All these, with other wonders, Francis encountered as they wended their way through alleys and byways until presently they came to London Stone.
“Now here will I dismount,” cried Francis pleased and excited by all that she had seen and heard.
“But why, child? We have not yet reached the wharf where we take the wherry 126 for Greenwich. Why should you pause here?”
“Because,” cried the girl with a laugh, “if I cannot take possession of the city, I can at least emulate that arch traitor, Jack Cade, and strike my staff upon this stone.” So saying she struck the ancient stone a sharp blow with her whip.
“Beshrew me, girl!” cried the nobleman laughing, “thou shouldst in very truth have been a boy! Marry! who but a lad would have thought on such a thing! But hasten! The last rays of yon setting sun must see us at the palace.”
Francis remounted her palfrey, and without further incident they came to the wharf. Leaving their horses in the charge of some of the servitors of Lord Shrope they descended the stairs that led through one of the numerous water gates to the river, and entered one of the wherries that lay clustered about waiting for fares.
“See the barges,” cried the girl as they shot London Bridge and passed down the river. “How many there are!”
The bosom of the river was covered over 127 with barges, wherries and vessels of every description. Busy as it was fleets of swans were sailing upon its smooth surface, the noise of their gabble mingling agreeably with the song of the watermen.
“Yes, many;” assented Lord Shrope in answer to the girl’s remark, as retinues of barges passed them, filled with many a freight of brave men and beautiful women. “Hearken, how the oarsmen keep time to their oars.”
Francis listened with delight as the song of the wherrymen swelled in a mighty chorus, for every boatman sang the same thing: