On Wyat’s return, it was resolved that, under cover of darkness,
the Duke of Suffolk and Lord Guilford Dudley should march with two
detachments of men to Deptford, where a squadron of seven sail commanded
by Admiral Winter, together with a number of lesser craft, awaited them.
Dudley and his party were then to cross the river in Winter’s boats, and
proceed to East Smithfield; while Suffolk was to embark his men in the
larger vessels, and to sail up the river with the tide. Wyat determined
to attempt a passage across London Bridge, and if this could not be
accomplished, to abide the arrival of Winter’s squadron.
It was then arranged that the attack should take place two hours before
dawn. The fortress was to be assailed simultaneously at three different
points, so as to distract the attention of its defenders. To Lord
Guilford Dudley was assigned the Brass Mount, and the north-east
angle of the ramparts; to the Duke of Suffolk Traitor’s Tower, and the
southern fortifications; and to Wyat the Middle Tower, and the By-ward
Tower,—two of the strongest defences of the fortress. If the attack
proved successful, the three leaders were to concentrate their forces
before the gateway of the Bloody Tower.
When it was sufficiently dark, Suffolk and Dudley placed themselves at
the head of their detachments and set out. Though they moved along with
the utmost caution, they were heard by the soldiers on the ramparts,
who reported their suspicions to Bedingfeld, and precautions were taken
accordingly, though it was the opinion of many that the rebels had beat
a retreat.
At midnight, Wyat prepared to cross London Bridge. Aware that the
drawbridges were cut away—that it was barricaded, and strongly
defended—he provided himself with planks and ropes, and issuing
instructions to his men, set forward. They were allowed to proceed
without molestation to the first drawbridge, but here a sharp fire was
opened upon them. In spite of this, Wyat succeeded in laying down a
plank, and, at the head of a dozen men, crossed it. Dislodging their
opponents, several other planks were laid down, and the passage being
rendered secure, the whole party crossed, and carried over their
ammunition in safety.
The report of the attack soon reached the city-guard. Drums were beaten,
trumpets sounded, and shouts heard in every direction. While this was
passing, a well-contested fight took place at the barricades in the
centre of the bridge, between their defenders and the insurgents. Having
broken down these obstacles, Wyat drove all before him. Still, another
and wider chasm lay between him and the Middlesex shore. In front of
it, the assailed party made a desperate stand; but their resistance was
unavailing. Many were precipitated into the yawning gulf, and drowned;
while others threw down their arms, and besought mercy.
On the further side of the chasm, a formidable array of soldiery opposed
the progress of the rebel-army, and a piece of ordnance did terrible
execution amongst them. Two planks were hewn asunder as soon as they
were thrust across the abyss; but the moment the third was laid down,
Wyat dashed across it, and drove back two men with hatchets in their
hands who were about to sever it. He was followed by half-a-dozen
soldiers. In this instance, his fiery courage had well nigh proved fatal
to him for no sooner had the small band crossed it, than the plank
was hurled into the chasm, and Wyat left, with his trifling party, to
contend against the whole host of his foes. His destruction appeared
inevitable, but his self-possession stood him in good stead.
“Fellow-countrymen,” he shouted, “I am your friend, not your enemy. I
would deliver you from thraldom and oppression. You ought rather to aid
than oppose me. You are upholding Spain—and the inquisition—while I am
fighting for England and liberty.”
These few words, vociferated while he made a desperate stand against
his opponents, turned the tide of affairs. In vain the royalist leaders
shouted “Down with the rebels! the queen!—the queen!” They were answered
by deafening cries of “A Wyat! a Wyat! No Philip of Spain—no Popish
supremacy—no inquisition!”
Amid this tumult, the insurgents, who had witnessed with dismay the
perilous position of their leader, redoubled their exertions; and
placing several planks across the gulf, crossed them, and flew to his
assistance. Following up the advantage he had gained, Wyat, without
difficulty, routed his opponents. He then paused to cover the passage
of the remainder of his troops and artillery across the chasm, which was
safely accomplished.
At the foot of Fish-street-hill, they were checked by a company of horse
under the command of the Earl of Pembroke, and a skirmish took place,
in which the royalists were worsted with severe loss, and many prisoners
taken, as well as arms and horses. Pembroke however, escaped and
retreated to the Tower, bringing the news of his own defeat and of the
successes of the rebels.
The citizens showed little disposition to take part in the struggle.
All they were uneasy about was the security of their property; but
Wyat, having prohibited his men from plunder or riot, and Captain Bret
proclaiming that no mischief should be done, they remained tranquil.
In this way, the insurgents marched, without further interruption, to
Cornhill, where Wyat marshalled his forces, distributed rations of meat
and liquors among them, and awaited the appointed time for his attack
upon the Tower.
Within the fortress all was consternation. The extraordinary success
which had hitherto attended Wyat, well nigh paralysed the queen’s party.
The council again urged Mary to escape privately, but she peremptorily
refused, and forbade the subject to be mentioned again, on pain of her
severest displeasure. Some of the more timid then ventured to advise
that she should assent to Wyat’s terms—that Renard should be given up,
and the match with the Prince of Spain abandoned. “I will sooner abandon
my crown,” rejoined Mary. Her courage never for one instant forsook
her, and her spirit and resolution sustained the wavering minds of her
adherents.
Long before this, Suffolk and Dudley had reached Dartford. As agreed,
the duke and his detachment embarked on board Winter’s squadron, while
the others were transported across the river in smaller boats. At
Poplar, Dudley ordered his men to nail together a number of stout
boards, to serve as rafts. These were fastened with ropes to such horses
as they could procure, and on reaching East Smithfield were unharnessed
and held in readiness, until the signal of attack should be given.
Besides the rafts, two or three wherries had been brought up from the
river, and several long scaling-ladders provided.
Dudley’s detachment consisted of about a thousand men, archers and
arquebussiers, all of whom were well armed and eager for the attack.
As yet, all was involved in profound darkness, and so far as they could
judge, no suspicion of their presence was entertained by those within
the fortress.
Scouts were despatched towards the postern gate,—a fortification
terminating the city wall, and situated, as has before been stated, at
the north side of the moat,—and from one of them, who had contrived
to scramble along the edge of the fosse, it was ascertained that a
detachment of Sir Thomas Wyat’s party was creeping stealthily along,
with the intention of surprising the postern gate.
It had been Cholmondeley’s intention to search for the entrance to the
secret communication through which he had passed beneath the moat, but
the almost certainty that it would be stopped, induced him to abandon
the idea.
