Wyatt's Insurrection
I heard full particulars afterwards of the insurrection, but at the
time, shut up in the Tower, knew little of its course.
Sir Thomas Wyatt, though professedly a Romanist, having seen the
horrors of the Inquisition in Spain, had risen in revolt against Mary
because of her Spanish marriage. He first raised the standard of
revolt in Kent, where many joined him, and amongst them Sir Hubert
Blair, who thought he could thus best serve Lady Jane, whilst the
Duke of Suffolk, who was openly for his daughter, was making a
similar attempt in the Midlands, and Sir Peter Carew in the West; the
latter's object being to place the Princess Elizabeth on the throne.
At Rochester, where Sir Thomas Wyatt, accompanied by his
aide-de-camp, Sir Hubert Blair, encamped in the ruins of the old
castle, and held the bridge with cannon and well-armed Kentish men,
there was a great scene. The Duke of Norfolk, with a detachment of
Guards from London, was to have forced the bridge, but a certain
Captain Brett, who was deputed by him to lead five hundred men
against it, turning, addressed his followers thus--
'Masters, we are about to fight against our native countrymen of
England and our friends, in a quarrel unrightful and wicked; for
they, considering the great miseries that are like to fall upon us if
we shall be under the rule of the proud Spaniards, or strangers, are
here assembled to make resistance to their coming, for the avoiding
of the great mischiefs likely to alight not only upon themselves, but
upon every one of us and the whole realm, wherefore I think no
English heart ought to say against them. I and others will spend our
blood in their quarrel.'
When they heard this, his men shouted, 'A Wyatt! A Wyatt!' and,
instead of turning their guns against the bridge, turned them against
their own Duke of Norfolk's forces.
The duke and his officers fled, and Brett and his men, crossing the
bridge, joined Wyatt's soldiers, followed by three-fourths of the
queen's troops and more.
Meantime, the Duke of Norfolk and his officers galloped to London,
which by their news was thrown into a state of alarm and
consternation. There were meetings of the city and military
authorities, and Queen Mary, sceptre in hand, addressed them with
great spirit, promising that if her contemplated marriage with Philip
of Spain did not meet with the approval of Parliament she would give
it up. She also offered a reward of lands, with £100 a year, to any
one who would take or kill Sir Thomas Wyatt.
For some reason--could it be that Sir Hubert Blair was persuading him
not to go on?--the latter did not push forward with that speed which
characterized the commencement of his enterprise. His forces had
increased to 15,000 men, but he did not reach London until the words
of the queen and the news of the dispersion of the two other bands of
rebels, under the Duke of Suffolk and Sir Peter Carew, had restored
the courage of the citizens.
Sir Thomas Wyatt entered Southwark, and proceeded to the end of
London Bridge, where he found the drawbridge raised, the gates
closed, and a strong armed force ready to resist his entrance. This
was a painful surprise for him, as he had been led to believe that
the Londoners were on his side; and he must have hoped that they
would still come over to him, for he waited two days without
beginning the attack.
On the third day, however, the garrison of the Tower began to
cannonade him, which resulted in such mischief being done to the
houses in the vicinity that the people implored Sir Thomas to go away
with his troops.
Unwilling to distress them, and hoping to be able to cross the bridge
at Kingston and proceed thence to Westminster and London, where it
was not so well defended, Sir Thomas and my dear knight began the
march to Kingston.
I was told, afterwards, that a London merchant met them on that
march, and that Sir Thomas said to the merchant, 'I pray you commend
me to your citizens, and say to them from me, that when liberty was
offered to them they would not receive it, neither would they admit
me within their gates, who, for their freedom and for relieving them
from the oppression of foreigners, would frankly spend my blood in
this cause and quarrel.'
Sir Thomas Wyatt reached Kingston about four o'clock in the
afternoon, where he found part of the bridge broken down and an armed
force waiting to oppose his passage. Bringing up his artillery,
however, he swept the enemy from the opposite bank, and, having
hastily made the bridge passable again with the help of boats and
barges, his troops crossed over it. It was eleven o'clock at night
by the time this was done--had his aide-de-camp a moment to spare for
the thought of that other night, when I waited so long for him by the
river there?--and his men were thoroughly exhausted; but he pushed
on. They marched all through that cold February night, along muddy
roads, and, after being delayed by having to remount a heavy gun that
had broken down, reached Hyde Park in broad daylight, where the Earl
of Pembroke awaited them with the royal forces. Lord Clinton, at the
head of the cavalry, had taken up his position, with a battery of
cannon, on the rising ground opposite the Palace of St. James.
The morning was dismal, dark clouds gathered overhead, and it rained
more or less heavily. Sir Thomas' men were worn out, and many had
deserted. Nothing daunted, however, the brave knight divided them
into three companies, and at the head of the largest division,
accompanied by his aide-de-camp, charged Clinton's cavalry with such
effect that it seemed to give way. This, however, was only a
stratagem. Clinton allowed Sir Thomas, his aide-de-camp and four
hundred of his followers to pass, then he closed his ranks, cutting
off the main body from their commander.
'In all Wyatt's proceedings,' says an historian, 'he displayed great
bravery, but little military experience or caution.'
His main forces, now without a leader, wavered, but kept together,
and endeavoured to reach the city another way. They said afterwards
that Sir Thomas Wyatt did not appear to know that, having left the
body of his army behind, his enemies were now between him and it, and
he dashed along, past Charing Cross and through the Strand to
Ludgate, hoping still to be joined by the citizens.
In the Strand the Earl of Courtenay, with his soldiers, was
stationed. He had engaged to join Wyatt, but had not the courage to
do either one thing or the other, for at the sight of him he fled.
