Adventure stories; England -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction; Irish -- England -- Fiction
We rode on at daybreak. At the first large village I bid a little man
cut Paddy's hair, and although Paddy was all for killing the little
man, and the little man twice ran away, the work was eventually done,
for I stood over Paddy and threatened him. Afterward the little boys
were not so anxious to hoot us through the streets, calling us
Africans. For it must be recalled that at this time there was great
curiosity in the provinces over the Africans, because it was known
that in London people of fashion often had African servants; and
although London cared nothing for the provinces, and the provinces
cared nothing for London, still the rumour of the strange man
interested the country clodhopper so greatly that he called Paddy an
African on principle, in order that he might blow to his neighbours
that he had seen the fascinating biped. There was no general
understanding that the African was a man of black skin; it was only
understood that he was a great marvel. Hence the urchins in these
far-away villages often ran at the heels of Paddy's horse, yelling.
In time the traffic on the highway became greatly thickened, and
several times we thought we were entering London because of the large
size and splendour of the towns to which we came. Paddy began to fear
the people had been deceiving us as to the road, and that we had
missed London entirely. But finally we came to a river with hundreds
of boats upon it, and there was a magnificent bridge, and on the other
bank was a roaring city, and through the fog the rain came down thick
as the tears of the angels. "That's London," said I.
We rode out upon the bridge, all much interested, but somewhat
fearful, for the noise of the city was terrible. But if it was
terrible as we approached it, I hesitate to say what it was to us when
we were once fairly in it. "Keep close to me," I yelled to Paddy and
Jem, and they were not unwilling. And so we rode into this
pandemonium, not having the least idea where we were going.
As we progressed I soon saw what occasioned the major part of the
noise. Many heavy carts thundered slowly through the narrow, echoing
streets, bumping their way uproariously over a miserable pavement.
Added to this, of course, were the shrill or hoarse shouts of the
street vendors and the apprentices at the shop-doors. To the sky arose
an odour almost insupportable, for it was new to us all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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