All at once, a blaze of light was seen at the south of the fortress, in
the direction of the river. It was followed bv the roar of artillery,
and the sharper discharge of fire-arms, accompanied by the beating of
drums, the loud braying of trumpets, the clashing of swords, and other
martial sounds.
0393
0395
On hearing this, Dudley gave the signal of assault. Dashing down the
sides of the moat, his men launched their rafts on the water, and pushed
them across with long poles. The noise they made betrayed them to the
sentinels. The alarm was instantly given, and a tremendous fire opened
upon them from the batteries and casemate of the Brass Mount, as well as
from the eastern and western line of ramparts.
The Brass Mount has already been described as the largest bastion of the
Tower, standing at the north-east angle of the fortress, and its walls
were, and still are, of such immense thickness, and it was so well
fortified, that it was regarded as impregnable. Notwithstanding this
impression, it formed the main object of the present attack. Amid a
slaughterous fire from the besieged, Dudley embarked with Cholmondeloy,
who carried his standard, in a small skiff, and waving his sword above
his head, pointed to the Brass Mount, and urged his men to the assault.
They wanted no encouragement; but in some degree protected by the
showers of arrows discharged by the archers stationed on the sides
of the moat, and the constant fire of the arquebussiers, succeeded
in placing two ladders against that part of the eastern ramparts
immediately adjoining the bastion.
These were instantly covered with men, who mounted sword in hand, but
were attacked and hurled backwards by the besieged. Another ladder was
soon planted against the Brass Mount, while two more were reared against
the northern ramparts opposite the postern gate, which had been stormed
and taken by Wyat’s party, several of whom were descending the banks
of the moat, and firing upon the fortress, assisted by three culverins
placed in a temporary battery composed of large baskets filled with
sand.
All this had not been executed without severe loss on the part of the
insurgents. Several of the rafts were swamped, and their occupants,
embarrassed by the weight of their arms, drowned. One of the ladders
planted against the northern battlements was hurled backwards with its
living load; and such was the vigour and determination of the besieged,
that none of the assailants could set a foot on the ramparts.
Considerable execution, however, was done by the showers of arrows from
archers, as well as by the discharges of the arquebussiers. But success
did not, as yet, declare itself for either side. Constantly repulsed,
the insurgents still resolutely returned to the charge; and though
numbers fell from the ladders, others were instantly found to take their
place.
Seeing how matters stood, and aware that some desperate effort must be
made, Dudley, who had hitherto watched the progress of the fight from
the moat, exposing himself to the full fire of the batteries, resolved
to ascend the ladder placed against the Brass Mount. Cholmondeley agreed
to follow him; and amid the cheers of the assailants and the unrelaxing
fire of the besieged, the boat was run in to the side of the bastion.
At this juncture, a loud explosion, succeeded by a tremendous shout,
was heard at the south side of the fortress. For a brief space, both
royalists and insurgents ceased fighting; and taking advantage of the
pause, Dudley swiftly mounted the ladder, and reaching the summit,
shouted “God save Queen Jane!”
“God save Queen Jane!” echoed Cholmondeley, who was close behind him.
“God save Queen Jane!” he repeated, waving the banner.
The cry was reiterated from below, and the firing recommenced more
furiously than ever.
It was rumoured among Dudley’s men, and the report stimulated their
ardour, that the Duke of Suffolk had taken Saint Thomas’s Tower. This,
however, was not the case. After the embarkation of the troops as before
related, the squadron under the command of Admiral Winter, accompanied
by a number of galleys, and wherries, made its way slowly to the Tower.
Owing to the necessary delay, the tide had turned, and the larger
vessels had to be towed up the river by the smaller craft.
0398
On their arrival they were immediately perceived by the sentinels, who
opened a fire upon them, which was instantly returned. This was the
commencement of the siege, and served as the signal to Dudley, and
likewise to Wyat, of whose movements it will be necessary to speak
hereafter.
Before the squadron came up, the Duke of Suffolk embarked in a small
galley, and accompanied by several wherries filled with soldiers,
contrived, by keeping close under the wall of the wharf, to effect a
landing, unperceived, at the stairs. Taken by surprise, the guard fell
an easy prey to their assailants, who seizing the cannon placed there,
turned them against the fortress.
While this was passing, several boats landed their crews at the eastern
end of the wharf, and many others speeded towards it from all quarters.
In a short time, it was crowded by the insurgents; and notwithstanding
the tremendous fire kept up against them from the whole line of
battlements—from Traitor’s Tower—and from all the fortifications within
shot, they resolutely maintained their ground.
Directing the attack in person, and exposing himself to every danger,
the Duke of Suffolk displayed the utmost coolness and courage. The fight
raged furiously on both sides. Several boats, and one of the larger
vessels, were sunk by the guns of the batteries, and the ranks of
the insurgents were greatly thinned. Still there was no symptom of
irresolution exhibited; nor did they relax for a moment in their
efforts.
Scaling-ladders were placed against the walls of Traitor’s Tower, and
crowded with climbers, while a gun-boat entered the dark arch beneath
it, and its crew commenced battering with axes, halberds, and poles,
against the portcullis and water-gate. Another party had taken
possession of the buildings opposite the By-ward Tower, and were trying
to reach the drawbridge, which, it is almost needless to say, was
raised. Added to these, a strong body of Essex men, having congregated
at Limehouse, approached the fortress by Saint Catherine’s, and the lane
leading to the Flemish church, and were striving to force the Iron Gate
and the eastern outlet of the wharf.
At this juncture, an occurrence took place, which, while it disheartened
the besieged, tended greatly to animate the assailing party. At
the south-west corner of the wharf stood a row of small habitations
separating it from Petty Wales. One of these was presently observed
to be on fire, and the flames rapidly spread to the others. Shortly
afterwards, a tremendous explosion took place. A building was blown up,
and the fiery fragments tossed into the river and moat; while across the
blazing ruins, with loud shouts, rushed a party of men from the troops
under Sir Thomas Wyat.
This was the explosion that reached the ears of Dudley and his band.
Rushing to the assistance of their friends, the new-comers seemed
determined to carry all before them, and such was the effect of their
sudden appearance, that the besieged for a moment gave way, and a small
body of the insurgents gained a footing on the roof of Traitor’s Tower.
But the next moment, the royalists rallied, drove off their assailants,
and the fight continued as obstinately as before.
It was a sublime but terrific spectacle, and one not easily effaced from
the remembrance of those who beheld it. The ruddy light cast upon the
water by the burning houses, and serving to reveal the tall vessels—the
armed boats—the sinking craft and struggling figures with which it was
covered—the towers and battlements of the fortress pouring forth fire
and smoke—the massive pile of the ancient citadel, which added its
thunder to the general din,—the throng of warlike figures engaged in
active strife on the wharf, or against Traitor’s Tower—constituted
a scene of intense, though fearful interest—nor did the roar of the
cannon, the clash of arms, the shouts and cheers of the combatants and
the groans of the wounded, detract from its effect.
