Tower, and was about to cross the Green, he perceived a small group
collected before Saint Peter’s Chapel, and at once guessing its meaning,
he hastened towards it. It was just beginning to grow light, and objects
could be imperfectly distinguished. As Renard drew nigh, he perceived a
circle formed round a soldier whose breast-plate, doublet, and ruff had
been removed, and who was kneeling with his arms crossed upon his breast
beside a billet of wood. Near him, on the left, stood Manger, with his
axe upon his shoulder, and on the right, Gardiner holding a crucifix
towards him, and earnestly entreating him to die in the faith of Rome;
promising him, in case of compliance, a complete remission of his sins.
Bret, for he it was, made no answer, but appeared, from the convulsive
movement of his lips, to be muttering a prayer. Out of patience, at
length Gardiner gave the signal to Mauger, and the latter motioned the
rebel captain to lay his head upon the piece of timber. The practised
executioner performed his task with so much celerity that a minute had
not elapsed before the head was stricken from the body, and placed
on the point of a spear. While the apparatus of death and the
blood-streaming trunk were removed, Xit, who was one of the spectators,
seized the spear with its grisly burden, and, bending beneath the load,
bore it towards the By-ward Tower. A man-at-arms preceded him, shouting
in a loud voice, “Thus perish all traitors.”
Having seen this punishment inflicted, Renard hastened towards the
By-ward Tower, and avoiding the concourse that flocked round Xit and his
sanguinary trophy, took a shorter cut, and arrived there before them.
He found Pembroke and Bedingfeld, as the messenger had stated, prepared
with a large force to make a sally upon the insurgents. The signal was
given by renewed firing from the roof and loopholes of the Middle Tower.
Wyat, who had retired under the gateway of that fortification, and had
drawn up his men in the open space behind it, now advanced at their head
to the attack. At this moment, the portcullis of the By-ward Tower was
again raised, and the royalists issued from it. Foremost among them were
the giants. The meeting of the two hosts took place in the centre of
the bridge, and the shock was tremendous. For a short time, the
result appeared doubtful. But the superior numbers, better arms, and
discipline, of the queen’s party, soon made it evident on which side
victory would incline.
If conquest could have been obtained by personal bravery, Wyat would
have been triumphant. Wherever the battle raged most fiercely he was to
be found. He sought out Bedingfeld, and failing in reaching him, cut his
way to the Earl of Pembroke, whom he engaged and would have slain, if
Og had not driven him off with his exterminating mace. The tremendous
prowess of the gigantic brethren, indeed, contributed in no slight
degree to the speedy termination of the fight. Their blows were
resistless, and struck such terror into their opponents, that a retreat
was soon begun, which Wyat found it impossible to check. Gnashing his
teeth with anger, and uttering ejaculations of rage, he was compelled to
follow his flying forces. His anger was vented against Gog. He aimed
a terrible blow at him, and cut through his partizan, but his sword
shivered against his morion. A momentary rally was attempted in the
court between the Lion’s Gate and the Bulwark Gate; but the insurgents
were speedily, driven out. On reaching Tower Hill, Wyat succeeded in
checking them; and though he could not compel them to maintain their
ground; he endeavoured, with a faithful band, to cover the retreat of
the main body to London Bridge. Perceiving his aim, Pembroke sent off
a detachment under Bedingfeld, by Tower-street, to intercept the front
ranks while he attacked the rear. But Wyat beat off his assailants, made
a rapid retreat down Thames-street, and after a skirmish with Bedingfeld
at the entrance of the bridge, in which he gained a decided advantage,
contrived to get his troops safely across it, with much less loss than
might have been anticipated. Nor was this all. He destroyed the planks
which had afforded him passage, and took his measures so well and so
expeditiously on the Southwark side, that Pembroke hesitated to cross
the bridge and attack him. >
The Tower, however, was delivered from its assailants. The three giants
pursued the flying foe to the Bulwark Gate, and then returned to the
Middle Tower, which was yet occupied by a number of Wyat’s party, and
summoned them to surrender! The command was refused, unless accompanied
by a pardon. The giants said nothing more, but glanced significantly at
each other. Magog seized a ram, which had been left by the assailants,
and dashed it against the door on the left of the gateway. A few
tremendous blows sufficed to burst it open. Finding no one within the
lower chamber, they ascended the winding stone staircase, their progress
up which was opposed, but ineffectually, by the insurgents. Magog pushed
forward like a huge bull, driving his foes from step to step till they
reached the roof, where a short but furious encounter took place. The
gigantic brethren fought back to back, and committed such devastation
among their foes, that those who were left alive threw down their arms,
and begged for quarter. Disregarding their entreaties, the giants hurled
them over the battlements. Some were drowned in the moat, while others
wore dashed to pieces in the court below. “It is thus,” observed Magog
with a grim smile to his brethren, as the work of destruction was ended,
“that the sons of the Tower avenge the insults offered to their parent.”
