As to tell you my intent is:
In a rome, a large plaine,
Under a wode, in a champagne;
Beside a river and a welle
Where never had abbeye ne selle;
Ben, ne kerke, hous, ne village,
In time of any man's age,
And dured three Months the feast,
In one estate, and never ceased.
From early of the rising of the sun,
Till the day spent was, and y-ronne;
In justing, dancing, and lustiness,
And all that served to gentilesse."
--_The Dream._
From Edward III. we will pass, though not in immediate succession
to Edward IV.'s time; and I am again indebted to Mrs. Climenson for
calling attention to a picture in the British Museum of Reading
Abbey about 1470, where "the widow Gray"--as the Lancastrians called
her--where Edward IV.'s bride, Queen Elizabeth, is represented as
standing under this very inner gateway, already mentioned, so dear to
the heart of every citizen of Reading. The abbot is there to meet her
on her disembarkation, with all fitting reverence. In the distance are
the royal barges, at the abbot's landing, on the Kennet.
After this almost a century glides by uneventfully. Like the Vicar of
Wakefield, though not accompanied as he was, the abbot's adventures
do not seem to have got much beyond "changing from the blue room to
the green," at least from the abbey to Bere Court and back again.
There were squabbles with the rising town; the aldermen began to be
what would be now called "uppish," but the abbot was practically
omnipotent, and sometimes, as in Abbot Thorne's time, had a heavy hand
which effectually kept town councillors in their proper places. We can
hardly realise now what very great men those mitred abbots must have
been--practically-popes in their own districts where they wielded both
the temporal and spiritual sword pretty vigorously.
The Abbot of Reading had precedence over all except Glastenbury and St.
Albans. He had vast revenues at his disposal, worth nearly £20,000, it
is reckoned, of our money,--a handsome income even after allowing for
the lavish hospitality and almsgiving expected and rendered. He had
the power of making knights, which the local name "Whiteknights," and
the hospice there, shows to have been pretty freely exercised; though
the fact that every priest was at one time "Dominus," or "Sir so and
so," occasions a little ambiguousness as to knights in these earlier
centuries.
In Reading itself, as already remarked, the abbot, within the law, was
almost absolute over the lives and properties of the township growing
up under the abbey shadow; his household, and all about him, was
modelled on a scale of more than princely magnificence, and it is to
be doubted whether any, except the very highest nobility, could show
anything like such an extravagant retinue.
The very list is exhausting: marshal, master of the horse, two keepers
of the pantry, three cupbearers, four janitors, five pages, eight
chamberlains, twelve hostellers (whose duty was to receive strangers),
twenty huntsmen, thirty-one running footmen, and last, not least, an
almoner. What wonder that such magnificence contrasted but badly by the
side of the self-denying Grey Friars, and that the great Benedictine
abbey broke down at last under its own greatness! Its last abbot was
not the worst, nor the least deserving by any means, only he fell on
evil days; and, when he stood by his own order, had little idea of the
terrible significance of treason in the eyes of a Tudor.
At first Abbot Hugh was favourably reported on by the commissioners.
"On Sep. 16, 1539," quotes Froude, "they were at Reading; on the 22nd
at Glastenbury; but the abbot there, his answer appeared cankered
and traitorous; he was sent to the Tower to be examined by Cromwell
himself, when it was discovered that both he and the Abbot of Reading
had supplied the northern insurgents with money."
Reading Abbey perished; on the other hand, the Grey Friars Monastery
was simply dissolved, its monks frugally pensioned, and turned out into
the street; their noble church was made into a guildhall, but preserved
by that at any rate, and is now restored, and is the town's noblest
relic of antiquity. Of the great Benedictine abbey, on the other
hand, only the almost imperishable flint core survives of its mighty
buildings. It may have plundered Silchester; it was itself for long a
very stone pit for the builder. Its "record" is that of Rome, "Quod non
fecerunt Barbari fecerunt Barberini"--the Roman princes made a stone
quarry of the Colosseum. That bridge at Park Place is an almost equal
barbarism, but before this, boat loads of abbey stones had gone down
the river to help to build the Hospital of the Poor Knights of Windsor.