There was yet another scene, which though unwitnessed, except by those
actually concerned in it equalled, if not surpassed it, in gloomy power.
This was a conflict under Saint Thomas’s Tower. It has been already
mentioned that a party, manning a gun-boat, had penetrated beneath
the arch leading to Traitor’s Tower, where they endeavoured, with such
weapons as they possessed, to effect an entrance. While they were thus
employed, the portcullis was suddenly raised, and the Watergate opened;
and the men supposing their own party had gained possession of the
fortification above them, dashed forward.
They were speedily undeceived. Before they reached the steps, a
number of armed figures, some of whom bore torches, appeared, while a
thundering splash behind told that the portcullis had been let down, so
as to cutoff their retreat. Nothing remained but to sell their lives as
dearly as they could. Quarter was neither asked nor granted. Some leaped
overboard, and tried, sword in hand, to force a way up the steps; others
prepared to follow them; and the gunner discharged a falconet planted at
the prow of the boat, occasioning fearful havoc among their opponents.
But this availed nothing. They were driven back, and their assailants
pursuing them into the recesses of the arch, put them to death. The
light of the few torches that illumined the scene, fell upon figures
fearfully struggling, while the arches rang with the reports of
musquetry, groans, and curses. In a short time, all was still and dark
as heretofore. But when the watersgate was afterwards opened, fourteen
mangled corpses floated out to the Thames.
While the siege was thus vigorously carried on, on the north and
south, the western side of the fortress was not neglected. Remaining at
Cornhill for some hours, Wyat divided his forces into two detachments,
and committed one to Captain Bret, whom he directed to proceed to the
upper part of Tower Hill, along Lombard-street, Fenchurch-street, and
Tower-street, and to place his men within the churchyard of All-Hallows
Barking, and at the rear of the scaffold on Tower Hill; while with the
other he himself marched down Gracechurch-street, along Thames-street,
taking up a position before the Bulwark Gate.
As soon as he had reached this point, and arranged his men, he rode off
to Bret, and ordered a party, commanded by Captain Cobliam, to attack
the postern-gate, as before related. Bret was to hold himself in
readiness to march down to the Bulwark Gate, or to attack the Leg Mount,
a bastion at the north-west angle of the fortress, corresponding (though
of somewhat smaller size,) with the Brass Mount, as he should receive
instructions.
Having issued these directions, Wyat rode back to his troops—he was now
mounted, as were several of his officers, on the steeds captured in the
recent skirmish with the Earl of Pembroke—and commanded them to remain
perfectly quiet till Admiral Winter’s squadron should arrive off the
Tower. His injunctions were strictly obeyed, and such perfect silence
was observed, that though his men were drawn up within a few yards of
the fortress, they were not discovered by the sentinels.
On the arrival of the squadron, Wyat immediately commenced an attack
upon the Bulwark Gate—one of the weakest outworks of the fortress,—and
while directing his engines against it, some half-dozen wooden houses
adjoining it on the side of the moat, were fired by his men; and the
flames quickly extending to the buildings immediately contiguous to the
Bulwark Gate, that defence was at once surrendered.
The first point gained, Wyat despatched a messenger to Bret ordering him
to join him instantly; and while a handful of his men, rushing round the
semicircular wall, heretofore described as protecting the lesser moat,
attacked the embattled gateway fronting the Lion’s Tower, with the
intention of joining Suffolk’s party on the wharf, he directed his main
force against the Lion’s Gate. This fortification was stoutly defended,
and the insurgents were twice repulsed before they could bring their
engines to bear against it.
Bret and his party having arrived, such an irresistible attack was made
upon the gate, that in a short time it was carried. With loud shouts,
the insurgents drove the royalists before them along the narrow bridge
facing the Lion’s Tower, and leading to the Middle Tower, putting some
to the sword, and throwing others over the walls into the moat.
0402
The movement was so expeditious, and the rout so unexpected, that the
portcullis of the Middle Tower, which was kept up to allow the flying
men to pass through it, could not be lowered, and hastily directing
those around him to prop it up with a piece of timber, Wyat continued
the pursuit to the By-ward. Tower.
0405
Hitherto, complete success had attended his efforts; and if he had
passed the fortification he was approaching, in all probability he would
have been master of the Tower. Nothing doubting this, he urged his men
onwards. On his left rode Bret, and behind them, at a short distance,
came Captain Knevet, and two other leaders, likewise on horseback.
As they arrived within a few paces of the By-ward Tower, three
tremendous personages issued from it, and opposed their further
progress. They were equipped in corslets of polished steel and morions;
and two of them were armed with bucklers and enormous maces, while the
third wielded a partizan of equal size. These, it is almost needless to
state, were the three giants. The bearer of the partizan was Gog.
Behind them came their diminutive attendant, who, it appeared, had been
released from his thraldom, particulars of which, and of his adventures
subsequent to his meeting with Cicely in the cell beneath the Salt
Tower, will be related at a more convenient opportunity.
Like his gigantic companions, Xit was fully armed, in a steel corslet,
cuisses, and gauntlets. His head was sheltered by a helmet, shaded by an
immense plume of feathers, which, being considerably too large for him,
almost eclipsed his features. He was furthermore provided with a sword
almost as long as himself, and a buckler.
Taking care to keep under the shelter of the giants, Xit strutted
about, and brandishing his sword in a valiant manner, shouted, or rather
screamed,—
“Upon them Og!—attack them Gog!—why do you stand still, Magog? Let
me pass, and I will show you how you should demean yourselves in the
fight!”
At the sight of the giants, the flying royalists rallied, and a fierce
but ineffectual struggle took place. During it, Bret was dismounted
and thrown into the moat. Urged by their leader, the insurgents pressed
furiously forward. But the giants presented an impassable barrier. Og
plied his mace with as much zeal as he did the clubs when he enacted
the part of the Tower at Courtenay’s masque, and with far more terrible
effect. All avoided the sweep of his arm.
Not content with dealing blows, he dashed among the retreating foe, and
hurled some dozen of them into the moat. His prowess excited universal
terror and astonishment. Nor was Gog much behind him. Wherever his
partizan descended, a foe fell beneath its weight; and as he was
incessantly whirling it over his head, and bringing it down, a space was
speedily cleared before him.
