WHAT CHARLES BEHELD FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE CATHEDRAL TOWER.
Brightly dawned the fatal 3rd of September, 1651, as if the day just
breaking were destined to be one of peace and rejoicing rather than of
strife and bloodshed. But the gladdening influence of the sunshine that
gilded its towers, spires, and pinnacles could not dispel the gloom
hanging over the devoted city. Men sprang from their restless couches
oppressed with the sense that the dreadful contest in which they must
of necessity take part was close at hand. Before night the king's fate
would probably be decided. If he fell, the city dedicated to his cause
would fall with him.
This conviction forced itself upon the minds of all who arose that morn
in Worcester. After arming themselves, many of the soldier citizens
looked round at their quiet homes as if taking leave of them for
ever, or gazed with unspeakable anguish at their wives and children,
well knowing the beloved ones would not be spared if the ruthless
Parliamentarians should obtain the mastery. Some few were unmanned, but
the majority faced the terrible situation resolutely, and conquered
their emotion. Of victory they had now but little hope, yet they
did not absolutely despair, since in war there is always a chance.
Their word had been given to the king, and it must be kept, be the
consequences what they might. If they could not secure him the throne
they could die for him, and they were determined to sell their lives
dearly. As to surrender, such a thought never occurred to these loyal
folks, and if advantageous terms had been offered by Cromwell they
would have rejected the dishonouring proposal with scorn.
Half an hour before daybreak the reveillé was beaten in the streets,
the citizens who belonged to the different corps having been ordered
to muster at an early hour on the College Green, at the Cross, and in
other places. To these different points they were now marching, and the
clank of arms resounded in all quarters.
The men of Worcester were not inexperienced in military service, most
of them having been engaged in the two previous sieges of the city. A
considerable number were employed on the walls and fortifications to
assist the regular artillerymen, but others were formed into companies,
each corps being commanded by a skilled officer. These companies were
intended as a reserve force. The city being under military rule, the
authority of the mayor was to a certain extent superseded, but he had
quite enough to do as commander of the mounted civic guard, which being
augmented by recruits brought by gentlemen of the county new formed a
regiment four hundred strong.
All the gates of the city were strongly guarded, and, as already
intimated, the Foregate, which formed the principal outlet on the
north, had been walled up. No one, without an order, could cross the
bridge; and no boats, except the large flat-bottomed ferry-boats
employed for the transit of troops and horses, were allowed on the
river.
Grim war had set its stamp on Worcester. Since the citizens had all
become soldiers, there seemed to be soldiers everywhere--none but
soldiers. No women were abroad; they were afraid to stir forth, and
would fain have barricaded their dwellings. The clank of arms, the
beating of drums, the call of the bugle, were the only sounds heard in
the streets.
The churches were open, and those who chose stepped in to breathe a
prayer--the last, perhaps, they might ever utter. Alas! how those
sacred edifices were soon afterwards profaned! The taverns likewise
were open--indeed, they had been open all night--and were full of
Cavaliers fortifying themselves before assembling for duty with a
morning's draught of canary. A large body of the mounted civic guard
was drawn up in front of the Guildhall awaiting the mayor's appearance,
while small detachments were patrolling the streets. In the Corn Market
the king's body-guard was assembled, ready to escort his majesty to the
cathedral.
As soon as it became light, anxious looks were directed towards the
strong intrenchments thrown up by Cromwell on Perry Wood, and to the
camp on Red Hill, but no movements were distinguishable at either place.
Charles was as early astir as any of the citizens. He had slept
soundly on the last night he was destined to pass at Worcester, and
awoke refreshed and in good spirits, fully prepared for any perils
and fatigue he might encounter. Had he known all he would have to go
through during the next twenty-four hours he might have felt grateful
for the good night's rest he had enjoyed.
Half an hour before daybreak he was roused by Careless, and after
making a hearty breakfast with Lord Derby, put on his armour and rode
with the earl to the cathedral.