The roof of the great Consistory went to St. Mary's Church, in Reading,
thus happily preserved, and where all may still see it. The panelling
went to Merton College, Oxford. In fact by the time of James the
plundering was complete; only land cannot run away, and so he conferred
that upon Prince Henry, the then heir apparent of the kingdom.
Since then its history has been uneventful; granted at first to the
Knollys family, it became at times a royal residence; the royal stables
were extensive, and horses stood where monks had knelt. This seems to
be alluded to, in that singular old poem, "Cantio Cygni," when Thamesis
is spoken of as arriving at Reading.
"From hence he little Chansey Seeth, and hasteneth to see
Fair Reddingetown, a place of name, where clothy-woven bee,
This shows our Alfred's victories, what time Begsal was slain
With other Danes, who carcases lay trampled on the plain.
And here these fields y-drenched were with blood upon them shed,
Where on the prince, in stable now, hath standing many a steede."
King James, as has been stated, gave the abbey to his eldest son, and
it passed, in due time, into the excellently guardian hands of the
Reading Corporation. Musing amid the ruins of this ancient pile, we may
call to mind the lives of the men who once lived and worked and prayed
on this spot, of the kings and great men who thronged the minster
church and held parliaments in the precincts, and all the mighty events
in history which took place in this, the chiefest and grandest monastic
house in England. The memory of the glories of Reading Abbey will not
soon pass away.
The First Battle of Newbury, 1643.
BY EDWARD LAMPLOUGH.
The armed phase of the great rebellion was in its second year, and
neither party had achieved any great advantage. If the Royalists
had thought to carry all before them in a summer campaign, they had
found out their mistake; and it must have been equally evident to the
Parliamentarians that they had embarked upon a struggle the end of
which might prove bloody and disastrous to their cause.
Charles resolved upon the capture of Gloucester. On the 10th of
August, 1643, he sounded trumpets before the gates, and called upon
the commandant to surrender. Colonel Massey, a soldier of fortune,
was faithful to his trust, and the royal trumpeter returned to the
King's camp accompanied by two deputies of "lean, pale, sharp, and
dismal visages," the bearers of a written declaration that, by God's
help, Gloucester should be maintained, under the King's command, _as
signified by both Houses of Parliament_. To this defiance was attached
the signatures of Governor Massey, the Mayor, thirteen aldermen, and
many wealthy burghers. Enraged rather than discouraged, Charles broke
ground before the walls, amid the smoking suburbs, which had been fired
by the stubborn Parliamentarians, whose wives and daughters went forth
to cut turfs for the renewal of the earthern ramparts, shot away by
the fire of the besiegers. With attack and sally, and storm of cannon
and musket bullets, the siege held for a time, then resolved into a
blockade, and Charles was on the eve of winning by famine where steel
and lead had failed, when the Earl of Essex bestirred himself, and came
to the rescue with the trained bands of London and a body of horse. He
arrived not a moment too soon, for the besieged were reduced to their
last barrel of powder.
The caution of Essex might well have stimulated the besiegers to give
him battle before the walls of Gloucester; he was, however, permitted
to enter unopposed, and to secure the city by liberal supplies of
provisions and ammunition, and by the reinforcement of the garrison.
The object achieved, the return march was commenced, in the course
of which Essex paid a surprise visit to Cirencester, cutting off two
regiments of Royal horse, and seizing a considerable quantity of
provisions which had been collected during the siege of Gloucester.
The opportunity of striking a very serious blow at the enemy now
offered itself to the King, and he resolved to act. Essex's forces
consisted principally of the City trained bands, held in little repute
by his army, and supported by a small body of cavalry, inferior to
the bold riders of Rupert in number and conduct. Essex cut off and
destroyed, Charles might strike the capital, and stifle the rebellion
in the nest that bred it.
So Rupert poured forth his gay cavaliers, with gleam of cuirass and
rapier, to intercept Essex, and hold him at bay until Charles came
up to strike; for, as usual, the Royalists knew nothing of Essex's
movement until twenty-four hours after he had left Gloucester. First
blood was shed at Hungerford, when Prince Rupert, seconded by the
Queen's life-guards, struck Essex's rear, and found tough work with
Stapylton's brigade. But night closing in, rapier and broadsword were
sheathed. Here the Marquis de Vieuville, a gallant Frenchman, fell,
mortally wounded, into the hands of the Parliamentarians.
The next day the two armies converged upon Newbury, but Charles won the
race by two hours, and Essex lay in the open fields, alert and anxious,
for a conflict on the morrow was inevitable.
Assisted by General Lord Ruthven, Charles made his disposition for the
battle, holding Essex at bay, with all the advantages of a defensive
position and a superior cavalry. His army held Speen Hill, with its
right wing resting upon the Kennet; the left protected by a battery,
and lying towards Shaw Fields. The rear was sufficiently defended by
the river Lambourne and the artillery of Donnington Castle. Thus the
Parliamentarians were barred from the London road by the cavaliers.
Although Charles had taken up a defensive position, sunrise of the
following morning, September, 20th, 1643, set the skirmishers free,
and shots rang along the front from hedge and cover, as the soldiers
felt their way towards the closer, sterner business of the day.
Essex's first aim was to take up a position on Speen Hill. He lead
the attacking force, which consisted of his own regiment, Barclay and
Balfour's horse, Stapylton's brigade, and Lord Roberts' regiment of
foot. His lordship had cast aside buff and corslet, and fought in his
white holland shirt. Essex, a notable swordsman, found brisk work with
the cavaliers on Speen Hill, but he won and held his position, although
the young Earl of Carnarvon held him long in deadly play, charging
straight through his rank. Pierced, but not routed, the troops were
reformed, and obstinately maintained the struggle. It proved fatal
to the gallant Carnarvon, who, according to Lord Clarendon, was run
through the body by a passing trooper. Sir Roger Manley, however,
states that the Earl was laid low by a shot, which struck him in the
head, while leading the pursuit. Essex, although successful in this
movement, was separated from the infantry, who fought the real battle,
and, by their stubborn valour, held the Royal army at bay.
Had Charles maintained a purely defensive position, Essex would have
been compelled to force the fighting. His inferiority in cavalry would
have told heavily against him, and his infantry would probably have
failed to force a passage through the Royal army. The ardour of the
skirmishers in the first hours of the day probably drew him into the
battle, which soon became general.
The London trained bands, under Skippon, received their baptism of
blood in Newbury marsh and meadows, where they were drawn up, with the
cavalry on the flanks. Rupert was seconded that day by some of the
boldest and fiercest cavalrymen in the Royal armies; and he poured them
again and again, a raging flood of foaming horse and men, upon the
Parliamentarians. Pressing up to the very edge of flashing pike-points,
with desperate stroke and thrust, and discharge of pistols, the gallant
cavaliers strove to reach the sturdy Londoners; only to fall back from
the fierce pike-thrust, while the snorting war-chargers reared and
swerved from the iron front, and the grim musketeers poured in their
heavy fire from the rear, emptying many a saddle, and sorely thinning
the ranks of the King's bold riders.
Fighting under the King's eye, the cavaliers did all that could be
expected from the most devoted loyalty; but Skippon's pikemen were
beating back the repeated surges for their very life's sake; for the
honour and safety of London, and for Essex's preservation. Once let
that tide break in, and Rupert's revenge would be terrible. Three
times, in quick succession, the London Blues were charged by two
regiments of Royal horse, bent at all hazards to break in, but the
musketeers plied their shot so thick and fast, and made such great
havoc in the charging ranks, that the cavaliers drew off, after their
third charge, and made no further attempt.
Triumphant as the Parliamentarians were in beating back the spirited
charges of Rupert's gallant cavalry, the toil and strain of battle fell
heavily upon them, and stung into sudden action by the galling fire
of the Royal batteries, they made a somewhat disordered dash towards
Donnington, with the intention of spiking the cannon, the Red London
trained bands leading. Rupert saw the movement, and was quick to seize
the only opportunity of victory that presented itself. In an instant he
was upon them with "Byron's Blacks" and Colepepper's brigade; but as
quickly the pikes were brought to bear, the musketeers poured in their
shot, and the first charge was beaten back; before it could be renewed,
Skippon had got the brave fellows ready, the front ranks kneeling,
and a forest of long pikes presented to the plunging chargers. The
utmost valour of the cavaliers could achieve nothing against the iron
formation, while the regular and destructive fire of the musketeers
swept the front, and strewed the field with dead and wounded men and
horses.
Essex had had another tough encounter with a chosen band of Royalists,
who, making a long detour, and adopting the broom and furze twigs
which Essex's men wore to distinguish them from the King's men, fell
furiously upon his ranks. The conflict that followed was to the death,
for if the Royalists were incensed by the stubborn resistance that they
met, and by their heavy losses, the Parliamentarians were not the less
fiercely revengeful when, after the long strain of that terrible day,
they rallied all their energies to beat back the perfidious attack of
the Royalists. The desperate melée terminated in favour of Essex's
troops, who beat off and chased the Royalists back.
The last scenes of the battle had taken place under the gathering
glooms of the September night, and Skippon having succeeded in joining
Essex's cavalry, nothing more could be effected until the morrow.
The exhausted armies reluctantly parted, and silence settled over the
field that had, during the long day, re-echoed the furious and dreadful
sounds of war. Under the peaceful heavens lay 6,000 dead and wounded
men, to be carted into the town by the humane burghers, when there was
a great outcry for surgeons, always, alas, far too few in number to
meet the requirements of war.
Both armies rested on the field, and stood to arms, ready to renew
the battle, when the day broke again upon Newbury. Essex had secured
his retreat, and could expect to achieve no more. Rupert could force
the fighting with no greater skill and daring than he had already
exercised, and with no greater prospect of penetrating the ranks of
Skippon's pikemen. Essex drew off, unmolested, about noon, but Rupert
fell upon his rear near Aldermaston, and inflicted some loss upon his
troops. His march upon London was not, however, interrupted, and he
entered the city in triumph, having fought a battle that was in all
ways honourable to his army, whether nominally a victory or defeat.
If the King claimed the honour of the field, it was indeed a barren
honour. At every point he had been repulsed, although his cavalry had
sacrificed itself with unmeasured devotion. He had not kept Essex out
of Gloucester, and he had not cut off his retreat upon London.
During the battle Essex lost a trained band colonel and a few officers;
but Charles lost many gallant and distinguished gentlemen, chief of
whom were the Earls of Sunderland and Carnarvon, and the virtuous and
talented Lord Falkland. The wounded included some of the first cavalry
officers in the Royal army, Lords Chandos, Peterborough, Andover, and
Carlisle, Sir Geo. Lisle, Sir Charles Lucas, and Colonels Gerrard,
Constable, and Darcy.
In the pages of Clarendon will be found an elaborate account of the
virtuous and unfortunate Falkland, who had a strong presentiment that
he would perish in the conflict, and he accordingly put on clean linen,
and arrayed himself in his richest apparel.
Essex, before marching off, issued orders for the burial "of the dead
bodies lying in and about Enborne and Newbury Wash." Charles imposed
similar duties upon the mayor of Newbury, expressly intimating that
the wounded Parliamentarians were to receive every attention, and, on
their recovery, be sent on to Oxford.
Essex carried with him into rejoicing London "many colours of the
King's cornets;" and was there publicly thanked for what his party
were disposed to regard as a victory over the King and his gallant
cavaliers.
The Second Battle of Newbury, 1644.
When the second battle of Newbury was fought, the great rebellion had
received a decided impetus in favour of the Parliamentarians. Marston
Moor had been fought and the greenest laurels of Rupert had withered in
one summer's night before the walls of York. The glory of Essex waned
before the brilliant achievements and solid successes of Cromwell and
Fairfax. The period of drawn battles and disputed victories was passing
away.
Some transient successes had attended the royal arms, and Essex
had been defeated in Cornwall; but with his army reinforced and
reorganised, he was prepared to try conclusions with His Majesty
on their old battle ground. With Essex there marched the Earl of
Manchester, Skippon, Waller, and Colonels Ludlow and Cromwell. In
consequence of the sickness of Essex, the supreme command devolved upon
Manchester.
Charles was on the _qui vive_ from the 21st, to Saturday the 26th
October; but being ill-informed of the movements of his dangerous
adversaries, he was ultimately out-manoeuvred, his communications with
Oxford cut off, and his rear threatened.
