHAPTER XXIX. To London.
When Hendon's term of service in the stocks was finished, he wasreleased and ordered to quit the region and come back no more. His swordwas restored to him, and also his mule and his donkey. He mountedand rode off, followed by the King, the crowd opening with quietrespectfulness to let them pass, and then dispersing when they weregone.
Hendon was soon absorbed in thought. ?There were questions of highimport to be answered. ?What should he do? ?Whither should he go?Powerful help must be found somewhere, or he must relinquish hisinheritance and remain under the imputation of being an impostorbesides. ?Where could he hope to find this powerful help? ?Where,indeed! ?It was a knotty question. By-and-by a thought occurred to himwhich pointed to a possibility--the slenderest of slender possibilities,certainly, but still worth considering, for lack of any other thatpromised anything at all. ?He remembered what old Andrews had said aboutthe young King's goodness and his generous championship of the wrongedand unfortunate. ?Why not go and try to get speech of him and beg forjustice? ?Ah, yes, but could so fantastic a pauper get admission to theaugust presence of a monarch? Never mind--let that matter take care ofitself; it was a bridge that would not need to be crossed till he shouldcome to it. ?He was an old campaigner, and used to inventing shifts andexpedients: ?no doubt he would be able to find a way. ?Yes, he wouldstrike for the capital. Maybe his father's old friend Sir HumphreyMarlow would help him--'good old Sir Humphrey, Head Lieutenant of thelate King's kitchen, or stables, or something'--Miles could not rememberjust what or which. ?Now that he had something to turn his energies to,a distinctly defined object to accomplish, the fog of humiliation anddepression which had settled down upon his spirits lifted and blew away,and he raised his head and looked about him. ?He was surprised to seehow far he had come; the village was away behind him. ?The King wasjogging along in his wake, with his head bowed; for he, too, was deepin plans and thinkings. ?A sorrowful misgiving clouded Hendon's new-borncheerfulness: ?would the boy be willing to go again to a city where,during all his brief life, he had never known anything but ill-usage andpinching want? ?But the question must be asked; it could not be avoided;so Hendon reined up, and called out--
"I had forgotten to inquire whither we are bound. ?Thy commands, myliege!"
"To London!"
Hendon moved on again, mightily contented with the answer--but astoundedat it too.
The whole journey was made without an adventure of importance. But itended with one. ?About ten o'clock on the night of the 19th of Februarythey stepped upon London Bridge, in the midst of a writhing, strugglingjam of howling and hurrahing people, whose beer-jolly faces stood outstrongly in the glare from manifold torches--and at that instant thedecaying head of some former duke or other grandee tumbled down betweenthem, striking Hendon on the elbow and then bounding off among thehurrying confusion of feet. So evanescent and unstable are men's worksin this world!--the late good King is but three weeks dead and threedays in his grave, and already the adornments which he took such painsto select from prominent people for his noble bridge are falling. ?Acitizen stumbled over that head, and drove his own head into the back ofsomebody in front of him, who turned and knocked down the first personthat came handy, and was promptly laid out himself by that person'sfriend. ?It was the right ripe time for a free fight, for thefestivities of the morrow--Coronation Day--were already beginning;everybody was full of strong drink and patriotism; within five minutesthe free fight was occupying a good deal of ground; within ten or twelveit covered an acre of so, and was become a riot. ?By this time Hendonand the King were hopelessly separated from each other and lost in therush and turmoil of the roaring masses of humanity. ?And so we leavethem.