Seeing the havoc occasioned by the gigantic brethren, and finding that
they completely checked his further advance, Wyat struck spurs into his
charger, and dashing upon Magog, tried to hew him down. If the married
giant had not caught the blow aimed at him upon his shield, Dame Placida
had been made a widow for the second time. Again plunging the spurs
rowel-deep into his horse’s flanks, Wyat would have ridden over his
gigantic antagonist, if the latter, perceiving his intention, had not
raised his mace, and with one tremendous blow smashed the skull of the
noble animal.
“Yield you, Sir Thomas Wyat,” cried Magog, rushing up to the knight,
who was borne to the ground with his slaughtered charger—“you are my
prisoner.”
“Back, caitiff!” cried Wyat, disengaging himself and attacking the
giant; “I will never yield with life.”
Wyat, however, would have been speedily captured by the giant, if
Knevet, seeing his perilous situation, had not pressed forward with
several others to his assistance, and rescued him. This accident,
however, enabled the retreating party to pass beneath the archway of the
By-ward Tower, the portcullis of which was instantly lowered.
Meanwhile, a body of the insurgents having taken possession of the
Middle Tower, had planted themselves at the various loop-holes, and on
the roof, and kept up a constant fire on the soldiers stationed on the
summit of the By-Ward Tower.
Among those who contrived to distinguish themselves in the action was
Xit. Finding his position one of more danger than he had anticipated, he
scrambled upon the wall on the right of the By-ward Tower, where, being
out of the rush, he could defy at his ease those who were swimming in
the moat.
While he was in this situation, Bret, who, it has been mentioned, was
thrown into the moat, swam to the wall, and endeavoured to ascend it.
Xit immediately attacked him, and adopting the language of Magog to
Wyat, threatened to throw him back again if he did not yield.
“I do yield,’” replied Bret.
“Your name and rank?” demanded the dwarf, in an authoritative tone.
“Alexander Bret, captain of the London Trained Bands, second in command
to Sir Thomas Wyat,” replied the other.
“Here, Magog—Gog—Og—help!” shouted Xit—“I have taken a prisoner. It is
Captain Bret, one of the rebel leaders—help him out of the moat, and
let us carry him before the queen! I am certain to be knighted for my
valour. Mind, I have taken him. He has yielded to me. No one else has
had a hand in his capture.”
Thus exhorted, Magog pulled Bret out of the moat. As soon as he
ascertained who he was, he bore him in his arms towards the By-Ward
Tower—Xit keeping near them all the time, screaming, “he is my prisoner.
You have nothing to do with it. I shall certainly be knighted.”
At Magog’s command, the portcullis was partially raised, and Xit
and Bret thrust under it, while the two other giants repelled the
assailants.
0407
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XXX.—HOW QUEEN MARY COMPORTED HERSELF DURING THE SIEGE; HOW LORD
GUILFORD DUDLEY WAS CAPTURED; AND HOW SIR THOMAS WYAT AND THE DUKE OF
SUFFOLK WERE ROUTED.
Throughout the whole of the siege, the queen maintained her accustomed
firmness; and to her indomitable courage, and the effect produced by it
upon her followers, the successful issue of the conflict to the royalist
party is mainly to be attributed. Startled from her slumbers by the roar
of the artillery, Mary arose, and hastily arraying herself, quitted the
palace with Gardiner, Renard, and a few other attendants, who had
flown to her on the first rumour of the attack, and repaired to the
lieutenant’s lodgings, where she found Sir Henry Bedingfeld in
the entrance hall, surrounded by armed men, busied in giving them
instructions, and despatching messages to the officers in command of the
different fortifications.
At the queen’s appearance, the old knight would have flung himself at
her feet, but she motioned him not to heed her, and contented herself
with saying, as each messenger departed:—“Tell my soldiers, that I will
share their danger. I will visit every fortification in turn, and I
doubt not I shall find its defenders at their posts. No courageous
action shall pass unrequited: and as I will severely punish these
rebels, so I will reward those who signalise themselves in their defeat.
Bid them fight for their queen—for the daughter of the Eighth Henry,
whose august spirit is abroad to watch over and direct them. He who
brings me Wyat’s head, shall receive knighthood at my hands, together
with the traitor’s forfeited estates. Let this be proclaimed. And now
fight—and valiantly—for you fight for the truth.”
Charged with animating addresses like these, the soldiers hurried to
their various leaders. The consequence may be easily imagined.
Aware that they were under the immediate eye of their sovereign, and
anticipating her coming each moment, the men, eager to distinguish
themselves, fought with the utmost ardour; and such was the loyalty
awakened by Mary’s energy and spirit, that even those secretly inclined
towards the opposite party, of whom there were not a few, did not dare
to avow their real sentiments.
While Mary remained in the lieutenant’s lodgings, word was brought that
the fortress was attacked on all sides, and the thunder of the ordnance
now resounding from the whole line of ramparts, and answered by the guns
of the besiegers, confirmed the statement. As she heard these tidings,
and listened to the fearful tumult without, her whole countenance
underwent a change; and those who remembered her kingly sire, recognised
his most terrible expression, and felt the same awe they had formerly
experienced in his presence.
“Oh! that I had been born a man!” she cried, “that with my own hand
I might punish these traitors. But they shall find though they have a
woman to deal with, they have no feeble and faint-hearted antagonist.
I cannot wield a sword; but I will stand by those who can. Sir Henry
Bedingfeld, take these orders from me, and they are final. Let the siege
go how it may, I will make no terms with the rebels, nor hold further
parley with them. Show them no quarter—exterminate them utterly. I no
longer regard them as subjects—children; but as aliens—foes. Deal with
them as such. And look you yield not this fortress—for by God’s grace! I
never will yield it. Where is your own post, Sir Henry?”
“At the By-ward Tower, your highness,” replied Bedingfeld. “The traitor
Wyat directs the attack in that quarter; and he is most to be feared of
all our opponents. I will not quit the fortification with my life. But
who shall succeed me, if I fall?”
“The queen,” replied Mary. “But you will not fall, good Bedingfeld. You
are appointed by Heaven to be my preserver. Go to your post; and keep
it, in my name. Go, and fight for your royal mistress, and for the holy
Catholic faith which we both of us profess, and which these rebels—these
heretics, would overthrow. Go, and the Virgin prosper you, and
strengthen your arm.”.
“I obey your majesty,” replied Bedingfeld; “and yet I cannot but feel
that my place is by your side.”
“Ah! do you loiter, sir?” cried Mary fiercely. “You have tarried here
too long already. Do you not hear yon loud-voiced cannon summon you
hence? Are you deaf to those cries? To your post, sir—and quit it not
for your head. Stay!” she added, as the knight was about to obey her. “I
meant not this. I have been over-hasty. But you will bear with me. Go. I
have no fears—and have much to do. Success be with you. We meet again as
victors, or we meet no more.”
