第 23 页

cudgel.' The fellow went off, muttering and grumbling, but I have no

doubt that he and the others, for it certainly was not always the

same man, were watching for you. To-night there was no one about, or,

if there was, he did not come near me, and it may be that, finding

you never leave the house after nightfall, they have decided to give

it up for the present. But I thought I heard a footfall lower down

the street, just as we came out of the house, and it is like enough

that we are followed now."

"At any rate, they would scarce attack two of us, John, and I should

not mind if they did. It is a stab in the back that I am afraid of

more than an open quarrel."

"You may have a better swordsman to deal with next time. The fellow

himself would scarcely care to cross swords with you again, but he

would have no difficulty in getting half-a-dozen cut-throats from the

purlieus of the Temple or Westminster, professional bullies, who are

ready to use their swords to those who care to purchase them, and who

would cut a throat for a few crowns, without caring a jot whose

throat it was. Some of these fellows are disbanded soldiers. Some are

men who were ruined in the wars. Some are tavern bullies--broken men,

reckless and quarrelsome gamblers so long as they have a shilling in

their pockets, but equally ready to take to the road or to rob a

house when their pockets are empty."

By this time they had passed the Exchange into Cheapside. Many people

were hurrying in the same direction and wondering where the fire was.

Presently one of the Fire Companies, with buckets, ladders, and axes,

passed them at a run. Even in Cheapside the glow in the sky ahead

could be plainly seen, but it was not until they passed St. Paul's

and stood at the top of Ludgate Hill that the flames, shooting up

high in the air, were visible. They were almost straight ahead.

"It must be at the other end of Fleet Street," Cyril said, as they

broke into a run.

"Farther than that, lad. It must be one of the mansions along the

Strand. A fire always looks closer than it is. I have seen a ship in

flames that looked scarce a mile away, and yet, sailing with a brisk

wind, it took us over an hour to come up to it."

The crowd became thicker as they approached Temple Bar. The upper

windows of the houses were all open, and women were leaning out

looking at the sight. From every lane and alley men poured into the

street and swelled the hurrying current. They passed through the Bar,

expecting to find that the fire was close at hand. They had, however,

some distance farther to go, for the fire was at a mansion in the

Savoy. Another Fire Company came along when they were within a

hundred yards of the spot.

"Join in with them," Cyril said; and he and John Wilkes managed to

push their way into the ranks, joining in the shout, "Way there, way!

Make room for the buckets!"

Aided by some of the City watch the Company made its way through the

crowd, and hurried down the hill from the Strand into the Savoy. A

party of the King's Guard, who had just marched up, kept back the

crowd, and, when once in the open space, Cyril and his companion

stepped out from the ranks and joined a group of people who had

arrived before the constables and soldiers had come up.

The mansion from which the fire had originated was in flames from top

to bottom. The roof had fallen in. Volumes of flame and sparks shot

high into the air, threatening the safety of several other houses

standing near. The Fire Companies were working their hand-pumps,

throwing water on to the doors and woodwork of these houses. Long

lines of men were extended down to the edge of the river and passed

the buckets backwards and forwards. City officials, gentlemen of the

Court, and officers of the troops, moved to and fro shouting

directions and superintending the work. From many of the houses the

inhabitants were bringing out their furniture and goods, aided by the

constables and spectators.

"It is a grand sight," Cyril said, as, with his companion, he took

his place in a quiet corner where a projecting portico threw a deep

shadow.

"It will soon be grander still. The wind is taking the sparks and

flames westwards, and nothing can save that house over there. Do you

see the little jets of flame already bursting through the roof?"

"The house seems empty. There is not a window open."

"It looks so, Cyril, but there may be people asleep at the back. Let

us work round and have a look from behind."

They turned down an alley, and in a minute or two came out behind the

house. There was a garden and some high trees, but it was surrounded

by a wall, and they could not see the windows.

"Here, Cyril, I will give you a hoist up. If you stand on my

shoulders, you can reach to the top of the wall and pull yourself up.

Come along here to where that branch projects over. That's it. Now

drop your cloak, and jump on to my back. That is right. Now get on to

my shoulders."

Cyril managed to get up.

"I can just touch the top, but I can't get my fingers on to it."

"Put your foot on my head. I will warrant it is strong enough to bear

your weight."

Cyril did as he was told, grasped the top of the wall, and, after a

sharp struggle, seated himself astride on it. Just as he did so, a

window in a wing projecting into the garden was thrown open, and a

female voice uttered a loud scream for help. There was light enough

for Cyril to see that the lower windows were all barred. He shouted

back,--

"Can't you get down the staircase?"

"No; the house is full of smoke. There are some children here. Help!

Help!" and the voice rose in a loud scream again.

Cyril dropped down into the roadway by the side of John Wilkes.

"There are some women and children in there, John. They can't get

out. We must go round to the other side and get some axes and break

down the door."

Snatching up his cloak, he ran at full speed to his former position,

followed by Wilkes. The roof of the house was now in flames. Many of

the shutters and window-frames had also caught fire, from the heat.

He ran up to two gentlemen who seemed to be directing the operations.

"There are some women and children in a room at the back of that

house," he said. "I have just been round there to see. They are in

the second storey, and are crying for help."

"I fear the ladders are too short."

"I can tie two or three of them together," Wilkes said. "I am an old

sailor and can answer for the knots."

The firemen were already dashing water on the lower windows of the

front of the house. A party with axes were cutting at the door, but

this was so massive and solid that it resisted their efforts. One of

the gentlemen went down to them. At his orders eight or ten men

seized ladders. Cyril snatched some ropes from a heap that had been

thrown down by the firemen, and the party, with one of the gentlemen,

ran round to the back of the house. Two ladders were placed against

the wall. John Wilkes, running up one of them, hauled several of the

others up, and lowered them into the garden.

