The Broad Highway
Page 14"It ain't much, sir, but it's all I 'ave," said he, and thrust a
short, thick, well-smoked clay pipe into my hand--a pipe that was
fashioned to the shape of a negro's head. "It's a good pipe,
sir," he went on, "a mortal good pipe, and as sweet as a nut!"
saying which, he turned about and ran off, leaving me standing
there with his parting gift in my hand.
And having put the pipe into an inner pocket, I opened the gate
and started off at a good pace along the broad highway.
It was a bleak, desolate world that lay about me, a world of
shadows and a white, low-lying mist that filled every hollow and
swathed hedge and tree; a lowering earth and a frowning heaven
infinitely depressing. But the eastern sky was clear with an
ever-growing brightness; hope lay there, so, as I walked, I kept
Being come at last to that eminence which is called Shooter's
Hill, I sat down upon a bank beside the way and turned to look
back upon the wonderful city. And as I watched, the pearly east
changed little by little, to a varying pink, which in turn slowly
gave place to reds and yellows, until up came the sun in all his
majesty, gilding vane and weathercock upon a hundred spires and
steeples, and making a glory of the river. Far away upon the
white riband of road that led across Blackheath, a chaise was
crawling, but save for that the world seemed deserted.
I sat thus a great while gazing upon the city and marvelling at
the greatness of it.
"Truly," said I to myself, "nowhere in the whole world is there
rising, set my back to the city and went on down the hill.
Yes--the sun was up at last, and at his advent the mists rolled
up and vanished, the birds awoke in brake and thicket and,
lifting their voices, sang together, a song of universal praise.
Bushes rustled, trees whispered, while from every leaf and twig,
from every blade of grass, there hung a flashing jewel.
With the mists my doubts of the future vanished too, and I strode
upon my way, a very god, king of my destiny, walking through a
tribute world where feathered songsters carolled for me and
blossoming flowers wafted sweet perfume upon my path. So I went
on gayly down the hill, rejoicing that I was alive.
In the knapsack at my back I had stowed a few clothes, the
half-dozen favorite books, and my translation of Brantome;
Quintilian and Petronius I had left with Mr. Grainger, who had
promised to send them to a publisher, a friend of his, and in my
pocket was my uncle George's legacy,--namely, ten guineas in gold.
And, as I walked, I began to compute how long such a sum might be
made to last a man. By practising the strictest economy, I
thought I might manage well enough on two shillings a day, and
this left me some hundred odd days in which to find some means
of livelihood, and if a man could not suit himself in such time,
then (thought I) he must be a fool indeed.