“We shall meet ere day-break,” replied the knight. And quitting the
presence, he hurried to the By-ward Tower.
“In case fate declares itself against your highness, and the insurgents
win the fortress,” observed Renard, “I can convey you beyond their
reach. I am acquainted with a subterranean passage communicating with
the further side of the moat, and have stationed a trusty guard at its
entrance.”
“In the event your excellency anticipates,” returned Mary, sternly, “but
which I am assured will never occur, I will not fly. While one stone
of that citadel stands upon another it shall never be surrendered: and
while life remains to her, Mary of England will never desert it. In your
next despatch to the prince your master, tell him his proposed consort
proved herself worthy—in resolution, at least—of the alliance.”
“I will report your intrepid conduct to the prince,” replied Renard.
“But I would, for his sake, if not for your own, gracious madam, that
you would not further expose yourself.”
“To the ramparts!” cried Mary, disregarding him. “Let those follow me,
who are not afraid to face these traitors.”
Quitting the entrance-hall, she mounted a broad staircase of carved oak,
and traversing a long gallery, entered a passage leading to the Bell
Tower—a fortification already described as standing on the west of the
lieutenant’s lodgings, and connected with them. The room to which the
passage brought her, situated on the upper story, and now used as part
of the domestic offices of the governor, was crowded with soldiers,
busily employed in active defensive preparations. Some were discharging
their calivers through the loopholes at the besiegers, while others were
carrying ammunition to the roof of the building..
Addressing a few words of encouragement to them, and, crossing the room,
Mary commanded an officer to conduct her to the walls. Seeing from her
manner that remonstrance would be useless, the officer obeyed. As she
emerged from the low arched doorway opening upon the ballimn wall,
the range of wooden houses on the opposite side of the moat burst into
flames, and the light of the conflagration, while it revealed the
number of her enemies and their plan of attack, rendered her situation
infinitely more perilous, inasmuch as it betrayed her to general
observation. Directed by the shouts, the besiegers speedily discovered
the occasion of the clamour; and though Sir Thomas Wyat, who was engaged
at the moment in personally directing the assault on the Bulwark Gate,
commanded his men to cease firing in that quarter, his injunctions were
wholly disregarded, and several shots struck the battlements close
to the queen. Seriously alarmed, Gardiner earnestly entreated her to
retire, but she peremptorily refused, and continued her course as slowly
as if no danger beset her—ever and anon pausing to watch the movements
of the besiegers, or to encourage and direct her own-men. Before she
reached the Beauchamp Tower, the Bulwark Gate was carried, and the
triumphant shouts of the insurgents drew from her an exclamation of
bitter anger.
“It is but a small advantage gained, your highness,” remarked the
officer; “they will be speedily repulsed.”
“Small as it is, sir,” rejoined the queen, “I would rather have-lost the
richest jewel from my crown than they had gained so much. Look! they are
gathering together before the Lion’s Gate. They are thundering against
it with sledge-hammers, battering-rams, and other engines. I can hear
the din of their blows above all this tumult. And see! other troops are
advancing to their aid. By their banners and white coats, I know they
are the London trained-bands, headed by Bret. Heaven confound the
traitor! He who will bring him to me dead or alive, shall have whatever
he asks. Ah, God’s death! they have forced the Lion’s Gate—they drive
all before them. Recreants! why do you not dispute it inch by inch, and
you may regain what you have lost? Confusion! Wyat and his rebel band
press onward, and the others fly. They pass through the Middle Tower.
Ah! that shout, those fearful cries! They put my faithful subjects to
the sword. They are in possession of the Middle Tower, and direct its
guns on the By-ward Tower. Wyat and his band are on the bridge. They
press forward, the others retreat. Retreat! ah, caitiffs, cowards that
you are, you must fight now, if you have a spark of loyalty left. They
fly. They have neither loyalty nor valour. Where is Bedingfeld?—where is
my lieutenant? why does he not sally forth upon them? If I were there, I
would myself lead the attack.”
“Your majesty’s desires are fulfilled,” remarked the officer; “a sally
is made by a party from the gate—the rebels are checked.”
“I see it!” exclaimed the queen, joyfully—“but what valiant men are
they who thus turn the tide? Ah! I know them now, they are my famous
giants—my loyal warders. Look how the rebel ranks are cleared by the
sweep of their mighty arms. Brave yeomen! you have fought as no belted
knights have hitherto fought, and have proved the truth of your royal
descent. Ah! Wyat is down. Slay him! spare him not, brave giant! his
lands, his title are yours. Heaven’s curse upon him, the traitor
has escaped! I can bear this no longer.” she added, turning to her
conductor. “Lead on: I would see what they are doing elsewhere.” The
command was obeyed, but the officer had not proceeded many yards when a
shot struck him, and he fell mortally wounded at the queen’s feet.
“I fear you are hurt, sir,” said Mary, anxiously.
“To death, madam,” gasped the officer. “I should not care to die, had
I lived to see you victorious. When all others were clamouring for the
usurper Jane, my voice was raised for you, my rightful queen; and now my
last shout shall be for you.”
“Your name?” demanded Mary, bending over him.
“Gilbert,” replied the officer—“I am the grandson of Gunora Braose.”
“Live, Gilbert,” rejoined Mary—“live for my sake!”
Raising himself upon one arm, with a dying effort, Gilbert waved his
sword over his head, and cried, “God save Queen Mary, and confusion to
her enemies!” And with these words, he fell backwards, and instantly
expired. The queen gazed for a moment wistfully at the body.
“How is it,” she mused, as she suffered herself to be led onward by
Renard, “that, when hundreds of my subjects are perishing around me,
this man’s death should affect me so strongly?—I know not. Yet, so it
is.”
Her attention, however, was speedily attracted to other matters. Passing
through the Beauchamp Tower, she proceeded to the next fortification.
