The Tower of London: A Historical Romance, Illustrated

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.”

As Renard issued from the principal entrance of the White

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.