and her son, now about eighteen years of age and a young prince of great
hopes, landed at Weymouth, supported by a small body of French forces.
When this Princess received intelligence of her husband's captivity, and
of the defeat and death of the Earl of Warwick, her courage, which had
supported her under so many disastrous events, here quite left her; and
she immediately foresaw all the dismal consequences of this calamity. At
first she took sanctuary in the Abbey of Beaulieu; but being encouraged
by men of rank, who exhorted her still to hope for success, she resumed
her former spirit and determined to defend to the utmost the ruins of her
fallen fortunes. She advanced through the counties of Devon, Somerset,
and Gloucester, increasing her army on each day's march, but was at last
overtaken by the rapid and expeditious Edward at Tewkesbury, on the banks
of the Severn. The Lancastrians were here totally defeated; the Earl
of Devonshire and Lord Wenlock were killed in the field; the Duke of
Somerset and about twenty other persons of distinction, having taken
shelter in a church, were surrounded, dragged out, and immediately
beheaded; about three thousand of their side fell in battle; and the army
was entirely dispersed.
Queen Margaret and her son were taken prisoners and brought to the King,
who asked the Prince, after an insulting manner, how he dared to invade
his dominions. The young Prince, more mindful of his high birth than
of his present fortune, replied that he came thither to claim his just
inheritance. The ungenerous Edward, insensible to pity, struck him on the
face with his gauntlet; and the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester, Lord
Hastings, and Sir Thomas Gray, taking the blow as a signal for further
violence, hurried the Prince into the next apartment and there despatched
him with their daggers. Margaret was thrown into the Tower; King Henry
expired in that confinement a few days after the battle of Tewkesbury;
but whether he died a natural or violent death is uncertain. It is
pretended, and was generally believed, that the Duke of Gloucester killed
him with his own hands; but the universal odium which that Prince had
incurred, perhaps inclined the nation to aggravate his crimes without any
sufficient authority.
All the hopes of the house of Lancaster seemed now to be utterly
extinguished. Every legitimate prince of that family was dead; almost
every great leader of the party had perished in battle or on the
scaffold; the Earl of Pembroke, who was levying forces in Wales,
disbanded his army when he received intelligence of the battle of
Tewkesbury, and he fled into Brittany with his nephew, the young Earl of
Richmond. The bastard of Falconberg, who had levied some forces, and
had advanced to London during Edward's absence, was repulsed; his men
deserted him; he was taken prisoner and immediately executed; and peace
being now fully restored to the nation, a parliament was summoned, which
ratified, as usual, all the acts of the victor, and recognized his legal
authority.
This Prince, who had been so firm and active and intrepid during the
course of adversity, was still unable to resist the allurements of a
prosperous fortune; and he devoted himself, as before, to pleasure and
amusement, after he became entirely master of his kingdom. But while he
was thus indulging himself in pleasure, he was roused from his lethargy
by a prospect of foreign conquests. He passed over to Calais, 1475, with
an army of one thousand five hundred men-at-arms and fifteen thousand
archers, attended by all the chief nobility of England, who,
prognosticating future successes from the past, were eager to appear on
this great theatre of honor. But all their sanguine hopes were damped
when they found, on entering the French territories, that neither did the
constable open his gates to them nor the Duke of Burgundy bring them the
smallest assistance. That Prince, transported by his ardent temper, had
carried all his armies to a great distance, and had employed them in wars
on the frontiers of Germany and against the Duke of Lorraine; and though
he came in person to Edward, and endeavored to apologize for this breach
of treaty, there was no prospect that they would be able this campaign to
make a conjunction with the English. This circumstance gave great disgust
to the King, and inclined him to hearken to those advances which Louis
continually made him for an accommodation.