The main attacks of the besiegers, as has been previously stated, were
directed against the Brass Mount, Saint Thomas’s Tower, and the By-ward
Tower;—the western and north-western ramparts, including the Leg Mount,
a large bastion corresponding with the Brass Mount, being comparatively
unmolested, faking up a position on the roof of the Devilin Tower, which
flanked the north-west angle of the ballium wall, Mary commanded two
sides of the fortress, and the view on either hand was terrific
and sublime. On the left, the blazing habitations, which being of
highly-combustible material were now, in a great measure, consumed,
cast a red and lurid glare on the moat, lighting up the ramparts, the
fortifications behind them, and those on the bridge,—two of which, she
was aware, were in the possession of the besiegers. In this quarter the
firing had ceased; and it seemed that both parties had by mutual consent
suspended hostilities, to renew them in a short time with greater
animosity than ever. On the right, however, the assault continued with
unabated fury. A constant fire was kept up from the temporary batteries
placed before the postern gate; clouds of arrows whizzed through the
air, shot by the archers stationed on the banks of the moat; and another
ladder having been placed against the ramparts, several of the scaling
party had obtained a footing, and were engaged hand to hand with the
besieged. Ever and anon, amid this tumultuous roar was heard a loud
splash, proclaiming that some miserable wretch had been hurled into the
moat.
After contemplating the spectacle for some time in silence, Mary
proceeded to the Flint Tower—a fortification about ninety feet nearer
the scene of strife. Here the alarming intelligence was brought her
that Lord Guilford Dudley was in possession of the Brass Mount, and that
other advantages had been gained by the insurgents in that quarter.
The fight raged so fiercely, it was added, that it would be tempting
Providence in her majesty to proceed further. Yielding, at length, to
the solicitations of her attendants, Mary descended from the walls, and
shaped her course towards the White Tower; while Renard, by her command,
hastened to the Martin Tower (now the Jewel Tower) to ascertain how
matters stood. His first step was to ascend the roof of this structure,
which, standing immediately behind the Brass Mount, completely
overlooked it.
It must be borne in mind that the Tower is surrounded by a double line
of defences, and that the ballium wall and its fortifications are much
loftier than the outer ramparts. Renard found the roof of the Martin
Tower thronged with soldiers, who were bringing their guns to bear upon
the present possessors of the Brass Mount. They were assisted in their
efforts to dislodge them by the occupants of the Brick Tower and
the Constable Tower; and notwithstanding the advantage gained by the
insurgents, they sustained severe loss from the constant fire directed
against them. Bernard’s glance sought out Lord Guilford Dudley; and
after a few moments’ search, guided by the shouts, he perceived him
with Cholmondeley driving a party of royalists before him down the steps
leading to the eastern ramparts. Here he was concealed from view, and
protected by the roofs of a range of habitations from the guns on the
ballium wall.
A few moments afterwards, intelligence was conveyed by the soldiers on
the Broad Arrow Tower to those on the Constable Tower, and thence from
fortification to fortification, that Dudley having broken into one of
the houses covering the ramparts, was descending with his forces into
the eastern ward.
Renard saw that not a moment was to be lost. Ordering the soldiers not
to relax their fire for an instant, he put himself at the head of a body
of men, and hurrying down a spiral stone-staircase, which brought him
to a subterranean chamber, unlocked a door in it, and traversing with
lightning swiftness a long narrow passage, speedily reached another
vaulted room. At first no outlet was perceptible; but snatching a torch
from one of his band, Renard touched a knob of iron in the wall, and
a stone dropping from its place discovered a flight of steps, up which
they mounted. These brought them to a wider passage, terminated by a
strong door clamped with iron, and forming a small sally-port opening
upon the eastern ward, a little lower down than Lord Guilford Dudley and
his party had gained admittance to it. Commanding his men to obey his
injunctions implicitly, Renard flung open the sally-port, and dashed
through it at their head.
Dudley was pressing forward in the direction of the Iron Gate when
Renard appeared. Both parties were pretty equally matched in point of
number, though neither leader could boast more than twenty followers.
Still, multitudes were hastening to them from every quarter. A
detachment of royalists were issuing from a portal near the Salt Tower;
while a host of insurgents were breaking through the house lately
forced by Lord Guilford Dudley, and hurrying to his assistance. In a few
seconds, the opposing parties met. By the light of the torches, Dudley
recognized Renard; and, uttering a shout of exultation, advanced to the
attack.
As soon as it was known to the insurgents that the abhorred Spanish
ambassador was before them, with one accord they turned their weapons
against him, and if their leader had not interposed, would have
inevitably slain him.
“Leave him to me,” cried Dudley, “and I will deliver my country from
this detested traitor. Fellow soldiers,” he added, addressing Renard’s
companions, “will you fight for Spain, for the Inquisition, for the
idolatries of Rome, when swords are drawn for your country—and for the
Reformed religion? We are come to free you from the yoke under which
you labour. Join us, and fight for your liberties, your laws,—for the
gospel, and for Queen Jane.”
“Ay, fight for Jane, and the gospel!” shouted Cholmondeley. “Down with
Renard and the See of Rome. No Spanish match! no Inquisition!”
“Who are you fighting for? Who is your leader?” continued Dudley;—“a
base Spanish traitor. Who are you fighting against?—Englishmen, your
friends, your countrymen, your brothers—members of the same faith, of
the same family.”
This last appeal proved effectual. Most of the royalists went over to
the insurgents, shouting, “No Spanish match! no Inquisition! Down with
Renard!”
“Ay, down with Renard!” cried Dudley. “I will no longer oppose your
just vengeance. Slay him, and we will fix his head upon a spear. It will
serve to strike terror into our enemies.”
Even in this extremity, Renard’s constitutional bravery did not desert
him; and, quickly retreating, he placed his back against the wall. The
few faithful followers who stood by him, endeavoured to defend him, but
they were soon slain, and he could only oppose his single sword against
the array of partizans and pikes raised against him. His destruction
appeared inevitable, and he had already given himself up for lost, when
a rescue arrived.
The detachment of soldiers, headed by Sir Thomas Brydges, already
described as issuing from the gate near the Salt Tower, seeing a
skirmish taking place, hurried forward, and reached the scene of strife
just in time to save the ambassador, whose assailants were compelled
to quit him to wield their weapons in their own defence. Thus set free,
Renard sprang like a tiger upon his foes, and, aided by the new-comers,
occasioned fearful havoc among them. But his deadliest fury was directed
against those who had deserted him, and he spared none of them whom he
could reach with his sword.
Lord Guilford Dudley and his esquire performed prodigies of valour. The
former made many efforts to reach Renard, but, such was the confusion
around him, that he was constantly foiled in his purpose. At length,
seeing it was in vain to contend against such superior force, and that
his men would be speedily cut in pieces, and himself captured, he gave
the word to retreat, and fled towards the north-east angle of the ward.
The royalists started after them; but such was the speed at which the
fugitives ran, that they could not overtake them. A few stragglers
ineffectually attempted to check their progress, and the soldiers on the
walls above did not dare to fire upon them, for fear of injuring
their own party. In this way, they passed the Martin Tower, and were
approaching the Brick Tower, when a large detachment of soldiers were
seen advancing towards them.
“Long live Queen Jane!” shouted Dudley and his companions, vainly hoping
they were friends.
“Long live Queen Mary, and death to the rebels!” responded the others.
At the cry, Dudley and his little band halted. They were hemmed in on
all sides, without the possibility of escape; and the royalists on the
fortifications above being now able to mark them, opened a devastating
fire upon them. By this time, Renard and his party had turned the angle
of the wall, and the voice of the ambassador was heard crying—“Cut them
in pieces! Spare no one but their leader. Take him alive.”
Hearing the shout, Dudley observed to Cholmondeley—“You have ever been
my faithful esquire, and I claim one last service from you. If I am in
danger of being taken, slay me. I will not survive defeat.”
“Nay, my lord, live,” cried Cholmondeley. “Wyat or the Duke of Suffolk
may be victorious, and deliver you.”
“No,” replied Dudley, “I will not run the risk of being placed again in
Mary’s power. Obey my last injunctions. Should you escape, fly to Jane.
You know where to find her. Bid her embark instantly for France, and say
her husband with his last breath blessed her.”
At this moment, he was interrupted by Cholmondeley, who pointed out an
open door in the ramparts opposite them. Eagerly availing himself of the
chance, Dudley called to his men to follow him, and dashed through it,
uncertain whither it led, but determined to sell his life dearly. The
doorway admitted them into a low vaulted chamber, in which were two or
three soldiers and a stand of arms and ammunition. The men fled at their
approach along a dark, narrow passage, and endeavoured to fasten an
inner door, but the others were too close upon them to permit it. As
Dudley and his band advanced, they found themselves at the foot of a
short flight of steps, and rushing up them, entered a semi-circular
passage, about six feet wide, with a vaulted roof, and deep embrazures
in the walls, in which cannon were planted. It was, in fact, the
casemate of the Brass Mount. By the side of the cannon stood the
gunners, and the passage was filled with smoke. Alarmed by the cries of
their companions, and the shouts of Dudley and his band, these men, who
were in utter ignorance of what had passed, except that they had been
made aware that the summit of the bastion was carried, threw down their
arms, and sued for quarter.
“You shall have it, friends,” cried Dudley, “provided you will fight for
Queen Jane.”
“Agreed!” replied the gunners. “Long live Queen Jane.”
“Stand by me,” returned Dudley, “and these stout walls shall either
prove our safeguard, or our tomb.”
The gunners then saw how matters stood, but they could not retract; and
they awaited a favourable opportunity to turn against their new masters.
Perceiving the course taken by Dudley and his companions, Henard felt
certain of their capture, and repeated his injunctions to the soldiers
to take him alive if possible, but on no account to suffer him to
escape.
Dudley, meanwhile, endeavoured with Cholmondeley to drag one of the
large pieces of ordnance out of the embrasure in which it was placed,
with the view of pointing it against their foes. But before this could
be accomplished, the attack commenced. Darting to the head of the steps,
Dudley valiantly defended the pass for some time; and the royalist
soldiers, obedient to the injunctions of Renard, forbore to strike him,
and sought only his capture. The arched roof rang with the clash of
weapons, with the reports of shot, and with the groans of the wounded
and dying. The floor beneath them soon became slippery with blood.
Still, Dudley kept his ground. All at once, he staggered, and fell.
A blow had been dealt him from behind by one of the gunners, who had
contrived to approach him unawares.
“It is over,” he groaned to his esquire, “finish me, and fly, if you
can, to Jane.”
Cholmondeley raised his sword to comply with his lord’s injunctions, but
the blow was arrested by the strong arm of Renard, who bestriding his
prey, cried, in a voice of exultation, “He is mine! Bear him to the
Queen before he expires.”
Cholmondelcy heard no more, but darting backwards, sprang into the
embrazure whence he had endeavoured to drag the cannon, and forcing
himself through the aperture, dropped from the dizzy height into the
moat.
While this was passing, Mary proceeded to Saint John’s-Chapel in the
White Tower. It was brilliantly illuminated, and high mass was being
performed by Bonner and the whole of the priesthood assembled within the
fortress. The transition from the roar and tumult without to this calm
and sacred scene was singularly striking, and calculated to produce a
strong effect on the feelings. There, all was strife and clamour; the
air filled with smoke was almost stifling; and such places as were not
lighted up by the blaze of the conflagration or the flashing of the
ordnance and musquetry, were buried in profound gloom. Here, all was
light, odour, serenity, sanctity. Without, fierce bands were engaged in
deathly fight—nothing was heard but the clash of arms, the thunder of
cannon, the shouts of the victorious, the groans of the dying. Within,
holy men were celebrating their religious rites, undisturbed by the
terrible struggle around them, and apparently unconscious of it; tapers
shone from every pillar; the atmosphere was heavy with incense; and the
choral, hymn mingled with the scarce-heard roar of cannon. Mary was so
affected by the scene, that for the first time she appeared moved. Her
bosom heaved, and a tear started to her eye.
“How peaceful is the holy place,” she observed to Gardiner, “and what a
contrast it presents to the scene we have just quitted! I could almost
wish that Heaven had destined me to the cloister instead of the throne,
that I might pass my days in the exercise of my religion.”
“Heaven has destined you to be the restorer and defender of our
religion, madam,” replied Gardiner. “Had you not been called to the high
station you occupy, the Catholic worship, so long discontinued in
these holy walls, would not now be celebrated. To you we owe its
restoration;—to you we must owe its continuance.”
As Mary advanced to the altar, the anthem ceased, and silence prevailed
throughout the sacred structure. Prostrating herself, she prayed for
a few moments fervently, and in an audible voice. She then arose, and
observed to Gardiner, “I feel so much comforted, that I am assured
Heaven will support me and our holy religion.”
As she spoke, solemn music resounded through the chapel, the anthem was
again chanted, and the priests resumed their holy rites. With a heart
strengthened and elated, Mary ascended the staircase behind the altar,
and passing through the gallery proceeded to the council-chamber, where
she was informed that Xit, having captured a prisoner of importance,
waited without to ascertain her pleasure concerning him. Mary ordered
the dwarf to be brought into her presence with his captive, and in a
few moments he was introduced with Bret, who was guarded by a couple of
halberdiers.
