A March on London: Being a Story of Wat Tyler's Insurrection — John Shaqi
A March on London: Being a Story of Wat Tyler's InsurrectionHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
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A March on London: Being a Story of Wat Tyler's Insurrection
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Tyler's Insurrection, 1381 -- Juvenile fiction
Here, at least, he had no fear of intrusive neighbours, or other
interruptions to his studies. The news from London seldom reached his
ears, and he was enabled to devote himself entirely to his experiments.
Like many other learned men of his age, it was to chemistry that he
chiefly turned his attention. His library comprised the works of almost
every known writer on the subject, and he hoped that he might gain an
immortal reputation by discovering one or both of the great secrets
then sought for--the elixir of life, or the philosopher's stone that
would convert all things into gold. It was not that he himself had any
desire for a long life, still less did he yearn for more wealth than he
possessed, but he fondly believed that these discoveries would
ameliorate the condition of mankind.
He did not see that if gold was as plentiful as the commonest metal it
would cease to be more valuable than others, or that the boon of a long
life would not add to the happiness of mankind. For some years he gave
little thought to his son, who was left to such care as the old
housekeeper and the still older man-servant chose to bestow upon him,
and who, in consequence, was left altogether to follow the dictates of
his own fancy. The child, therefore, lived almost entirely in the open
air, played, tussled, and fought with boys of his own age in the
village, and grew up healthy, sturdy, and active. His father scarcely
took any heed of his existence until the prior of the Convent of St.
Alwyth one day called upon him.
"What are you going to do with your boy, Mr. Ormskirk?" he asked.
"My boy?" the student repeated in tones of surprise. "Oh, yes; Edgar,
of course. What am I going to do with him? Well, I have never thought
about it. Does he want anything? My housekeeper always sees to that. Do
you think that he wants a nurse?"
"A nurse, Mr. Ormskirk!" the Prior said with a smile. "A nurse would
have a hard time with him. Do you know what his age is?"
"Four or five years old, I suppose."
"Nearly double that. He is nine."
"Impossible!" Mr. Ormskirk said. "Why, it is only the other day that he
was a baby."
"It is eight years since that time; he is now a sturdy lad, and if
there is any mischief in the village he is sure to be in it. Why, it
was but three days ago that Friar Anselmo caught him, soon after
daybreak, fishing in the Convent pool with two of the village lads. The
friar gave them a sound trouncing, and would have given one to your
son, too, had it not been for the respect that we all feel for you. It
is high time, Mr. Ormskirk, that he was broken of his wild ways and
received an education suited to his station."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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