Louis was sensible that the warlike genius of the people would soon
render them excellent soldiers, and, far from despising them for their
present want of experience, he employed all his art to detach them from
the alliance of Burgundy. When Edward sent him a herald to claim the
crown of France, and to carry him a defiance in case of refusal, so far
from answering to this bravado in like haughty terms, he replied with
great temper, and even made the herald a considerable present. He took
afterward an opportunity of sending a herald to the English camp, and
having given him directions to apply to Lords Stanley and Howard, who,
he heard, were friends to peace, he desired the good offices of these
noblemen in promoting an accommodation with their master. As Edward was
now fallen into like dispositions, a truce was soon concluded on terms
more advantageous than honorable to Louis. He stipulated to pay Edward
immediately seventy-five thousand crowns, on condition that he should
withdraw his army from France, and promised to pay him fifty thousand
crowns a year during their joint lives. In order to ratify this treaty,
the two monarchs agreed to have a personal interview. Edward and Louis
conferred privately together; and having confirmed their friendship, and
interchanged many mutual civilities, they soon after parted. As the two
armies, after the conclusion of the truce, remained some time in the
neighborhood of each other, the English were not only admitted freely
into Amiens, where Louis resided, but had also their charges defrayed,
and had wine and victuals furnished them in every inn without any payment
being demanded.
This treaty did very little honor to either of these monarchs. It
discovered the imprudence of Edward, who had taken his measures so ill
with his allies as to be obliged, after such an expensive armament, to
return without making any acquisitions adequate to it. It showed the want
of dignity in Louis, who, rather than run the hazard of a battle,
agreed to subject his kingdom to a tribunal, and thus acknowledge the
superiority of a neighboring prince possessed of less power and territory
than himself. But Louis thought that all the advantages of the treaty
were on his side, and that he had overreached Edward by sending him out
of France on such easy terms.
The most honorable part of Louis' treaty with Edward was the stipulation
for the liberty of Queen Margaret, who, though after the death of her
husband and son she could no longer be formidable to Government, was
still detained in custody by Edward. Louis paid fifty thousand crowns for
her ransom; and that Princess, who had been so active on the stage of
the world, and who had experienced such a variety of fortune, passed the
remainder of her days in tranquillity and privacy till the year 1482,
when she died; an admirable princess, but more illustrious by her
undaunted spirit in adversity than by her moderation in prosperity.
She seems neither to have enjoyed the virtues nor been subject to the
weaknesses of her sex, and was as much tainted with the ferocity as
endowed with the courage of that barbarous age in which she lived.
The Duke of Clarence, by all his services in deserting Warwick, had never
been able to regain the King's friendship, which he had forfeited by his
former confederacy with that nobleman. He was still regarded at court as
a man of a dangerous and a fickle character; and the imprudent openness
and violence of his temper, though they rendered him much less dangerous,
tended extremely to multiply his enemies and to incense them against him.
Among others, he had had the misfortune to give displeasure to the Queen
herself, as well as to his brother, the Duke of Gloucester, a prince
of the deepest policy, of the most unrelenting ambition, and the least
scrupulous in the means which he employed for the attainment of his ends.
A combination between these potent adversaries being secretly formed
against Clarence, it was determined to begin by attacking his friends. He
was alarmed when he found acts of tyranny exercised on all around him;
but, instead of securing his own life against the present danger by
silence and reserve, he was open and loud in justifying the innocence of
his friends and in exclaiming against the iniquity of their prosecutors.
The King, highly offended with his freedom, or using that pretence
against him, committed him to the Tower, 1478, summoned a parliament, and
tried him for his life. Clarence was pronounced guilty by the peers. The
House of Commons was no less slavish and unjust; they both petitioned
for the execution of the Duke and afterward passed a bill of attainder
against him.
The only favor which the King granted him after his condemnation was to
leave him the choice of his death; and he was privately drowned in a butt
of malmsey in the Tower--a whimsical choice, which implies that he had an
extraordinary passion for that liquor.
The Duke left two children by the elder daughter of the Earl of Warwick:
a son, created an earl by his grandfather's title, and a daughter,
afterward Countess of Salisbury. Both this Prince and Princess were also
unfortunate in their end, and died violent deaths--a fate which, for many
years, attended almost all the descendants of the royal blood of England.