On descending, they found Xit stationed in the centre of the bridge,
carrying the spear with Bret’s head upon it. The dwarf eagerly inquired
whether they had taken Wyat; and being answered in the negative,
expressed his satisfaction.
“The achievement is reserved for me,” he cried; “no more laughter, my
masters,—no more familiarity. I am about to receive knighthood from the
queen.” This announcement, however, so far from checking the merriment
of the giants, increased it to such a degree, that the irascible
mannikin dashed the gory head in their faces, and would have attacked
them with the spear, if they had not disarmed him.
By this time, Sir Henry Bedingfeld had returned from the pursuit of the
rebels. Many prisoners had been taken, and conveyed, by his directions,
to a secure part of the fortress. Exerting-himself to the utmost, and
employing a large body of men in the work, the damages done to the
different defences of the fortress were speedily repaired, the bodies of
the slain thrown into the river, and all rendered as secure as before.
The crews on board Winter’s squadron had surrendered; but their
commander, together with the Duke of Suffolk, had escaped, having
been put ashore in a small boat. Conceiving all lost, and completely
panic-stricken, the Duke obtained horses for himself and a few
companions, and riding to Shene, where he had appointed a meeting with
his brother, Lord Thomas Grey, set off with him, at full speed, for
Coventry, the inhabitants of which city he imagined were devoted to
him. But he soon found out his error. Abandoned by his adherents, and
betrayed into the hands of the Earl of Huntingdon, who had been sent
after him, he was shortly afterwards brought a prisoner to the Tower.
Not to anticipate events, such was the expedition used, that in less
than an hour, Bedingfeld conveyed to the queen the intelligence that all
damage done by the besiegers was repaired, and that her loss had been
trifling compared with that of her enemies. He found her surrounded by
her nobles; and on his appearance she arose, and advanced a few steps to
meet him.
“You have discharged your office right well, Sir Henry,” she said; “and
if we deprive you of it for a while, it is because we mean to intrust
you with a post of yet greater importance.”
“Whatever office your majesty may intrust me with, I will gladly accept
it,” replied Bedingfeld.
“It is our pleasure, then, that you set out instantly with the Earl
of Sussex to Ashbridge,” returned Mary, “and attach the person of the
Princess Elizabeth. Here is your warrant. Bring her alive or dead.” #
“Alas!” exclaimed Bedingfeld, “is this the task your highness has
reserved for me?”
“It is,” replied Mary; and she added in a lower tone, “you are the only
man to whom I could confide it.”
“I must perforce obey, since your majesty wills it—but—”
“You must set out at once,” interrupted Mary—“Sir Thomas Brydges shall
be lieutenant of the Tower in your stead. We reserve you for greater
dignities.”
Bedingfeld would have remonstrated, but seeing the queen was immoveable,
he signified his compliance, and having received further instructions,
quitted the presence to make preparations for his departure.
