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$Unique_ID{bob01451}
$Pretitle{}
$Title{Prince And The Pauper, The
Chapter XXIX}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Twain, Mark}
$Affiliation{}
$Subject{head
hendon
}
$Date{1909}
$Log{}
Title: Prince And The Pauper, The
Author: Twain, Mark
Date: 1909
Chapter XXIX
To London
When Hendon's term of service in the stocks was finished, he was
released and ordered to quit the region and come back no more. His sword
was restored to him, and also his mule and his donkey. He mounted and rode
off, followed by the king, the crowd opening with quiet respectfulness to
let them pass, and then dispersing when they were gone.
Hendon was soon absorbed in thought. There were questions of high
import to be answered. What should he do? Whither should he go? Powerful
help must be found somewhere, or he must relinquish his inheritance and
remain under the imputation of being an impostor besides. Where could he
hope to find this powerful help? Where, indeed! It was a knotty question.
By and by a thought occurred to him which pointed to a possibility - the
slenderest of slender possibilities, certainly, but still worth
considering, for lack of any other that promised anything at all. He
remembered what old Andrews had said about the young king's goodness and
his generous championship of the wronged and unfortunate. Why not go and
try to get speech of him and beg for justice? Ah, yes, but could so
fantastic a pauper get admission to the august presence of a monarch?
Never mind - let that matter take care of itself; it was a bridge that
would not need to be crossed till he should come to it. He was an old
campaigner, and used to inventing shifts and expedients; no doubt he would
be able to find a way. Yes, he would strike for the capital. Maybe his
father's old friend, Sir Humphrey Marlow, would help him - "good old Sir
Humphrey, Head Lieutenant of the late king's kitchen, or stables, or
something" - Miles could not remember just what or which. Now that he had
something to turn his energies to, a distinctly defined object to
accomplish, the fog of humiliation and depression which had settled down
upon his spirits lifted and blew away, and he raised his head and looked
about him. He was surprised to see how far he had come; the village was
away behind him. The king was jogging along in his wake, with his head
bowed; for he, too, was deep in plans and thinkings. A sorrowful misgiving
clouded Hendon's new-born cheerfulness; 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 and pinching 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, my
liege?"
"To London!"
Hendon moved on again, mightily contented with the answer - but
astounded at it, too.
The whole journey was made without an adventure of importance. But it
ended with one. About ten o'clock on the night of the 19th of February,
they stepped upon London Bridge, in the midst of a writhing, struggling jam
of howling and hurrahing people, whose beer-jolly faces stood out strongly
in the glare from manifold torches - and at that instant the decaying head
of some former duke or other grandee tumbled down between them, striking
Hendon on the elbow and then bounding off among the hurrying confusion of
feet. So evanescent and unstable are men's works in this world! - the late
good king is but three weeks dead and three days in his grave, and already
the adornments which he took such pains to select from prominent people for
his noble bridge are falling. A citizen stumbled over that head, and drove
his own head into the back of somebody in front of him, who turned and
knocked down the first person that came handy, and was promptly laid out
himself by that person's friend. It was the right ripe time for a free
fight, for the festivities of the morrow - Coronation Day - were already
beginning; everybody was full of strong drink and patriotism; within five
minutes the free fight was occupying a good deal of ground; within ten or
twelve it covered an acre or so, and was become a riot. By this time
Hendon and the king were hopelessly separated from each other and lost in
the rush and turmoil of the roaring masses of humanity. And so we leave
them.