There prevails a report that a chief source of the violent prosecution of
the Duke of Clarence, whose name was George, was a current prophecy that
the King's son should be murdered by one the initial letter of whose name
was G. It is not impossible but, in those ignorant times, such a silly
reason might have some influence; but it is more probable that the whole
story is the invention of a subsequent period, and founded on the murder
of these children by the Duke of Gloucester.
All the glories of Edward's reign terminated with the civil wars, where
his laurels, too, were extremely sullied with blood, violence, and
cruelty. His spirit seems afterward to have been sunk in indolence and
pleasure, or his measures were frustrated by imprudence and the want
of foresight. While he was making preparations for a French war he was
seized with a distemper, of which he expired, 1483, in the forty-second
year of his age and the twenty-third of his reign.
During the latter years of Edward IV the nation, having in a great
measure forgotten the bloody feuds between the two roses, and peaceably
acquiescing in the established government, was agitated only by some
court intrigues, which, being restrained by the authority of the King,
seemed nowise to endanger the public tranquillity. But Edward knew that,
though he himself had been able to overawe rival factions, many disorders
might arise from their contests during the minority of his son; and he
therefore took care, in his last illness, to summon together several of
the leaders on both sides, and, by composing their ancient quarrels, to
provide as far as possible for the future tranquillity of the government.
After expressing his intentions that his brother, the Duke of Gloucester,
then absent in the North, should be intrusted with the regency, he
recommended to them peace and unanimity during the tender years of his
son, and engaged them to embrace each other with all the appearance of
the most cordial reconciliation. But this temporary or feigned agreement
lasted no longer than the King's life; he had no sooner expired than the
jealousies of the parties broke out afresh; and each of them applied, by
separate messages, to the Duke of Gloucester, and endeavored to acquire
his favor and friendship.
This Prince, during his brother's reign, had endeavored to live on good
terms with both parties, and his high birth, his extensive abilities, and
his great services had enabled him to support himself without falling
into a dependence on either. But the new situation of affairs, when the
supreme power was devolved upon him, immediately changed his measures,
and he secretly determined to preserve no longer that neutrality which
he had hitherto maintained. His exorbitant ambition, unrestrained by any
principle either of justice or humanity, made him carry his views to the
possession of the crown itself, and, as this object could not be
attained without the ruin of the Queen and her family, he fell, without
hesitation, into concert with the opposite party. But, being sensible
that the most profound dissimulation was requisite for effecting his
criminal purposes, he redoubled his professions of zeal and attachment
to that Princess; and he gained such credit with her as to influence
her conduct in a point which, as it was of the utmost importance, was
violently disputed between the opposite factions.
The young King, at the time of his father's death, resided in the castle
of Ludlow, on the borders of Wales, whither he had been sent, that
the influence of his presence might overawe the Welsh and restore the
tranquillity of that country, which had been disturbed by some late
commotions.
The Duke of Gloucester, being the nearest male of the royal family
capable of exercising the government, seemed entitled, by the customs of
the realm, to the office of protector; and the council, not waiting for
the consent of parliament, made no scruple of investing him with that
high dignity. The general prejudice entertained by the nobility against
the Queen and her kindred occasioned this precipitation and irregularity;
and no one foresaw any danger to the succession, much less to the lives
of the young princes, from a measure so obvious and so natural. Besides
that the Duke had hitherto been able to cover, by the most profound
dissimulation, his fierce and savage nature, the numerous issue of
Edward, together with the two children of Clarence, seemed to be an
eternal obstacle to his ambition; and it appeared equally impracticable
for him to destroy so many persons possessed of a preferable title and
imprudent to exclude them.
But a man who had abandoned all principles of honor and humanity was
soon carried by his predominant passion beyond the reach of fear or
precaution; and Gloucester, having so far succeeded in his views, no
longer hesitated in removing the other obstructions which lay between
him and the throne. The death of the Earl of Rivers[2], and of other
prisoners detained in Pomfret, was first determined; and he easily
obtained the consent of the Duke of Buckingham, as well as of Lord
Hastings, to this violent and sanguinary measure. Orders were accordingly
issued to Sir Richard Ratcliffe, a proper instrument in the hands of
this tyrant, to cut off the heads of the prisoners. The Protector then
assailed the fidelity of Buckingham by all the arguments capable of
swaying a vicious mind, and he easily obtained from him a promise of
supporting him in all his enterprises.