The last efforts of the insurgents must be briefly told. After allowing
his men a few hours’ rest, Wyat made a forced march to Kingston, and
hastily repairing the bridge, which had been broken down, with planks,
ladders, and beams tied together, passed over it with his ordnance and
troops in safety, and proceeded towards London. In consequence of a
delay that occurred on the road, his plan was discovered, and the Earl
of Pembroke, having by this time collected a considerable army, drew up
his forces in Saint James’s fields to give him battle.
A desperate skirmish took place, in which the insurgents, disheartened
by their previous defeat, were speedily worsted. Another detachment,
under the command of Knevet, were met and dispersed at Charing Cross,
by Sir Henry Jerningham, and would have been utterly destroyed, but
that they could not be distinguished from the royalists, except by their
muddy apparel, which occasioned the cry among the victors of “Down with
the draggle-tails.”
Wyat himself, who was bent upon entering the city, where he expected to
meet with great aid from Throckmorton, dashed through all opposition,
and rode as far as the Belle Sauvage (even then a noted hostel), near
Ludgate. Finding the gate shut, and strongly defended, he rode back
as quickly as he came to Temple Bar, where he was encountered by Sir
Maurice Berkeley, who summoned him to surrender, and seeing it was
useless to struggle further, for all his companions had deserted him, he
complied. His captor carried him to the Earl of Pembroke; and as soon
as it was known that the rebel-leader was taken, the army was disbanded,
and every man ordered to return to his home. Proclamation was next made
that no one, on pain of death, should harbour any of Wyat’s faction, but
should instantly deliver them up to the authorities.
That same night Wyat, together with Knevet, Cobham, and ethers of his
captains, were taken to the Tower by water. As Wyat, who was the last to
disembark, ascended the steps of Traitor’s Gate, Sir Henry Brydges, the
new lieutenant, seized him by the collar, crying, “Oh! thou base and
unhappy traitor! how could’st thou find in thy heart to work such
detestable treason against the queen’s majesty? Were it not that the law
must pass upon thee, I would stab thee with my dagger.”
Holding his arms to his side, and looking at him, as the old chroniclers
report, “grievously, with a grim look,” Wyat answered, “It is no mastery
now.” Upon which, he was conveyed with the others to the Beauchamp
Tower.
XXXI.—HOW JANE SURRENDERED HERSELF A PRISONER; AND HOW SHE BESOUGHT
QUEEN MARY TO SPARE HER HUSBAND.
Towards the close of the day following that on which the rebels were
defeated, a boat, rowed by a single waterman, shot London Bridge, and
swiftly approached the Tower wharf. It contained two persons, one of
whom, apparently a female, was so closely muffled in a cloak that
her features could not be discerned; while her companion, a youthful
soldier, equipped in his full accoutrements, whose noble features were
clouded with sorrow, made no attempt at concealment. As they drew near
the stairs, evidently intending to disembark, the sentinels presented
their arquebusses at them, and ordered them to keep off; but the young
man immediately arose, and said that having been concerned in the late
insurrection, they were come to submit themselves to the queen’s mercy.
This declaration excited some surprise among the soldiers, who were
inclined to discredit it, and would not have suffered them to land,
if an officer of the guard, attracted by what was passing, had not
interfered, and granted the request. By his command, they were taken
across the draw-bridge opposite the stairs, and placed within the
guard-room near the By-ward Tower. Here the officer who had accompanied
them demanded their names and condition, in order to report them to the
lieutenant.
“I am called Cuthbert Cholmondeley,” replied the young man, “somewhile
esquire to Lord Guilford Dudley.”
“You bore that rebel lord’s standard in the attack on the Brass
Mount—did you not?” demanded the officer, sternly.
“I did,” replied Cholmondeley.
“Then you have delivered yourself to certain death, young man,” rejoined
the officer. “What madness has brought you hither? The queen will show
you no mercy, and blood enough will-flow upon the scaffold without yours
being added to the stream.”
“I desire only to die with my master,” replied Cholmondeley.
“Where is Lord Guilford Dudley?” demanded the muffled’ female, in a tone
of the deepest emotion.
“Confined in one of the secret dungeons—but I may not answer you
further, madam,” replied the officer.
