Chapter 5

As we entered deeper into what had once been the city, the

evidences of man's past occupancy became more frequent. For

a mile from the arch there was only a riot of weeds and

undergrowth and trees covering small mounds and little

hillocks that, I was sure, were formed of the ruins of

stately buildings of the dead past.

But presently we came upon a district where shattered walls

still raised their crumbling tops in sad silence above the

grass-grown sepulchers of their fallen fellows. Softened

and mellowed by ancient ivy stood these sentinels of sorrow,

their scarred faces still revealing the rents and gashes of

shrapnel and of bomb.

Contrary to our expectations, we found little indication

that lions in any great numbers laired in this part of

ancient London. Well-worn pathways, molded by padded paws,

led through the cavernous windows or doorways of a few of

the ruins we passed, and once we saw the savage face of a

great, black-maned lion scowling down upon us from a

shattered stone balcony.

We followed down the bank of the Thames after we came upon

it. I was anxious to look with my own eyes upon the famous

bridge, and I guessed, too, that the river would lead me

into the part of London where stood Westminster Abbey and

the Tower.

Realizing that the section through which we had been passing

was doubtless outlying, and therefore not so built up with

large structures as the more centrally located part of the

old town, I felt sure that farther down the river I should

find the ruins larger. The bridge would be there in part,

at least, and so would remain the walls of many of the great

edifices of the past. There would be no such complete ruin

of large structures as I had seen among the smaller

buildings.

But when I had come to that part of the city which I judged

to have contained the relics I sought I found havoc that had