The Duke of Gloucester, knowing the importance of gaining Lord Hastings,
sounded at a distance his sentiments, but found him impregnable in his
allegiance and fidelity to the children of Edward, who had ever honored
him with his friendship. He saw, therefore, that there were no longer any
measures to be kept with him; and he determined to ruin utterly the man
whom he despaired of engaging to concur in his usurpation. On the very
day when Rivers, Gray, and Vaughan were executed, or rather murdered, at
Pomfret, by the advice of Hastings, the Protector summoned a council
in the Tower, whither that nobleman, suspecting no design against him,
repaired without hesitation. The Duke of Gloucester was capable of
committing the most bloody and treacherous murders with the utmost
coolness and indifference. On taking his place at the council table he
appeared in the easiest and most jovial humor imaginable. He seemed to
indulge himself in familiar conversation with the councillors before they
should enter on business, and having paid some compliments to Morton,
Bishop of Ely, on the good and early strawberries which he raised in his
garden at Holborn, he begged the favor of having a dish of them, which
that prelate immediately despatched a servant to bring to him. The
Protector left the council, as if called away by some other business,
but, soon after returning with an angry and inflamed countenance, he
asked them what punishment those deserved that had plotted against _his_
life, who was so nearly related to the King, and was intrusted with the
administration of government. Hastings replied that they merited the
punishment of traitors. "These traitors," cried the Protector, "are the
sorceress, my brother's wife, and Jane Shore, his mistress, with others
their associates; see to what a condition they have reduced me by their
incantations and witchcraft!" Upon which he laid bare his arm, all
shrivelled and decayed; but the councillors, who knew that this infirmity
had attended him from his birth, looked on each other with amazement;
and, above all, Lord Hastings, who, as he had since Edward's death
engaged in an intrigue with Jane Shore, was naturally anxious concerning
the issue of these extraordinary proceedings.
"Certainly, my lord," said he, "if they be guilty of these crimes, they
deserve the severest punishment." "And do you reply to me," exclaimed the
Protector, "with your _ifs_ and your _ands_? You are the chief abettor of
that witch, Shore; you are yourself a traitor; and I swear by St. Paul
that I will not dine before your head be brought me." He struck the table
with his hand; armed men rushed in at the signal; the councillors were
thrown into the utmost consternation; and one of the guards, as if by
accident or mistake, aimed a blow with a pole-axe at Lord Stanley, who,
aware of the danger, slunk under the table; and though he saved his life,
he received a severe wound in the Protector's presence. Hastings was
seized, and instantly beheaded on a timber-log which lay in the court of
the Tower.
Lord Stanley, the Archbishop of York, the Bishop of Ely, and other
councillors were committed prisoners in different chambers of the Tower.
These acts of violence, exercised against the nearest connections of the
late King, prognosticated the severest fate to his defenceless children;
and after the murder of Hastings, the Protector no longer made a secret
of his intentions to usurp the crown. The licentious life of Edward
afforded a pretence for declaring his marriage with the Queen invalid and
all his posterity illegitimate. It was also maintained that the act of
attainder passed against the Duke of Clarence had virtually incapacitated
his children from succeeding to the crown; and, these two families being
set aside, the Protector remained the only true and legitimate heir of
the house of York. The Protector resolved to make use of another plea,
still more shameful and scandalous. His partisans were taught to maintain
that both Edward IV and the Duke of Clarence were illegitimate, and that
the Duke of Gloucester alone appeared to be the true offspring of the
Duke of York.