A council of war had been summoned to meet the king soon after daybreak
on the summit of the cathedral tower, whence the whole surrounding
district could be surveyed, and the movements of the enemy more easily
discovered than from any other post of observation in the city, and his
majesty was now proceeding to the place of rendezvous.
Alighting at the northern portal, Charles and the Earl of Derby
entered the sacred edifice, and found the Duke of Hamilton, the Duke
of Buckingham, the Earl of Lauderdale, Lord Talbot, Lord Wilmot, Lord
Rothes, and several other distinguished personages, assembled in the
nave.
All being fully armed, they formed a very striking group. The anxious
expression of their countenances, which none cared to conceal, showed
how deeply they were impressed with the perilous position of affairs.
Charles appeared far more hopeful than his generals, and returned their
grave salutations with a cheerfulness that surprised some of those who
expected to find him despondent.
Massey had so far recovered from his wounds that he was able to attend
the council, and Pitscottie was likewise present; but Montgomery,
Keith, Drummond, Dalyell, and Sir Alexander Forbes were necessarily
absent, and Lesley had sent an excuse.
Several small groups of soldiers were collected within the cathedral,
and amongst them were half a dozen Highlanders, who formed Pitscottie's
guard.
Inviting the members of the council to follow him, the king proceeded
to the north aisle of the choir, in which was the entrance to a spiral
stone staircase communicating with the tower. Two musketeers were
stationed at this door. Careless mounted first; the king went next, and
the others followed, as they might, in no particular order.
In the belfry, which he soon reached, Charles found Middleton and
Colonel Legge, and was well pleased to see them, but being impatient,
he scarcely paused a moment, and quickly ascended a second circular
staircase, narrower and steeper than the first, and soon gained the
summit of the tower.
A wide and beautiful prospect now lay before him, but it was not the
beauty or extent of the landscape that attracted him. The lofty post he
had attained enabled him to see the whole of the adjoining districts
on the south and south-east of the city, Red Hill and Perry Wood, both
banks of the river, the junction of the Teme and the Severn, Powick
with its church crowning a woody eminence, and all the country skirting
the right bank of the Severn, and lying between Powick and Upton.
But before proceeding with our description, let us say a word about the
cathedral tower, on the summit of which the king stood.
Some five centuries old, being finished in 1374, this structure, one
of the finest in the kingdom, and the richest in embellishment, is
upwards of one hundred and sixty feet high, measured from the roof
of the central transept from which it springs. Exquisite tabernacle
work surrounds the upper stage, and the eastern façade is ornamented
by figures, one of which represents Edward III., at the latter end of
whose reign the tower was completed. Viewed from all points, owing
to the position of the reverend pile it adorns, the tower appears to
singular advantage.
About fifty years subsequent to the date of our history, this noble
structure was repaired--judiciously repaired, we are bound to add--and
the existing pinnacles and battlements were erected. In other respects
it is unaltered since Charles II.'s time, except what has been done
internally in the belfry and clock-chamber by the unwearied exertions
of the Rev. Richard Cattley, one of the present minor canons of the
cathedral.[6] As the battlements at the time of our history were more
than six feet high, a wooden platform had been constructed to enable
the king and his attendants to look over them without inconvenience.
Above the tower, on a tall flag-staff, floated the royal standard.
Springing up the wooden steps Charles leaned over the south parapet,
and gazed eagerly at the posts of the enemy. In another minute the
whole of the battlements were thronged, and a dozen field-glasses
anxiously directed towards Perry Wood and Red Hill.