Doubly treacherous, he was a traitor to the queen and also to Wyatt.
At Ludgate, Wyatt found the gates were closed, and Lord William
Howard appeared above them, crying--
'Avaunt, traitor! Avaunt! You enter not here!'
This was a truly awful reception, instead of the promised welcome.
And the brave knight must have felt stunned and bewildered as he
turned to assist his troops, only to be met by a crowd of the enemy
under Pembroke. In desperation, Sir Thomas, closely followed by Sir
Hubert, fought his way back as far as the Temple, where he found that
he had only fifty followers remaining. (The other troops, which he
had left in Hyde Park, were fighting at Whitehall and Westminster,
but of that he knew nothing, having lost touch with them and being
without cognisance of their doings, which came to nothing.)
The King-at-arms called upon Sir Thomas to yield and not madly
sacrifice his brave companions, yet he continued fighting desperately.
He was beaten back, by overwhelming numbers, down Fleet Street, until
he sank exhausted on a fish-stall, opposite La Belle Sauvage. His
sword was broken, and, throwing it away, he surrendered himself to
Sir Maurice Berkely. At the same moment, Sir Hubert Blair, his
aide-de-camp, overpowered by numbers, was taken prisoner.
So much I was told. At the time, Lady Jane and I knew little of all
these happenings, and our suspense was terrible. After the first
crashing of our cannonade, when Sir Thomas attempted crossing London
Bridge, nothing quite so alarming was to be heard in the Tower, only
on the next day there were the booming of guns and the roar of battle
in London.
And then news came to us that the brave knights were defeated, that
they had been forced to surrender, and that the Guards were bringing
them to the Tower.
Lady Jane, knowing how my heart was wrung, did all in her power to
sustain me. Forgetting or ignoring the far greater issues she
herself had at stake, she endeavoured to fortify my mind and calm it
by prayer and wise counsel, and now, when it was all over and they
were bringing my lover, with Sir Thomas Wyatt, to the Tower, exerted
herself to obtain leave for me to mingle with the spectators and see
them brought in.
'Though perhaps,' she said, 'it will be a doubtful benefit for you to
see your lover in his defeat.'
But my heart craved for one sight of his dear face, and I answered,
'I can bear it all better, if I see him once more.'
'You shall, dear Margery, if I can possibly compass it,' she said.
And success crowned her efforts, for our warder, having leave of
absence, took me himself to join the crowd hurrying across the Green,
towards the entrance by which those guilty of high treason were
brought to the Tower.
And, presently, I saw my dear knight, sitting by Sir Thomas in a
boat, between their captors, and being rowed towards the Traitors'
Gate.
Thus they brought them to the Tower, heroes vanquished, conquerors
conquered, true men and noble knights; albeit considered by many
renegades and traitors, by Lady Jane mistaken zealots, but by me the
noblest and most estimable champions, who sacrificed all that they
had, even their earthly loves, for that which they held to be right
and duty towards England and fidelity to true religion. They had
done their part, they could do no more, and they sat in the boat
between their captors, with brave countenances and steadfast bearing,
as of men dying at their post.
The grim expression on the faces of the Guards around, and the
murmurs of the crowd who looked on affected them not; perhaps they
did not observe them, or it might be that their thoughts were far
away, Sir Thomas' perhaps with his wife and children and Sir Hubert's
perchance in the past with me in the farmer's shed in Sussex, or it
might be by the Thames at Isleworth, or riding with me again to
Kingston; or, on the other hand, they were possibly with me now,
wondering if I were among the lookers-on, longing to see me once
again, in order to say 'Farewell' before the last dark crossing, and
hoping that in another life we might meet to part no more.
It happened that, just as the defeated knights were stepping out of
the boat, a lad's voice in the crowd--it was Saul's, who, I
afterwards learnt, had run away from his master to join the opposite
side--shrill, insistent, daring, broke out into the old cry, 'A
Wyatt! A Wyatt!' Sir Thomas did not stir, but Sir Hubert looked
round, with a sudden beautiful smile. Then, as every one was
searching for the boy, with murmured comments on his imprudence and
audacity, I leaned forward, calling out to the prisoners, in a clear,
distinct tone of voice--
'Courage! Defeat may be Victory in disguise. What looks like loss
down here may be counted as pure gain on high!' For it seemed to me
that, however disastrous the result, the fact remained that heroes
had done heroically. Yes, and if success had crowned their efforts,
all men would have praised them. Of that I was assured.
But the sound of my voice, and the sight of my face, as he cast one
swift glance at it, unmanned Sir Hubert, and he had to shade his eyes
with his hand, as they hurried him and Sir Thomas out of the boat and
through the gate; whilst angry, scowling faces turned on me, and my
escort had much difficulty in getting me away uninjured.
I scarcely know how I got back to Lady Jane. Only one thing I
clearly heard as I was borne through the crowd--it was a voice
saying, 'They will both be executed, and the younger one first,
because he did not surrender but was taken prisoner with his sword
drawn.'
Mistaken the two men may have been, yet they had the courage of their
convictions and did what seemed to them to be right, and, at least,
they were self-sacrificing, laying down their lives and the joy of
living with their loved ones at the call of duty to their
fellow-countrymen.
Queen Mary would kill them for it. What of that? Mankind has often
crucified and killed its noblest friends. And, after all, it would
only be their bodies that were slain; their souls, the best part of
them, stripped of their human dress, would wend their way to the
Realms of the Blest, where no grief, pain, nor fighting could ever
disturb them again.
Nevertheless I fell ill with grief and pain, and was unconscious when
they carried me into the house of Sir Thomas Brydges, the lieutenant
of the Tower, where Lady Jane had now been removed.