They went on the King's Road from Canterbury and a mile out they came to a big, white gate in the dim light of the early morning.
A young man clapped his mouth to the window and shouted: "Sixpence, Yer Honor!" It was a real turnpike and Jack stuck his head out of the window for a look at it.

They stopped for breakfast at an inn far down the pike and went on through Sittingborn, Faversham, Rochester and the lovely valley of the River Medway of which Jack had read.
At every stop it amused him to hear the words "Chaise an' pair," flying from host to waiter and waiter to hostler and back in the wink of an eye.
Jack spent the night at The Rose in Dartford and went on next morning over Gadshill and Shootershill and Blackheath.

Then the Thames and Greenwich and Deptfort from which he could see the crowds and domes and towers of the big city.

A little past two o'clock he rode over London bridge and was set down at The Spread Eagle where he paid a shilling a mile for his passage and ate his dinner.
Such, those days, was the crossing and the trip up to London, as Jack describes it in his letters..