The main body of the Parliamentary army which now occupied the former
post remained stationary, but it was evident that some movement was
taking place on the western slopes of Red Hill--probably in the
direction of the Severn--and thinking this might be so, Charles
directed his scrutiny to the near bank of the river, but though he
scanned it carefully for a couple of miles he could discern nothing to
justify alarm. The river that flowed past the lofty pile on which he
stood was nowhere disturbed. Next following the Teme from its point
of junction with the larger river--its course being easily traced by
the withies and willows fringing its banks--his eye rested on the old
bridge of Powick. A desperate effort he had always felt would be made
by the enemy, early in the day, to secure this pass; but he did not
foresee, nor did any of his generals foresee, the skilful manoeuvre by
which its capture would be effected.
Charles had every reliance on General Montgomery's vigilance and
bravery, supported as he was by Colonel George Keith.
Viewed from the cathedral tower on that bright morning, Powick seemed
close at hand, and though the old bridge was partially veiled in a
slight mist arising from the river, Montgomery's brigade could be seen
drawn up on Wykefield, a large meadow, close beside it--the helmets and
accoutrements of the men flashing in the sunbeams.
Satisfied that Montgomery was on the alert, and that no immediate
danger threatened him, Charles continued his inspection, and, with his
field-glass, swept the district lying between Powick and Upton.
Suddenly an exclamation broke from him that caused all the other
glasses to be turned in the same direction as his own, and it was then
perceived by all that a large body of cavalry was skirting the Old
Hills.
Almost immediately afterwards another regiment of horse could be
descried somewhat nearer the Severn. Both were evidently advancing upon
Powick Bridge.
"That must be Fleetwood's brigade," cried Charles, still keeping his
glass fixed on the troops.
"Your majesty is right," observed Massey, who was standing behind the
king. "It is Fleetwood's regiment--Ingoldsby is nearer the river--and
with him are Goff and Gibbons. The troops coming through Woodsfield
copse, if I mistake not, are commanded by General Deane. Montgomery
will have enough to do to maintain the bridge against such odds."
"He must be reinforced--and quickly," cried Charles. "No troops can be
spared from the city. Dalyell must send a detachment from St. John's.
Careless shall take a message to him at once."
"I will go myself, sire," said Massey, "and take command of the
detachment."
"But have you strength enough for the task, general?"
"My strength will return when I meet the enemy," rejoined Massey.
Charles did not attempt to stay him, and he departed.
Again the king watched the regiments advancing from Upton. They came
on slowly and cautiously, while the skirmishers scoured the fields and
lanes.
"How is this?" cried Charles, angrily. "Are they to be allowed to reach
Powick without hindrance?"
"Not so, my liege," replied Middleton, who had taken Massey's place
behind the king. "They will meet with a warm reception anon. Look more
closely, and you will perceive that the hedges are lined with soldiers.
Those are your new recruits, and they are just the men for this sort of
work. Ah! they are beginning in earnest now."
As he spoke, firing was heard in the distance, and looking in the
direction of the sound, Charles perceived that several of the
skirmishers had been shot down, while the riderless horses were
careering wildly over the field.
A stronger party was instantly sent on to clear the hedges. But this
was no easy task. General Middleton was right. The new recruits
understood this kind of fighting. Excellent marksmen, and well posted,
they gave their enemies a vast deal of trouble. Driven from one spot,
they quickly took up another position, and even while retreating
managed to do considerable execution. Their officers knew every inch of
ground, and where to place them. Advantage was taken of every lane and
defile, and the enemy's progress towards Powick was very considerably
checked.
Among the officers who commanded these gallant little bands, which were
scattered about the coppices and orchards in order to distract the
enemy, and if possible throw him into confusion, were Colonel Lane,
Captain Hornyold, and Sir Rowland Berkeley of Cotheridge. Sir Rowland
rode a piebald horse, and the peculiarity of his steed caused him to
be remarked by Colonel Goff. In Sir Rowland's corps were Lieutenant
Vosper and Corporal Trubshaw, both of whom displayed great courage.
Half of this brave little corps were cut down; but the rest--and Vosper
and Trubshaw were among them--reached Powick Bridge, and were then
posted with Captain Woolfe in a water-mill on the banks of the Teme.