Captain John Smith

by C. H. Forbes-Lindsay

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.