will "assist him with counsel, and their purses, to the best of their
ability." He probably preferred the latter, for--
November 9th.--We have notice of a consultation had "about the
execution of the king's warrants," and on
November 17th.--"A tax is levied to pay those great charges which are
now layed upon the borough concerning cloth, apparell, victualls, and
other things for his Majestie's army." Then on
November 28th.--The king goes off to Oxford, and henceforth they are
left to Sir Arthur's tender mercies: about this time we find a pathetic
entry: "A noate of all such charges as have been disembursed, since
the King's Majestie came first to Reading, for provisions, clothes
for the soldiers, and for the king's own use;" being £6697, truly a
prodigious sum for those times; but it is speedily followed by fresh
requisitions. As the year opens it appears probable that Reading will
be attacked, and so on 3rd March, 1543, a letter arrives from the
king, ordering Sir Arthur to provision Reading for three months, to
provision Greenlands a fortified country house just below Henley, to
send out scouting parties to watch the enemy, and to prevent carriage
of supplies to London. This rouses the Parliament. Essex is ordered to
march on Oxford, taking Reading in his way; but the governor now is all
ready for him. Mapledurham House and Cawsham have now been made into
fortified out-posts, and, on the arrival of Essex's "trumpet," Colonel
Codrington in his diary tells us the governor returned the stubborn
answer that "he would either keep the town or die inside it!" There can
be no doubt he would have made a resolute resistance; he was a brave
and capable soldier, but, being wounded in the head by a tile dislodged
by a cannon ball, on the third day of the siege, his place was taken
by a Colonel R. Fielding, as next in seniority. The sad history of the
gallant soldier is worth following further. At the capitulation he went
to Oxford; there he managed to lose a leg, and presently turns up in
Ireland, unluckily for him, at Drogheda. Cromwell storms, determined,
after the inhuman massacres of Protestants, on making a harsh example
of the Irish garrison, and Sir Arthur, now in command there, strange
to say, has his brains knocked out with his own wooden leg, which
the soldiers imagined was filled with gold pieces--they did find two
hundred about his person--the very thing which Hood imagined long after
of his unhappy heroine.
"Gold, still gold! hard, yellow, and cold,
For gold she had lived, and she died for gold,
For a golden weapon had killed her!
And the jury, its forman a gilder,
They brought it in a Felo di Se
Because her own leg had killed her!
Price of many a crime untold,
Good or bad, a thousand fold,
How widely gold's agencies vary!
To save, to curse, to ruin, to bless,
As even its minted coins express,
Now stamped with the image of Good Queen Bess,
And now of a bloody Mary!"
There is a portrait of Sir A. Aston at the Reading Public Library,
a middle aged man with a large square chin and most determined
expression. Sir Jacob Astley, after governor here, and made Baron
Reading, is also in the Library, a pleasant looking old gentleman.
The town was very strongly and securely fortified, I quote from the
diary of Sir Samuel Luke, Scout Master for the parliament after the
surrender, when he had just been over it: "They had only three ways
out of the town, where they had built three sconces, one at Forbury,
one at Harrison's Barn, and another at the end of Pangbourn lane;
the Forts were very well wrought, and strong both with trenches and
pallisades; the town entrenched round so that if any man of the
Parliamentary side should have delivered up a place as this town, he
would have deserved a halter."
"It would appear," writes Mr. Childs, "that earth works were thrown up
in a rude square, extending from Grey Friars Church and the present
prison on the north, to midway in Kendrick Road, and to Katesgrove Hill
on the south; and from about the line of Kendrick Road on the east to
Castle Hill on the west. Redoubts were thrown up at intervals, and on
the top of Whitley Hill a strong fort known as 'Harrison's Barn.'"
This Sir Samuel appears to have been a stout and able soldier, but,
unfortunately for him, he had the misfortune to fall into the hands of
Butler, who has pilloried him as the well-known Hudibras. Dr. Johnson
says, writing of Butler, "The necessitudes of his condition placed
him in the family of Sir S. Luke, one of Cromwell's officers, and a
Presbyterian magistrate. Here he observed much of the character of the
sectaries." Certainly he did, and recorded much; and though very much
is gross caricature, still it is thus that Sir Samuel must be content
to come down to us.
"When civil dudgeon first grew high,
And men fell out they knew not why:
Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling,
And out he rode a colonelling.
He was in logic a great critic,
Profoundly skilled in analytic;
He could distinguish and divide
A hair 'twixt south and south-west tide:
On either side he would dispute,
Confute, change hands, and still confute.
For his religion it was fit
To match his learning and his wit.
'Twas Presbyterian true blue,
For he was of the stubborn crew
Such as do build their faith upon
The holy text of pike and gun:
And prove their doctrine or the dox
By apostolic blows and knocks.
Still so perverse and opposite,
As if they worshipped God for spite.
Quarrel with mince-pies, and disparage
Their best and dearest friend plum-porridge.
Fat pig and goose itself oppose,
And blaspheme custard through the nose."
On Sir Arthur's refusal to surrender, the town was at once assailed,
the Royalist out-posts at Caversham being easily driven in, the
bridge broken down, and batteries planted there commanding the town.
This was April 15th. The Earl of Essex had at this time some 16,000
foot, and 300 horse, a force which in the course of a week was nearly
doubled. His headquarters were at Southcote, leaving Colonel Skippon
in charge of the siege works in the meadows at the N.W. of the town,
on the old Battel Abbey estate, where was most of the fighting;
whilst Lord Gray of Warwick sat down before the town, on the S.E.
parts, with 7,000 horse and foot. Codrington tells us the Earl held a
council of war, at which it was debated whether to storm or not. The
cavalry were for attempting it, the infantry against, and this latter
opinion prevailed, the garrison being supposed to be stronger than it
really was. We read in the "Perfect Diurnal" of February 10th, "They
are 4,000 strong in the town; some works are cast up as high as the
houses; they have made use of all the clothier's wool in the town, and
made wool-packs thereof." "There is nothing like leather," as is well
known; but it may be doubted whether bales of cloth are benefited by
a week's cannonading. No wonder the cloth-trade languished after that
involuntary employment of the stock-in-trade.
And now we will come to dates, making use of our two friends' diaries.
It is a pity we have not also a Royalist record to check them by.
But first we will take a look at the army investing. They are most
of them young troops, and with officers at present unversed in siege
operations: but some have already fought at Edgehill, notably the Saye
and Sele "Blue Coats;" Colonel Nathanael and Colonel John Fiennes
commanding them, would both be there, and perhaps his lordship.
Hampden's "Green Coats" would also add to the variety, with the London
train bands "Red Coats;" this red was a colour that Cromwell afterwards
adopted for the whole of the British army, and which, it need hardly be
remarked, is now "the thin red line which never wavers," and which more
than once has confronted both cavalry and artillery successfully.
April 17th. Writes Sir Samuel:--"Our lines got within musket shot of
the town."
April 18th.--"The enemy appeared on Cawsham hills under General Ruven,
went to Sonning, and put down (up?) the river in boats 600 musketeers,
with several waggon loads of ammunition; which we could not hinder
because we had broken down Cawsham bridge."
This was very cleverly managed, as the town had at first only twenty
barrels of gunpowder altogether. Now their artillery would be well
supplied; and the barges ran up by the Kennet in perfect safety into
the very heart of the town. Immediately after this a battery was
planted on the Thames bank by Essex, that effectually 'shut the door'
north of the Kennet; but, by this time, 'the horse was stolen,' or, at
least, the powder safe housed! On this day a cannon burst, killing four
men and wounding half-a-dozen more of the besiegers; but what was much
more serious for the King's party on this day, the Governor got a hurt
that at once totally incapacitated him, and a mere seniority officer, a
Col. Richard Fielding, took the command.
On the 19th there was a brisk sally, but repulses of the garrison.
"On that night His Excellency advanced his batteries and placed his
ordinance within less than pistol shot of Harrison's Fort." Stout old
Skippon is here: and is in deadly earnest, like Cromwell, however
unwilling Essex and Manchester may be to go to extremities.
April 20th. Says our Chronicler:--"Lord Gray pushes closer up."
April 21st is an eventful day. "Battered the town," says the diary,
"got up within pistol shot of one of their choicest bulwarks in a place
called the Gallows Field." On this day it is that St. Giles steeple
comes to grief; now we will copy Codrington. "They planted ordinance
on a steeple, but our cannons were levelled against it with such
dexterity, that both cannoniers and cannon were soon buried under the
ruins."
April 22nd.--"Flower, sent by the King to say he was coming to raise
the siege, swam in with despatches, but is caught going back, and so
the plan frustrated." Essex reversed his batteries, and so was ready to
give the approaching Royalists a hot reception.
April 23rd.--An unlucky spy is seized, who had volunteered the perilous
work of blowing up the siege ammunition train; he is hung in sight of
the rampart, which is retaliated on the next day.
April 24th.--"A sudden sally; they got into our trenches, and killed
four men; but were driven back with loss of twelve, but we could not
get out the bodies of our men. Lord Gray got within pistol shot of
Harrison's Barn."
This seems to have frightened Col. Fielding, who evidently was not the
stuff that heroes are made of.
Hark! Hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore,
The cry of battle rises along the charging lines:
'For Love!' 'For the Cause!' 'For the Church!' 'For the Law!'
For Charles, King of England, and Rupert of the Rhine!
25th April, 9 a.m.--The town hung out a white flag, and sent "a drum
to beat a parley, which His Excellency gave way to." If Fielding had
but held out another day, and had co-operated with the King's forces,
the town might have been relieved, and Essex driven away; for a few
hours after, Charles makes a determined attack in force upon Caversham
Bridge, which is only repulsed after heavy fighting, and through Essex
being able to give his undivided attention. "The fight began," says
Codrington, "about Cawsham Bridge, and on both sides great valour and
resolution was expressed. After less than half-an-hour's fight, the
enemy began to give ground, leaving about 300 arms, and many of their
men behind them; their Horse also, which came down the hill to assist
the Fort, were gallantly repulsed; about a hundred were slain upon the
spot, among whom Sergt. Major Smith, in whose pocket was found good
store of gold."
This settled the matter. Charles retired unmolested to Caversham House,
where Fielding was allowed to go to him on April 26th. He obtained
leave to surrender, the picked troops of the garrison being urgently
required for service elsewhere. This permission, of course, did not
clear Fielding, who was tried afterwards by court martial and sentenced
to be beheaded, but the King did not allow the sentence to be carried
out.
April 27th.--The surrender takes place. "He was pardoned," says
Clarendon, "without much grace; his regiment was given to another, and
he resolved as a volunteer; in this capacity he fought desperately
through the war when danger was most rife, but in vain. So difficult
a thing it is to play an after game of reputation in that nice and
jealous profession of arms." "As they march out at Friar's Corner,"
says Sir Samuel, "at the same place when, as is recorded further, the
soldiers plundered the houses of four Grand Malignants who had given
information to the Governor of such persons as were inclined to the
cause of the Parliament, and had therefore paid a double tax to the
weekly contribution." This, perhaps, was as little as could be expected
from a victorious cause; and Sir Samuel again concludes all very
characteristically and satisfactorily too, as regards the God-fearing
soldiers of the Commonwealth.
April 30th, "being the Sunday, was spent in preaching and hearing God's
word, the churches being extraordinarily filled, and soldiers and all
men carrying themselves very civilly all the day long."
Sickness appears to have broken out amongst Essex's young soldiers
encamped on the marshy meadows on the N.W. of the town, which may
have had something to do with the easy terms granted. The Mercurius
Aulicus, the Court Journal, has a story that "a soldier said that
Essex caused five great pits to be dug at a distance from his camp,
into which he cast the slain to conceal their number." The Earl stayed
here until July, and ordered a heavy contribution for the pay of the
soldiers. The Corporation, however, waited upon him to represent "they
had been so impoverished by the late siege, and the exactions of His
Majesty, as to be utterly unable to raise any more money amongst them."
And this excuse seems to have been graciously accepted. Charles'
"little finger," in money matters, was of necessity "thicker than the
Parliament's loins," and this lead considerably to the declining of
his cause. When the tide of war turned a couple of years after, he
appeared again here, and stayed at Coley; but we do not hear then of
any more forced benevolences; indeed he conferred a real benefit, by
having the fortification "slighted," which no doubt the burgesses
received with extreme satisfaction. So the siege ended. Sieges in
those days were trying to reputations. Colonel N. Fiennes, at Bristol,
and then Prince Rupert at the same place, whether justly or not, were
heavily censured for surrendering, and both of them came very near
to sharing the fate of Fielding. That old lamentation was speedily
verified; but with this we have happily no further connection.
"Lament! Lament!
And let thy tears run down,
To see the rent
Between the robe and crown!
War, like a serpent, has its head got in,
And will not cease so soon as 't did begin."
Reading Abbey.
It is hardly necessary to state that in rather early days, when the
Thames flowed into the Rhine and Great Britain was a part of a greater
continent, there was no Reading Abbey. Neither was there sometime
after, when the city was a swamp between the Thames and the Kennet, and
some few huts clustered round the Roman station Ad Pontes, where the
legions crossed from Londinium on their way to the rich and important
town of Calleva. We may possibly date our abbey's beginning from the
third or fourth century. It may have been a chapel of ease to that
interesting little church lately uncovered, and alas! covered up again,
at Silchester. At any rate we are on firm ground when, towards the
end of the tenth century, we locate a nunnery here, founded by Queen
Elfreda, who at last began to repent of her various crimes. She had,
perhaps, some excuse for arranging with the King to get rid of her
first husband, who had deceived his royal master, lead astray by her
fatal beauty. Thus she attained the throne to which she had no doubt
been destined; but it was going too far to retain it by the murder
of the son of her predecessor, Queen Ethelfleda; which is one of the
horrid memories that clings round Corfe Castle. And now we leap to
the beginning of the twelfth century and get on still firmer ground,
when Henry I., at the height of his power, and also beginning to feel
a little compunction, resolved to make reparations by founding what
should be an abbey of world-wide magnificence.
He certainly succeeded. I mean with his abbey, though I am not prepared
to go as far as do the chroniclers of his predecessor:--
"King Ethelbert lies here,
Closed in this polyander.
For building churches straight he goes
To heaven without meander."
Henry I. never did things by halves, and they could build in those
days. His architect had _carte blanche_, and with wonderful speed there
arose that glorious fabric whose ruins we weep over, and use for our
flower shows. The abbey covered some thirty acres. It was surrounded
with a wall, vast and strong, except where guarded by the Kennet, and
four huge embattled gateways opened out to the four quarters. Almost
all its stones are now gone. "It pitieth," or it ought to pity the
by-passers to see some in the wall of that house in Hosier Street, some
very few on the site, and oh, 18th century! many cartloads vandalised
into a bridge on the road to Henley, near where the Druid's temple
of despoiled Jersey adds another sorrow to the scenery. But at its
dedication in 1164, in Henry II.'s time, the abbey and the abbey church
must indeed have been magnificent. The latter was a cruciform building
420 x 92 feet in dimensions, without an aisle, covering the vast space
between the Forbury and the gaol. Its extent is well shown, by the
notices the Corporation has lately put up under the skilled guidance
of those two chiefest of experts, the Secretary and Treasurer of the
Berkshire Archæological Society. After the dedication ceremony, the
King, and his still friendly Beckett, would doubtless adjourn to the
magnificent Consistory, the great Hall, one of the largest and finest
in England, destined to see so many Parliaments, and other national
assemblings.
The inner gateway still remains, restored, perhaps, almost too
modernly; close inspection will, however, show the old gate hinges and
portcullis way; closer investigation still may even discover the dog
badge of the last abbot, and a dolphin with the red rose of Lancaster
on its tail, probably also belonging to the same period. Here the
humble burgesses used to bow themselves before the Lord Abbot, and
listen whilst he was pleased to indicate which of them might fulfil the
then limited office of mayor. In front of this, as some say, the last
abbot and his two accomplice monks died the awfully cruel traitor's
death, having been convicted of sending supplies to the northern rebels
in their so-called Pilgrimage of Grace. It has much pleasanter modern
memories, being lent by the good town to the Berkshire Archæological
Society, and being the scene in its fine old chamber of many
interesting archæological gatherings. But I have strayed a long way
from 1164. The second Henry's reign was no doubt its golden period;
more memories cluster about the abbey in the twelfth century than at
any other time. Here, the year before, in 1163, had occurred "the Fight
on the Island," when, much to Henry's regret, de Bohun fell beneath the
spear of de Montford.
"His fame, as blighted in the field,
He strove to clear by spear and shield;
To clear his fame in vain he strove,
For wondrous are His ways above.
How could the guiltless champion quail,
Or how the great ordeal fail!"
"The knights met on horseback," says Norroy Seagur, "clad in armour,
(on the island just below Caversham Bridge; a street running down to
it has lately been called De Montford Street), Montford attacked with
such resolution as to hurl Henry of Essex out of the saddle, when
being stunned and faint from loss of blood, he was taken up apparently
dead." King Henry handed him over to the monks of Reading Abbey, under
whose care he recovered, and at once joined the fraternity. Some years
after, and following on that bad Beckett business, Henry was here
again, for here, in 1185, came Heraclius, the Patriarch of Jerusalem,
and the Master of the Temple with him, appealing for a crusade to all
Christian Kings, and especially to King Henry, who, it was considered,
especially needed that moral white-washing. What a sight for the abbey!
They brought with them the Standard of the Kingdom of the Holy Land,
the Keys of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and of the Tower of
David. The King reverently received them all, but handed them back to
the Patriarch until he could consult with his barons. Henry was too old
to go, but numbers of the young nobility took the cross, and carried
it in the van against the Infidel; and not least fiery Prince Richard,
the king of all knight errants. He went off immediately on coming to
the throne, and performed exploits which far exceed those imagined by
Ariosto. Unfortunately he needed money, and had to carry off the golden
cover his father gave for the chief abbey relic, the hand of St. James;
but that doubtless would soon be replaced by the offerings of the
home-staying faithful.
Also in this reign, and at its close, were several royal funerals.
Henry I. of course had himself buried here, as it was said in a silver
coffin, which caused some very ruthless explorations at the time
of the Suppression. A stone coffin found here recently had a very
distinguished origin suggested for it by a high local authority. In
1154, Prince William, eldest son of Henry II., was buried here near
his grandfather. Also here was buried King Henry II.'s second wife,
Adeliza; and thereby hangs a very complicated and curious tale.
[Illustration: READING ABBEY GATEWAY, LEADING TO THE VESTRY AND
TREASURY.]
In 1810 some workmen digging in the abbey precincts "found a box which
contained a perfectly formed fleshy hand (writes Mrs. Climenson, in
her almost universal 'History of Shiplake,') holding a slender rod
surmounted by a crucifix." This, she says, is now in Mr. Scott Murray's
Roman Catholic Chapel at Danesfield, and is considered to be the hand
of St. James the Less, which was brought from Germany by the Empress
Maud, and given by her to her father, who gave it to the Abbey. "It is
in perfect preservation, a plump and well-shaped hand, small, and with
taper fingers, and almond-shaped nails, so small it might well be a
woman's." And it probably is, and the hand of Queen Adeliza. One almost
regrets it was not left in its hoped-for last resting-place. There is
something gruesome in such remains, especially, perhaps, in heaped-up
skulls in museums. Those lines of a modern poet on such a sight are
pathetic.
"Did she live centuries, or ages back?
What colour were those eyes when bright and waking?
And were your ringlets fair, or brown, or black?
Poor little head! that long has done with aching!"
In Stephen's days, in the interval between the Henries, the poor monks
seem to have had rather an uncomfortable time of it. Stephen patronized
them; he would have money, but he took it politely. When for a while
his cause went down, and the Empress Queen arrived here, she was quite
as exacting, and also bullied them most unmercifully. They must have
been devoutly thankful when she at last went off to her continental
possession; and when she came back for sepulchre would no doubt be able
to receive her with greater equanimity. An English dean not long ago
was accused of having "refused to bury a Dissenter." "On the contrary,"
he replied, "I shall feel the greatest pleasure in burying you all!"
Now we pass to the fourteenth century. Here, in 1359, Edward III.
celebrated the marriage of his son John of Gaunt with Blanche, daughter
of Henry Plantagenet. This was unquestionably the grandest wedding that
ever happened, or could happen at Reading. The King of France, just
lately taken prisoner at Poictiers, was part of the bridal party; so
also a very famous Englishman, who came over here from his residence at
Donnington Castle. Chaucer describes the whole thing at much length:--