Mr. P. Blundell, F.S.A., in his interesting paper on the "Two Battles
of Newbury," thus describes the disposition of the opposing armies:--
"On the next day, Friday, and on Saturday, the 26th, Symond's diary
records pithily 'noe action'--both sides, in fact, were busied with
their deadly preparations, for all men knew that their next meeting
would be a stern and bloody one. The King's horse burned to avenge
their recent overthrow on Marston Moor, and Skippon's infantry were
resolute to win back the credit they had lost in Cornwall.
"The beleaguered Cavaliers now exerted themselves to retrieve their
error, by adding to the strength of their position, throwing up
entrenchments and mounting extra batteries. The Earl of Manchester
with his vanguard held the lower portion of the town, and Cromwell's
Ironsides with some infantry who formed the right wing of the
Parliamentarian army, lay still, but not inactive, upon the south
side of the Kennett, near Ham Mill, and 'thence, as soon as it was
day,'--says Symonds--'they put a tertia of foot over a bridge which
they had made in the night.'
King Charles again led the Cavaliers in person, the young Prince
of Wales accompanying him, and the Earl of Brentford acting as
Lieutenant-General. The royal standard waved upon Speen Moor, about
a mile more northerly than its position during the previous battle,
and the main body of the Cavaliers held Speen mainland and the upper
town of Newbury, with their lines extending towards the Castle, while
their extreme left rested a little below the present site of Donnington
turnpike, and crossed the lane which intersects the meadows behind
and round about Shaw House, then known as "Dolemans," occupied for
the King, and fortified so strongly as to be, in military parlance,
'the key to the entire position.' The river Lambourn flowed along
their front; Sir Bernard Astley's and Sir George Lisle's cavalry
were stationed round about the fields betwixt the town and Shaw, and
'Dolemans' not only was well garrisoned by musketry and pikes, but had
each hedge and hollow of its garden ground and pleasance, well lined
with ambushed skirmishers and marksmen."
The burghers of Newbury maintained their accustomed neutrality, to the
great disgust of the King, who, complaining that they rendered him no
account of the movements of his enemies, stigmatised them as "wicked
Roundheads."
The morning of the battle was spent in a distant cannonade, and the
desultory skirmishing in which so much martial energy was usually
expended. The royal forces made no movement to force the fighting, and
Manchester held his hand in the expectation of reinforcements.
During the first movements of the battle, about mid-day, Charles and
his son were in some danger of falling into Waller's hands. They
were posted at Bagnor, with their guards in attendance, when the
Parliamentarians, having seized Speen, made a rapid push for Bagnor.
The danger of Charles was imminent, when Colonel Campfield came up on
the spur with the Queen's Life Guards, charged furiously, broke the
Parliamentarians, and followed them in headlong and vengeful pursuit.
Shippon marked the fiery Cavaliers as they swept on in triumph, and
threw out a strong body of infantry to check the pursuit, and afford
Waller an opportunity of rallying; but as quickly the fierce Goring
and the Earl of Cleveland burst upon the pikemen, threw them into
confusion, and bore them sternly back, holding them in deadly play; but
the pikemen and musketeers, whether fighting for king or Parliament,
were seldom or never routed, and they bore nobly up, dressed their
line, and made a stubborn stand; driving off the impetuous Goring with
stinging pikes and hail of bullets. Again the persistent Cavaliers fell
on, and the pikes trembled before the rushing tide of horse and men as
they fell slowly back. Goring eagerly followed up his advantage, when
the Parliamentarians opened their ranks, and allowed the assailants
to pass through, then reformed to cut off their retreat, and opened
a destructive fire. Thus entrapped the Cavaliers fought desperately,
Goring cutting his way through with a handful of followers, but leaving
Cleveland in the hands of the enemy.
Dolemans, the key of the position, was assailed by Manchester with
3,000 foot and 1,200 horse, a force by no means too powerful for the
arduous task to be attempted. Astley and Lucas were not slow to meet
the assailing forces, and the sonorous psalms of the Parliamentarians
ceased as the battle surges closed. A stubborn and sanguinary
conflict ensued, but Manchester could make no serious impression upon
his enemies. Cromwell, holding his troops, ready to strike when the
opportune moment arrived, beheld the setting of the sun and the closing
shades of night, while the field was as stubbornly contested as ever.
He accordingly prepared to strike with his cavalry.