“Are his wounds dangerous?” she continued, in a tone of the deepest
anxiety.
“They are not mortal, madam,” he answered. “He will live long enough to
expiate his offences on the scaffold.”
“Ah!” she exclaimed with difficulty, repressing a scream.
“No more of this—if you are a man,” cried Cholmondeley, fiercely. “You
know not whom you address.” *
“I partly guess.” replied the officer, with a compassionate look. “I
respect your sorrows, noble lady—but oh! why—why are you here? I would
willingly serve you—nay, save you—but it is out of my power.”
“My presence here must show you, sir, that I have no wish to avoid the
punishment I have incurred,” she replied. “I am come to submit myself
to the queen. But if you would serve me—serve me without danger to
yourself, or departure from your duty—you will convey this letter
without delay to her highness’s own hand.”
“It may be matter of difficulty,” rejoined the officer, “for her majesty
is at this moment engaged in a secret conference in the Hall Tower,
with the chancellor and the Spanish ambassador. Nay, though I would
not further wound your feelings, madam, she is about to sign the
death-warrants of the rebels.”
“The more reason, then,” she replied, in accents of supplicating
eagerness, “that it should be delivered instantly. Will you take it?”
The officer replied in the affirmative.
“Heaven’s blessing upon you!” she fervently ejaculated. Committing the
captives to the guard, and desiring that every attention, consistent
with their situation, should be shown them, the officer departed. Half
an hour elapsed before his return, and during the interval but few words
were exchanged between Cholmondeley and his companion. When the officer
reappeared, she rushed towards him, and inquired what answer he brought.
“Your request is granted, madam,” he replied. “I am commanded to bring
you to the queen’s presence; and may your suit to her highness prove as
successful as your letter! You are to be delivered to the chief jailor,
sir,” he added to Chol-mondeley, “and placed in close custody.”
As he spoke, Nightgall entered the guard-room. At the sight of his hated
rival, an angry flush rose to the esquire’s countenance—nor was his
wrath diminished by the other’s exulting looks.
“You will not have much further power over me,” he observed, in answer
to the jailor’s taunts. “Cicely, like Alexia, is out of the reach of
your malice. And I shall speedily join them.”
“You are mistaken,” retorted Nightgall, bitterly. “Cicely yet lives; and
I will wed her on the day of your execution. Bring him away,” he
added, to his assistants. “I shall take him, in the first place, to
the torture-chamber, and thence to the subterranean dungeons. I have an
order to rack him.”
“Farewell, madam,” said the esquire, turning from him, and prostrating
himself before his companion, who appeared in the deepest anguish; “we
shall meet no more on earth.”
“I have destroyed you,” she cried. “But for your devotion to me, you
might be now in safety.”
“Think not of me, madam—I have nothing to live for,” replied the
esquire, pressing her hand to his lips. “Heaven support you in this
your last, and greatest, and—as I can bear witness—most unmerited trial.
Farewell, for ever!”
“Ay, for ever!” repeated the lady. And she followed the officer; while
Cholmondeley was conveyed by Nightgall and his assistants to the secret
entrance of the subterranean dungeons near the Devilin Tower.
Accompanied by his charge, who was guarded by two halberdiers, the
officer proceeded along the southern ward, in the direction of the Hall
Tower—a vast circular structure, standing on the east of Bloody Tower.
0427
This fabric, (sometimes called the Wakefield Tower from the prisoners
confined within it, after the battle of that name in 1460, and more
recently the Record Tower, from the use to which it has been put,) is
one of the oldest in the fortress, and though not coeval with the White
Tower, dates back as far as the reign of William Rufus, by whom it was
erected. It contains two large octagonal chambers,—that on the upper
story being extremely lofty, with eight deep and high embrazures,
surmounted by pointed arches, and separated by thin columns, springing
from the groined arches formerly supporting the ceiling, which though
unfortunately destroyed, corresponded, no doubt, with the massive and
majestic character of the apartment. In this room tradition asserts that
—the aspiring blood of Lancaster