On no previous occasion had Xit exhibited so much consequence as the
present, and his accoutrements and fantastically-plumed casque added to
his ludicrous appearance. He advanced slowly and majestically towards
the chair of state in which Mary was seated, ever and anon turning his
head to see that Bret was close behind him, and when within a short
distance of the royal person, he made a profound salutation. Unluckily,
in doing so, his helmet fell from his head, and rolled to the queen’s
feet. Slightly discomposed by the accident, and still more by Mary’s
frowns, he picked up his helmet, and stammered forth,—
“I am come to inform your highness that I have taken a prisoner—taken
him with my own hands——”
“Who is it?” interrupted Mary, glancing sternly at the captive, who
remained with his arms folded upon his breast, and his eyes cast upon
the floor. “Who is it?” she asked, in an imperious tone.
“The arch-traitor Bret,” answered Xit,—“the captain of the London
Trained Bands, who revolted from the Duke of Norfolk, and joined the
rebels at Rochester.”
“Bret!” ejaculated Mary, in a tone that made Xit recoil several steps
with fright, while the prisoner himself looked up. “Aha! is the traitor
then within our power? Take him without, and let the headsman deal with
him.”
“Your highness!” cried Bret, prostrating himself.
“Away with him!” interrupted Mary. “Do you, my lord,” she added,
to Gardiner, “see that my commands are obeyed.” The prisoner was
accordingly removed, and Xit, who was completely awed by the queen’s
furious looks, was about to slink off, when she commanded him to remain.
“Stay!” she cried. “I have promised on my queenly word, that whoso
brought this traitor Bret to me, should have whatever he demanded. Art
thou in good truth his captor? Take heed thou triflest not with me. I am
in no mood for jesting.”
“So I perceive, gracious madam,” replied Xit. “But I swear to you, I
took him with my own hand, in fair and open combat. My companion Magog,
if he survives the fray, will vouch for the truth of my statement—nay,
Bret himself will not gainsay it.
“Bret will gainsay little more,” rejoined Mary sternly; “his brain will
contrive no further treason against us, nor his tongue give utterance
to it. But I believe thee—the rather that I am persuaded thou darest not
deceive me. Make thy request—it is granted.”.
“If I dared to raise my hopes so high,” said Xit, bashfully “What means
the knave?” cried Mary. “I have said the request shall be granted.”
“Whatever I ask?” inquired Xit.
“Whatever thou mayest ask in reason, sirrah!” returned Mary, somewhat
perplexed.
“Well, then,” replied Xit, “I should have claimed a dukedom. But as
your highness might possibly think the demand unreasonable, I will limit
myself to knighthood.”
In spite of herself, Mary could not repress a smile at the dwarf’s
extravagant request, and the terms in which it was couched.
“I have made many efforts to obtain this distinction,” pursued Xit,—“and
for a while unsuccessfully. But fortune, or rather my bravery, has at
length favoured me. I desire knighthood at your Majesty’s hands.”
“Thou shalt have it,” replied Mary; “and it will be a lesson to me to
make no rash promises in future. Hereafter, when affairs are settled,
thou wilt not fail to remind me of my promise.”
“Your highness may depend upon it, I will not fail to do so,” replied
Xit, bowing and retiring. “Huzza!” he cried, as soon as he gained the
antechamber. “Huzza!” he repeated, skipping in the air, and cutting as
many capers as his armour would allow him, “at length, I have reached
the height of my ambition. I shall be knighted. The queen has promised
it. Aha! my three noble giants, I am now a taller man than any of you.
My lofty title will make up for my want of stature. Sir Xit!—that does
not sound well. I must change my name for one more euphonious, or at
least find out my surname. Who am I? It is strange I never thought of
tracing out my history before. I feel I am of illustrious origin. I must
clear up this point before I am knighted. Stand aside, base grooms,” he
continued to the grinning and jeering attendants, “and let me pass.”
While pushing through them, a sudden bustle was heard behind, and he
was very unceremoniously thrust back by Simon Renard, who was conducting
Dudley to the queen’s presence.
“Another prisoner!” exclaimed Xit. “I wonder what Renard will get for
his pains. If I could but take Wyat, my fortune were indeed made. First,
I will go and see what has become of Bret; and then, if I can do so
without much risk, I will venture outside the portcullis of the By-ward
Tower. Who knows but I may come in for another good thing!”
Thus communing with himself, Xit went in search of the unfortunate
captain of the Trained Bands, while Renard entered the council-chamber
with Dudley. The latter, though faint from loss of blood, on finding
himself in the queen’s presence, exerted all his strength, and stood
erect and unsupported.
“So far your highness is victorious,” said Renard; “one of the
rebel-leaders is in your power, and ere long all will be so: Will it
please you to question him—or shall I bid Mauger take off his head at
once?”
“Let me reflect a moment,” replied Mary, thoughtfully, “He shall die,”
she added, after a pause; “but not yet.”
“It were better to behead him now,” rejoined Renard.
“I do not think so,” replied Mary. “Let him be removed to some place of
safe confinement—the dungeon beneath Saint John’s Chapel.”
“The only grace I ask from your highness is speedy death,” said Dudley.
“Therefore I will not grant it,” replied Mary. “No, traitor! you shall
perish with your wife.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Dudley, “I have destroyed her.”
And as the words were pronounced, he reeled backwards, and would have
fallen, if the attendants had not caught him.
“Your Majesty has spared Mauger a labour,” observed Renard,
sarcastically.
“He is not dead,” replied Mary; “and if he were so, it would not grieve
me. Remove him; and do with him as I have commanded.”
Her injunctions were obeyed, and the inanimate body of Dudley was
carried away.
Renard was proceeding to inform the queen that the insurgents had been
driven from the Brass Mount, when a messenger arrived, with tidings that
another success had been gained—Sir Henry Jerningham having encountered
the detachment under the Duke of Suffolk, and driven them back to
their vessels, was about to assist the Earl of Pembroke and Sir Henry
Bedingfeld in a sally upon Sir Thomas Wyat’s party. This news so
enchanted Mary, that she took a valuable ring from her finger and
presented it to the messenger, saying—“I will double thy fee, good
fellow, if thou wilt bring me word that Wyat is slain, and his
traitorous band utterly routed.”
Scarcely had the messenger departed, when another appeared. He brought
word that several vessels had arrived off the Tower, and attacked the
squadron under the command of Admiral Winter; that all the vessels,
with the exception of one, on board which the Duke of Suffolk had taken
refuge, had struck; and that her majesty might now feel assured of a
speedy conquest. At this news, Mary immediately fell on her knees, and
cried—“I thank thee, O Lord! not that thou hast vouchsafed me a victory
over my enemies, but that thou hast enabled me to triumph over thine.”
“The next tidings your highness receives will be that the siege
is raised,” observed Renard, as the queen arose; “and, with your
permission, I will be the messenger to bring it.”
“Be it so,” replied Mary. “I would now gladly be alone.”