Chapter XXIX. To London.

by Mark Twain

　　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 sword was restored to him, and also his mule and his donkey.He mounted and rode off, followed by the King, the crowd openingwith quiet respectfulness to let them pass, and then dispersingwhen they were gone.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 occurredto him which pointed to a possibility--the slenderest of slenderpossibilities, certainly, but still worth considering, for lack ofany other that promised anything at all. He remembered what oldAndrews had said about the young King's goodness and his generouschampionship of the wronged and unfortunate. Why not go and tryto get speech of him and beg for justice? Ah, yes, but could sofantastic a pauper get admission to the august presence of amonarch? Never mind--let that matter take care of itself; it wasa bridge that would not need to be crossed till he should come toit. He was an old campaigner, and used to inventing shifts andexpedients: no doubt he would be able to find a way. Yes, hewould strike for the capital. Maybe his father's old friend SirHumphrey Marlow would help him--'good old Sir Humphrey, HeadLieutenant of the late King's kitchen, or stables, or something'--Miles could not remember just what or which. Now that he hadsomething to turn his energies to, a distinctly defined object toaccomplish, the fog of humiliation and depression which hadsettled down upon his spirits lifted and blew away, and he raisedhis head and looked about him. He was surprised to see how far hehad come; the village was away behind him. The King was joggingalong in his wake, with his head bowed; for he, too, was deep inplans and thinkings. A sorrowful misgiving clouded Hendon's new-born cheerfulness: would the boy be willing to go again to a citywhere, during all his brief life, he had never known anything butill-usage and pinching want? But the question must be asked; itcould 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--butastounded 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 19thof February they stepped upon London Bridge, in the midst of awrithing, struggling jam of howling and hurrahing people, whosebeer-jolly faces stood out strongly in the glare from manifoldtorches--and at that instant the decaying head of some former dukeor other grandee tumbled down between them, striking Hendon on theelbow and then bounding off among the hurrying confusion of feet.So evanescent and unstable are men's works in this world!--thelate good King is but three weeks dead and three days in hisgrave, and already the adornments which he took such pains toselect from prominent people for his noble bridge are falling. Acitizen stumbled over that head, and drove his own head into theback of somebody in front of him, who turned and knocked down thefirst person that came handy, and was promptly laid out himself bythat person's friend. It was the right ripe time for a freefight, for the festivities of the morrow--Coronation Day--werealready beginning; everybody was full of strong drink andpatriotism; within five minutes the free fight was occupying agood deal of ground; within ten or twelve it covered an acre ofso, and was become a riot. By this time Hendon and the King werehopelessly separated from each other and lost in the rush andturmoil of the roaring masses of humanity. And so we leave them.