The flames were now issuing from some of the upper windows. Cyril

dropped from the wall into the garden, and, running close up to the

house, shouted to three or four women, who were screaming loudly, and

hanging so far out that he thought they would fall, that help was at

hand, and that they would be speedily rescued. John Wilkes rapidly

tied three of the short ladders together. These were speedily raised,

but it was found that they just reached the window. One of the

firemen ran up, while John set to work to prepare another long

ladder. As there was no sign of life at any other window he laid it

down on the grass when finished.

"If you will put it up at the next window," Cyril said, "I will mount

it. The woman said there were children in the house, and possibly I

may find them. Those women are so frightened that they don't know

what they are doing."

One woman had already been got on to the other ladder, but instead of

coming down, she held on tightly, screaming at the top of her voice,

until the fireman with great difficulty got up by her side, wrenched

her hands from their hold, threw her across his shoulder, and carried

her down.

The room was full of smoke as Cyril leapt into it, but he found that

it was not, as he had supposed, the one in which the women at the

next window were standing. Near the window, however, an elderly woman

was lying on the floor insensible, and three girls of from eight to

fourteen lay across her. Cyril thrust his head out of the window.

"Come up, John," he shouted. "I want help."

He lifted the youngest of the girls, and as he got her out of the

window, John's head appeared above the sill.

"Take her down quick, John," he said, as he handed the child to him.

"There are three others. They are all insensible from the smoke."

Filling his lungs with fresh air, he turned into the blinding smoke

again, and speedily reappeared at the window with another of the

girls. John was not yet at the bottom; he placed her with her head

outside the window, and was back with the eldest girl by the time

Wilkes was up again. He handed her to him, and then, taking the

other, stepped out on to the ladder and followed Wilkes down.

"Brave lad!" the gentleman said, patting him on the shoulder. "Are

there any more of them?"

"One more--a woman, sir. Do you go up, John. I will follow, for I

doubt whether I can lift her by myself."

He followed Wilkes closely up the ladder. There was a red glow now in

the smoke. Flames were bursting through the door. John was waiting at

the window.

"Which way, lad? There is no seeing one's hand in the smoke."

"Just in front, John, not six feet away. Hold your breath."

They dashed forward together, seized the woman between them, and,

dragging her to the window, placed her head and shoulders on the

sill.

"You go first, John. She is too heavy for me," Cyril gasped.

John stumbled out, half suffocated, while Cyril thrust his head as

far as he could outside the window.

"That is it, John; you take hold of her shoulder, and I will help you

get her on to your back."

Between them they pushed her nearly out, and then, with Cyril's

assistance, John got her across his shoulders. She was a heavy woman,

and the old sailor had great difficulty in carrying her down. Cyril

hung far out of the window till he saw him put his foot on the

ground; then he seized a rung of the ladder, swung himself out on to

it, and was soon down.

For a time he felt confused and bewildered, and was conscious that if

he let go the ladder he should fall. He heard a voice say, "Bring one

of those buckets of water," and directly afterwards, "Here, lad, put

your head into this," and a handful of water was dashed into his

face. It revived him, and, turning round, he plunged his head into a

bucket that a man held up for him. Then he took a long breath or two,

pressed the water from his hair, and felt himself again. The women at

the other window had by this time been brought down. A door in the

garden wall had been broken down with axes, and the women and girls

were taken away to a neighbouring house.

"There is nothing more to do here," the gentlemen said. "Now, men,

you are to enter the houses round about. Wherever a door is fastened,

break it in. Go out on to the roofs with buckets, put out the sparks

as fast as they fall. I will send some more men to help you at once."

He then put his hand on Cyril's shoulder, and walked back with him to

the open space.

"We have saved them all," he said to the other gentleman who had now

come up, "but it has been a close touch, and it was only by the

gallantry of this young gentleman and another with him that the lives

of three girls and a woman were rescued. I think all the men that can

be spared had better go round to the houses in that direction. You

see, the wind is setting that way, and the only hope of stopping the

progress of the fire is to get plenty of men with buckets out on the

roofs and at all the upper windows."

The other gentleman gave the necessary orders to an officer.

"Now, young sir, may I ask your name?" the other said to Cyril.

"Cyril Shenstone, sir," he replied respectfully; for he saw that the

two men before him were persons of rank.

"Shenstone? I know the name well. Are you any relation of Sir Aubrey

Shenstone?"

"He was my father, sir."

"A brave soldier, and a hearty companion," the other said warmly. "He

rode behind me scores of times into the thick of the fight. I am

Prince Rupert, lad."

Cyril doffed his hat in deep respect. His father had always spoken of

the Prince in terms of boundless admiration, and had over and over

again lamented that he had not been able to join the Prince in his

exploits at sea.

"What has become of my old friend?" the Prince asked.

"He died six months ago, Prince."

"I am sorry to hear it. I did hear that, while I was away, he had

been suing at Court. I asked for him, but could get no tidings of his

whereabouts. But we cannot speak here. Ask for me to-morrow at

Whitehall. Do you know this gentleman?"

"No, sir, I have not the honour."

"This is the Duke of Albemarle, my former enemy, but now my good

friend. You will like the lad no worse, my Lord, because his father

more than once rode with me into the heart of your ranks."

"Certainly not," the Duke said. "It is clear that the son will be as

gallant a gentleman as his father was before him, and, thank God! it

is not against Englishmen that he will draw his sword. You may count

me as your friend, sir, henceforth."