In a few days the Duke of Buckingham went to Baynard's castle, where
the Protector then resided, to make him a tender of the crown. Richard
refused to appear, and pretended to be apprehensive for his personal
safety; a circumstance taken notice of by Buckingham, who observed "that
the Prince was ignorant of the whole design." At last he was persuaded to
step forth, but he still kept at some distance; and he asked the meaning
of the intrusion and importunity. Buckingham told him that the nation
was resolved to have him for King. The Protector declared his purpose of
maintaining his loyalty to the present sovereign. He was told that the
people had determined to have another prince; and if he rejected their
unanimous voice, they must look out for one who would be more compliant.
This argument was too powerful to be resisted; he was prevailed on to
accept of the crown; and he thenceforth acted as legitimate and rightful
sovereign.
This ridiculous farce was soon after followed by a scene truly
tragical--the murder of the two young princes. Richard gave orders to Sir
Robert Brakenbury, constable of the Tower, to put his nephews to death,
but this gentleman, who had sentiments of honor, refused to have any hand
in the infamous office. The tyrant then sent for Sir James Tyrrel, who
promised obedience; and he ordered Brakenbury to resign to this gentleman
the keys and government of the Tower for one night. Tyrrel, choosing
three associates, Slater, Dighton, and Forest, came in the night-time to
the door of the chamber where the princes were lodged, and, sending in
the assassins, he bade them execute their commission, while he himself
stayed without. They found the young princes in bed and fallen into a
profound sleep. After suffocating them with the bolster and pillows, they
showed their naked bodies to Tyrrel, who ordered them to be buried at the
foot of the stairs, deep in the ground, under a heap of stones, 1483.
These circumstances were all confessed by the actors in the following
reign; they were never punished for the crime, probably because Henry,
whose maxims of government were extremely arbitrary, desired to establish
it as a principle that the commands of the reigning sovereign ought to
justify every enormity in those who paid obedience to them. But there is
one circumstance not so easy to be accounted for: it is pretended that
Richard, displeased with the indecent manner of burying his nephews, whom
he had murdered, gave his chaplain orders to dig up the bodies, and to
inter them in consecrated ground; and as the man died soon after, the
place of their burial remained unknown, and the bodies could never be
found by any search which Henry could make for them. Yet in the reign of
Charles II, when there was occasion to remove some stones and to dig in
the very spot which was mentioned as the place of their first interment,
the bones of two persons were there found, which by their size exactly
corresponded to the age of Edward and his brother. They were concluded
with certainty to be the remains of those princes, and were interred
under a marble monument by orders of King Charles.
The first acts of Richard's administration were to bestow rewards on
those who had assisted him in usurping the crown, and to gain by favors
those who, he thought, were best able to support his future government.
But the person who, both from the greatness of his services and the power
and splendor of his family, was best entitled to favors under the new
government, was the Duke of Buckingham, and Richard seemed determined to
spare no pains or bounty in securing him to his interests. But it was
impossible that friendship could long remain inviolate between two men of
such corrupt minds as Richard and the Duke of Buckingham. The Duke,
soon after Richard's accession, began to form a conspiracy against the
government, and attempted to overthrow that usurpation which he himself
had so zealously contributed to establish. Never was there in any country
a usurpation more flagrant than that of Richard, or more repugnant to
every principle of justice and public interest. To endure such a bloody
usurper seemed to draw disgrace upon the nation, and to be attended with
immediate danger to every individual who was distinguished by birth,
merit, or services. Such was become the general voice of the people; all
parties were united in the same sentiments; and the Lancastrians, so long
oppressed, and of late so much discredited, felt their blasted hopes
again revive, and anxiously expected the consequences of these
extraordinary events.
The Duke of Buckingham, whose family had been devoted to that interest,
and who, by his mother, a daughter of Edmund, Duke of Somerset, was
allied to the house of Lancaster, was easily induced to espouse the
cause of this party, and to endeavor the restoring of it to its ancient
superiority. Morton, Bishop of Ely, a zealous Lancastrian, whom the King
had imprisoned, and had afterward committed to the custody of Buckingham,
encouraged these sentiments; and by his exhortations the Duke cast his
eye toward the young Earl of Richmond as the only person who could free
the nation from the tyranny of the present usurper.